Don’t Replay The What-Ifs

Focus on the miracles instead.

Last Sunday morning was like any January winter morning. It was cold and frosty so I took my time getting around because I was waiting for a little more warmth from the sun. By noon I was ready to go work on a few projects at my shop. I planned to build a fire in the stove, work on a snowplow, and finish repairing a friend’s truck. I also needed to recharge a battery for my tracked UTV so I could move it to install the snow plow.

As I drove the mile and a half to the county road, I made sure my seatbelt was fastened and I noticed that the new snow on the ice underneath required my full attention. Our private drive follows above the river and for about half the distance to the county road, is set back among the trees that grow along the river. It then makes a ninety degree bend and parallels a creek into a deep ravine we call Slide Gulch, makes a hairpin turn at the back of the ravine where the road crosses the creek and follows an incline to another ninety degree corner where the road heads west on a shelf cut into the mountainside that is about five hundred feet above the river. The corner is wide and I try to stay on the outside edge or the inside edge next to the bank in case I meet a car at the corner, because it is hard to see ahead otherwise.

Sunday morning, as I drove up the incline, I stayed to the right as usual but felt a front tire catch on something and pull me toward the edge. I turned to the left and was out of the rut but the front tires slid on the ice toward the cutbank. Keep in mind that this was happening at less than fifteen miles per hour. When I turned away from the cutbank, I overcorrected exactly where the road narrowed and the car headed straight toward the five hundred foot drop off.

At that moment, my mind stopped thinking. The world became a blur of colors, noises, and violent pitching motions. I remember feeling myself resign to the fall and relaxed, but I don’t remember any thoughts. It was a kaleidoscope tumbling world until the top of the vehicle suddenly crashed hard against something and stopped moving. I was on my left side with my arm resting on a patch of snow, dried grass, and twigs. I unbuckled the seatbelt and tried to stand up, but first needed to untangle myself from the steering wheel and console. After a few minutes, I was able to stand and look out the front passenger window.

Above me, I could see clearly where the vehicle tumbled and slid down a rock chute, because I could see bits and pieces of vehicle debris above me. I let my eye follow the ravine the final two hundred feet to the river, which was nearly vertical and emptied into a deep green river bend. And then I realized that the tree I was wedged against, the only tree big enough to stop me within fifty feet, was at least twenty feet from the ravine I was tumbling down. I also realized I was not bleeding. I felt no bruises, broken or dislocated bones. Dazed, I crawled the rest of the way out of the vehicle and started climbing the steep, icy slope back to the road.

I found a branch and broke it off to make a walking stick so I could balance myself as I kicked footholds. It was slow and tedious, with a few heart stopping slips until I reached a patch of small bushes I could use to steady myself. By then, I heard a shout above me on the road and saw my neighbors. They were on the way home from feeding another neighbor’s cat when they saw skid marks over the edge. They asked me if I was hurt and I assured them I was fine. As I continued to pull myself up, R. climbed down to help me and together we climbed back to the road. I was very grateful for their offer of a ride home.

It was difficult to find words to tell my wife what just happened. Part of me didn’t want her to know, because my mind was still a blur of what ifs and those kaleidoscope memories, and I didn’t want her to experience what was going through my mind. I blurted out the basics and I could see from her face the telltale signs of thinking about what ifs. I finally told her enough to satisfy her curiosity for the time being, so I excused myself and went to the bedroom.

As I sat on the edge of the bed, the images of that final skid over the edge, the crashing tumble down the mountainside and the final crash against the tree played over and over in a way that is all too familiar to me. I tried to block it out but then my thinking became a blur of what ifs. What if, what if, but no what if could erase that final sickening slide over the edge. It left me overwhelmed with deep anxiety and a faceless dread. I knew I needed to regain control, so with a little thought and a lot of discipline to go through the skills I’ve learned to use when my thoughts become too much, I felt the anxiety retreat ever so slowly. I distracted myself from the what ifs by focusing on the what was. I focused my thoughts on that tree. How did I end up against it? It doesn’t matter, because I ended up against it. What if I could have controlled that final skid. It doesn’t matter. What matters was the tree. What matters was the tree. What matters was the tree. Eventually I fell asleep while listening to an audiobook as I do when my mind wants to race at full speed. What matters was the tree.

I woke up this morning without bruises or painful bumps. My mind was not replaying the images or the what ifs. I felt a certain amount of peace, but I worried that the shock and panic could return at any time. I decided to make an appointment with my counselor and she had an opening. My wife talked me into letting her drive and I relaxed enough to fall asleep as we traveled.

As we talked in the counselor’s office, I realized I could allow myself to allow the what ifs to take over my thinking or I could focus on what actually happened. I did not plunge into the deep green river at the bottom of the drop off. Instead I was saved by a tree that wasn’t even in my path of descent. It was, dare I say, a miracle. I know we moderns prefer not to allow for the possibility of miracles, but sometimes inexplicable things happen when we need them most. I can’t explain why the car lodge against a tree completely away from the path of my descent. There is probably a good logical explanation. But it still wouldn’t answer the questions of why then and why me?

I am sound and whole after an accident that might have had an entirely different outcome. I choose not to think about other outcomes. All I want to think about is the miracle of the tree that stopped my fall, and that I was not injured. I choose to be grateful tonight.