Exactly a week ago, I was riding my motorcycle and nearly ate the large, side view mirror of an oncoming truck. Every now and then, something happens or nearly happens and it gets my full attention. I don’t know about you, but I have had some fairly close calls throughout my life, not like a manic, rock climber, but some good ones nevertheless.
The almost, mirror meal started me thinking about near misses and what to take from them. Years and years ago, I totaled my new, ’68 Red Volkswagen on the Grand Central Parkway, going from Manhattan to Queens late one Friday night. I took a nap at a very inconvenient moment on the road and woke up in time to flip the vehicle and spin it like a top. When the police came, I could not show them how I got out because everything was jammed shut. How do you like that?
At the time of the VW apocalypse, I was in the Army Reserve, occasionally driving down from Ayer, MA, where I was stationed. I had a top secret clearance and studied Morse Code. It was as close as I wanted to get to anything having to do with the Vietnam War. Those were very electrified times and I wait for the public shock to return to today’s insanity, but that is another story entirely.
As I stood staring at my upside down red Beetle, I remember feeling that it wasn’t my time and I had much more life to live. I felt the tap and I got the message. I can’t say why, but I never for a minute thought it was just some dumb luck. I was in my early twenties at the time and pretty much about having a good time, but this incident really set me on the path I am on right now, with a load of detours along the way.
A friend of mine experienced a nightmare, car fire several years ago and somehow survived, now saddled with two lungs compromised by the crude flames, eating anything to give them fuel in his sealed metal box. He is having some follow up tests done and in texting him, I wrote that God had touched him on the shoulder. In his case, his compromised health might serve as a reminder about how delicate his life is and impact his choices going forward in a positive way.
My best shoulder tapping would have to be the saga of my left shin, a story I have told too often already, but it is a good one. I injured my special leg in a canoeing accident, splitting the skin to the sheath protecting the bone. It became terribly infected, resulting in three surgeries in two weeks, following a month at home in a torturous routine and then a skin graft, with its inherent delights. In those initial, two weeks of medical incarceration, I swear I felt the presence of Death in the room with me. I was subsequently informed both my leg and life had been at risk. I had that same Beetle feeling this time as well. I was going to beat this life threatening leg infection because God tapped me on the shoulder and I knew it wasn’t time. I worked for months to rehab my leg and get it back.
I don’t think I am special in any way to have had these episodes. During the course of my life, I can’t count the number of times I just missed some kind of disaster. If you ride a motorcycle, how many times has a car made a left turn, crossing right in front of you?
I am constantly reminded how tenuous my grip on life is, making me appreciate the privilege even more.