It has been five months since my accident. I thank God regularly that I’m still alive.
At the time I decided I was going to take a walk down to the Grandin Building I did not realize today was the five month anniversary of my accident. I stood in the driveway facing the garage debating on whether to drive or walk.
Part of me was saying, “You could really use the exercise,” while another part was saying, “Yeah, but you can do what you’ve been doing. You can go to the basement, get on your stationary bike, and ride. It’s a lot safer because you can’t get hit by a car.”
Anxiety was building. Walk or drive. Safe or sorry.
A terrible thought dashed through my head. I saw myself walking through the same intersection, but this time heading east, and getting stuck by a car breaking my left leg. My stomach turned somersaults as I wrestled with the decision.
I decided I can’t be a coward my entire life and so I began my walk. As I got to the intersection of Main and Church, I pressed the button. I looked ahead and the red hand was displayed. I then looked at the traffic. It was somewhat busy. The white walk man appeared, but a car was coming. I stepped back about 5 feet, but about then, I lost the walk sign.
Pressing the button again, I watched as the cars passed. This time, when I got a walk light, there were no cars in sight.
“Yeah, there were no cars in sight that night,” I reminded myself as with trepidation I started across the street.
The street seemed smaller to me. As I passed the spot where a bumper of a car made contact with my right leg, I thought how big the street seemed that night. It seemed like it was a long distance from where my body laid and where the curb was. Yet today it seemed smaller and distances shorter.
I made it through the intersection and drew a deep breath. The next intersection was bad, but not nearly as traumatizing as the intersection.
I took a walk behind my building to check out some repairs that are needed. When I finished there, I went to cross at Fayette Street. There is no stop light there. I froze.
“I have the right-of-way,” the logic side of my brain said.
“Who cares,” said the fear side of my brain, “your body means nothing to those big cars if they decide they have the right-of-way.”
I literally waited until I couldn’t see any moving cars in any direction. As I started across, a truck rounded the corner a block away heading my direction. I raised my hand as if to say, “Stop.”
“What are you thinking Brent,” I asked myself, “He’s so far away you’ll be across the street before he would even need to brake.”
Such is the mind of a scared injured soul.
On the way back, something happened. I’d call it an answer to prayer. I passed across Church Street and didn’t even realize what I had done. When I got home I thought about what had just happened.
While a part of me is thinking, “You fool, you could have been hit again because you weren’t paying attention.”
While another part of me is saying, “God managed to protect and distract you so you wouldn’t be a nervous wreck while walking across the street.”
I like to think it is the latter.
I’m going to do it again tomorrow (weather permitting). The more I can face my anxieties, the more I can convince myself the world is a safe place.