“Fatality Reported in Crash”

At work today, I heard that the highway nearby was entirely shut down and all the surface roads were clogged because of two huge accidents a mile apart. One involved three passengers who were transported to the hospital, and one involved a fatality. One of the accidents – I’m not sure which – involved children. As a result of these accidents, the highway was shut down for hours.

I wrote a blog a while ago (based on my journal entries from the year Jason died), explaining how I no longer view cemeteries the same as I used to:

I look at cemeteries differently now. I used to be distanced from them. A cemetery was a place I looked at and felt sorry for the poor people who were burying a loved one or visiting a gravesite. Now I feel compassion, empathy, and a kinship to the people who are there…which is entirely different than “feeling sorry for.” Now that person at the cemetery isn’t some disconnected entity…it’s me, visiting the graves of my son and his friend who were killed in the prime of their lives.

The same is true for traffic accidents. Hearing about a car accident involving a fatality is no longer just a tragic news item for me. I physically feel empathy for those involved, because I know what it feels like to suddenly and tragically lose a dearly loved one in a car accident. I know accidents happen. They happen to people who don’t expect it to happen to them. They can happen to anyone and take away the life of someone you feel like you can’t live without, because it happened to us. Death comes and touches your life…and you are changed forever.

My heartfelt prayers for those involved in these accidents today.

© 2013 Rebecca R. Carney

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4 thoughts on ““Fatality Reported in Crash”

  1. We are part of that group who have had deep tragedy change our lives, we know nightmares occur in daylight. I’ve met people who have never lost anyone other than from old age and the deaths were gentle and expected. They don’t have a clue.

  2. Hearing sirens on a Friday afternoon still causes panic after 17 years. . . And your words remind all of us who have lost children that we want to continue to offer some solace to the pain others are facing–even if it is only with our words so many years after.

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