Saturday, while driving around my new home town, I watched traffic in my lane slow down for a car making a right turn into the parking lot of a strip mall. A family, with a few teens, took advantage of the stopped traffic to begin crossing toward the median strip of the four lane thoroughfare. I watched a slow-mo ballet of horror unfold as the cars in the lane to my left kept moving forward. I believe they couldn’t see the family and teens because of the tall truck in front of me. Mid-cross, one of the teens was exuberantly gesturing and turned back to see his friends. As he turned forward again, he was struck by a red pick-up, or rather he walked right into the passenger side front fender or door with enough force that the rear-view mirror was shorn-off, and the young man thrown several feet to land on the asphalt.
I heard the woman next to me shriek. My own hands went to my eyes, as if I didn’t want to watch this part of the movie, then immediately, my hands dialed 911. The shrieking woman got out of her car and ran into the crosswalk, still shrieking. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God! Heartfelt. Natural. But not so helpful.
The driver of the red truck pulled over just across the small intersection and came running back to assess, and help. It was community in motion. People at their best.
Whether instinctually or by happy accident, everyone did the right thing, from a trauma perspective. The family held the shrieker back, and gave the boy/man/child space within a safe circle. When he was ready, they helped him to his feet and walked him back to the curb, out of further harm’s way.
While on the phone with the 911 operator, I was put through to the police. They arrived in two minutes flat! (Not the usual response time in Oakland, where resources are stretched so thin, but this was in San Leandro!)
Traffic was held up long enough that I witnessed the young man go through the usual initial steps when bodily injury has occurred. He sat dazed. Shock made him dissociate from the pain, a merciful design feature of this fragile yet sturdy human body. Then, with prompting, he assessed his injuries. There was no visible blood, which, when it does spill out of us unexpectedly, can deepen the shock and increase the horror.
I too, was assessing. Questioning my role, beyond calling for help. Assessing the bigger picture, I came to the conclusion that he was in good hands, that there were so many people gathering, that it would be difficult for first responders to get through the growing throng. The drivers of the cars immediately in front of me perhaps had a better view of what happened than I had. Even though I have some experience with trauma first aid - nervous system first aid, not necessarily the physical kind - it seemed as if the young man was in good hands, and that the driver was calm, concerned, compassionate, and kind in gesture and proximity. Noting that they (we) all could use a dose of Rescue Remedy, and the injured boy would do well with some Arnica, and that he was probably going to be pretty sore for several days, I made my way along with the other cars clearing space for the police and subsequent ambulance. It did not feel right to park ‘n’ gawk, nor run back and tell them what I thought they should do.
What I couldn’t assess in the moment was how the horror of witnessing such an even would affect me. I was out driving because I had been intent on completing several errands before leaving town Sunday, including figuring out why my “check engine” light had come on, and making sure the car was safe to drive before shops ended their business on a Saturday. Every place I stopped, I felt out of body, slowed down, keenly aware of every color, scent, and sound. I too was in a hyper-adrenalized state, but I didn’t have time to process the effect, beyond shivering and shaking in the car, and saying a little prayer that all would be well for the boy, the family, and the driver. I kept doing errands. Going into overdrive is a coping strategy in itself. I’ve mastered overdrive with years of cultivation practice.
It wasn’t until I arrived at Mercy Center, Sunday evening, where I’m assisting a trauma training, and sitting in the chapel, where I finally slowed down enough that I could feel the indwelling intense gratitude I have for life. Sobs shook my belly, and gave it a good dance, shaking loose all the tightly held tight places, until I felt much more in the flow - both in my body and with my surroundings.
In the mid-nineties, while participating in a Phoenix Rising Yoga Therapy training in Santa Barbara, I stayed with some dear friends in San Marco Pass. Every morning for four days, I got up at four, in order to get to the training on time. In the pass, there are no street lights, so the darkness is extra velvety and black at that hour. As I puttered quietly in the kitchen, preparing food for the day, by the light over the sink, I saw a tree frog clinging to the outside of the window, right at my eye level. It was illumined by the light in stark green contrast to the inky dark outside. Its soft belly moved in and out with its breath. Even its heart beat was visible. So soft of belly. I felt my own belly soften.
That very night, after the training day was done, I went to the baths there on Bath Street in Santa Barbara. There was a soft drizzle falling out of the sky. I undressed, wrapped my towel around me and stepped out into the misty night to go to the outdoor sauna and mineral springs hot tubs. When I reached to open the sauna door, there, sitting on the carved wooden handle, was another soft-belly tree frog of the same pale green color as I had seen that morning. The universe was communicating with me, reminding me to soften and let go. I remember laughing out loud and thanking Great Mystery for these Urban Shamanic signs.
The four day training was all about listening to our bodies. Mine had so many layers of tightly wound sinews holding me all together, it was a miracle I could still breathe! Reminders to let go the tension and soften that belly were much appreciated.
Sunday evening in the chapel, I could feel that same let-down belly softening sensation, and realized how much tension I’d been holding related to the accident, to my husband's being away, cars going kafoogeldie, and my daughter’s car too - kafoooogeldie! I’m so delighted with how it all worked out. My car got fixed. My daughter gets to use it for the week, while hers is being fixed. My Husband will return from camp, the young man and the driver whose truck he ran into will heal, we’ll all drive more carefully for at least a week, and all will be well.
