Not so long ago, but in ‘my other life’, the one before cancer, I nearly died. It was a close shave (almost literally) but with a car. The exact time of it was at 4 pm on Sunday 14th February 2021: Valentine’s Day. Looking at it positively it was, in my opinion, to be the loveliest day of the year, the most thoughtful day of the week, and one of my favourite times of day. (But of course, thankfully, it was not ‘the right moment’ at all: I am still here to live to tell the tale.)
Anyway, I was on my bicycle, going along a peacefully empty road, when a car came speeding around the corner and then lost control, coming fast in my direction. It was being driven by a boy racer in an enormous car, chased then by a friend of his in a similarly enormous car. So technically I was faced being squashed twice over, by two very similar-looking young men in two very similar-looking cars.
One of the interesting things for me about this experience was the politeness of the first boy racer. Through his windscreen I could see him very well – in fact, better and better the nearer he got to me. It was like some dreadful eyesight test. He had an unusually big mouth, I noted. Probably in every sense, I thought, though not totally without sympathy. And he was mouthing: “Oh my God! I am so, so, so sorry!” (I am good at lip reading. There are many unexpected benefits to it.) He even took both hands off the steering wheel and placed one hand on each cheek. (I am interested in signing language too.) I guess letting go of the steering wheel was a regular habit of his, but this must surely have been a particularly unwise moment even for him.
Despite not wanting to die one bit that morning – especially not by a car (or perhaps two) - I didn’t feel angry as such with him at all. I felt intrigued. How odd is that? Often I have wondered what my last words might be, as I would like those to be meaningful and somehow worth remembering. Not just a massive (though justifiable), hair-raising blast of swears, for example.
In the seconds before impact, what I thought was this: “It’s okay. You didn’t mean to do this. I forgive you.” And rather than see my whole life flash before me, I saw his do that. I thought: “You are about to ruin your life.” As simply as knocking over a glass of water, he was about to knock my off my bike – but the consequences were actually going to be infinitely worse. For him. (Admittedly for me too, but this wasn’t going through my mind.)
So I surprised myself. I did not realise that I might die so ‘generous-hearted’. The awkward reality is that those two boy racers did not immediately give up their insane driving habit. It continued for a week or two afterwards. I think that maybe it takes some people more time to process that they need to take more care in this world, that’s all? For whatever reason, the boy racers haven’t come back.
Anyway, that road is peaceful again. I have been back there, and the road still has tracks on it from the tyres. They burned skid marks on the corner of the road, which formed a long, black line. A line which stopped exactly in front of where I had been on my bicycle, like a small dot. From an aerial view, those marks would look like a big question mark, an incomplete one: that symbolism means something to me. It’s good to at least try and understand things from as many angles as possible. It’s important to have a story: to find or to create a sense of otherwise senseless events.
