A Conversation

What follows is a conversation I had recently with a nice young lady, a professional I deal with on the rare occasion. The conversation occurred over a month ago, and I have taken a bit of license in retelling, especially with regard to details about the accident.


"I don't say I suffer from it, but I guess I could say I am affected by Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"Oh my god, what do you do, are you a firefighter, or a cop or something?"

"Nope, I just drive, I drive, and I see people die... In car accidents - collisions actually, I just have the luck to seeing them happen a lot."

"Well, that's not really luck..."

"Luck for me perhaps, I'm still alive... But yeah, I have probably seen a dozen fatal collisions. Things that have made me turn around and puke out my guts, things that have made cops arriving do the same thing... I just happen to be there right when, I mean these things happen right in front of me... It starts to give you a different outlook on things."

"Yeah, I can imagine, like things matter differently."

"Yeah, like everythings okay when no one dies, you start to relax about everything, 'cause nothing really matters that much, what people think are problems aren't that big really."

"Wow, I kind of know how you feel."

"I had a feeling you might, what happened... What was it you saw?"

"There was... It was a guy racing a motorbike, way too fast...Lost control totally after passing us on the way to Grand Bend... Just going way, way, way to fast, couldn't make the curve, hit the shoulder, then flipped into the ditch and into a tree."

"Jesus, that's terrible... So he died"

"Yeah, and his buddies were on other bikes right behind, it was terrible. His body was completely crushed when he hit the tree, and his friends... his friends were completely freakin out, calling his name, trying to get him to respond... but the guy was dead, obviously... instantly."

"Long time ago now?"

"A couple of years now, four actually"

"You still cry? I mean, something sets you off, and you just cry"

"Yeah... Yeah I do."

"It gets a bit easier with time... but you will always find something does set you off... I was at the cottage recently, reading an article by some guy who came across a collision... Joining the club I guess! I just broke down and cried. It all comes flooding back..."

"And I get angry... I hate to say it, I just... I really..."

"You're pissed at him for doing that, for killing himself..."

"Yeah, exactly... I know it's not right, but sometimes I hate him for what he did... I mean he was married, and had two kids... Christ how can you do that? How can you be... How can you..."

"Be so completely irresponsible?"

"Yes... How can a person do that? I just can't imagine being like that"

"I don't know, I really don't"

"And even now I get angry when I see guys doing stupid things like that... I mean my husband was with me, saw the whole thing, he would never do anything like that..."

"At least he knows how it affects you, and you him... Lots of people will never understand really..."

"Yeah I got that, It's not that bad really, but still, It's there... you're right, they have no idea"

"Welcome to the club... There are no merit badges or anything though, just scars... that fade over time..."

The Emotional Tsunamis

It was on the last day of our Easter weekend at the cottage when the 'Tsunami' broke. The only way I can describe these events is like sitting near a rocky seashore on a calm day, watching the small waves roll in, crashing easily on the rough, broken shore. And without warning, I notice a mammoth wave, rising in the distance from the deep sea, like a tidal wave, or a tsunami. It is racing in at a speed tenfold that of the small waves swelling and breaking, and overtakes numbers of them as it heads toward the shore. It is now only seconds away, and starting to break, and is easily twenty times taller than all the others now. And then it crashes furiously into the rocky crags and jagged cliffs, the sound thundering and deafening, the ground shaking and rumbling beneath my feet, even from my vantage point several hundred feet away. And then the spray comes, great plumes of water soaking the upper reaches of the shoreline. And as quickly as it arrived, the water recedes back to the sea, and the quiet smooth waves continue breaking against the shore, as if nothing had happened.

I had just started reading the Weekend Living section of the Saturday edition of the Toronto Star when I noticed a cropped photograph of a Paramedic ambulance accompanying an article. The article was entitled 'Tragedy forges an unlikely bond' by Tom Scanlan, part of the Slice of Life Series. It was a simple, heartfelt account of a drivers experience as he had the fortune of happening upon a collision on the highway driving home from the cottage. I had to read it, and I also knew exactly what would happen to me if I did.

The Slideshows

I remember arriving home one day, and for some reason the slide projector in my head was clacking away, frame after frame projected against the white screen of my mind. Clic-Clack steam rising from the obliterated front end of what was a speeding Mustang just one minute ago, only barely visible on this moonlit night. Clic-Clack the crumpled body of the driver of the Mustang, now mangled in the crushed front end of the Minivan that he had just struck head on. Clic-Clack looking down the dark roadway at the darker lifeless body of what must have been the passenger in the Mustang, ejected through the windscreen like the driver, but who sailed past the minivan instead. Clic-Clack closer now to the body on the roadway, legs crumpled, torso scrunched up with shoulders inclined down as if the head were kissing the ground, but something a little funny about that. Clic-Clack closer now from the side of the body on the roadway - sweet Jesus fucking Christ - the shoulders and neck inclined into the roadway, but you cant bury your head in asphalt, where in the name of Christ is your head? Clic-Clack looking up toward the side of the darkened road, and seeing the small, round, black form sitting on the shoulder.....oh fuck, I could feel the heave in my gut, and I just started puking right there......

"David, have you heard one word of what Rudi has been saying?" It was Katherine, pissed of course.

"Oh, sorry! What was that Rudi?"

"I was asking... I was just asking if you wanted to play spies with me daddy. You can be spy number two, and I will be spy number one"

"Spies! ok little guy, lets go play spies. But why can't I be spy number one?"

Clic-Clack.........Clic-Clack........Clic-Clac.......it was muted somewhat now, but the slideshow continued relentlessly.

Guilt

On a very few occasions, especially over the last few years, it has seemed as if I could actually predict the outcome of a situation while it was in progress. The most compelling of these was the incident invovlving the two racing drivers in Kitchener, on November 30 2005.

To keep a long story short, I was in the position of being involved in the situation well before the collision that resulted in the death of an innocent driver. I was driving up Victoria Street one afternoon, when a vehicle being driven in a very agressive manner came up behind me, following far too close. I knew he was trouble. It was a two lane road in each direction, and he was behind me in the left, as it seemed to be moving faster initially. I knew the road very well, and wanted to keep this idiot behind me until the road widened past the expressway, so as I watched the traffic flow ahead, I noticed that the driver in our lane ahead was losing a bit of speed, so I thought I would make the change to the right lane, now moving a bit faster. Too late though, because just as I decided to make the change and signal right, the guy behind me in the SUV had jumped in and nosed his way forward. Sixty seconds later an innocent man, Mike Doherty, was fatally injured.

What gets me is that I had identified a potential issue, and decided to do something to prevent it from becoming worse, but unfortunately I acted too late. Had I acted on my instinct and experience one second earlier, Mike Doherty would be alive. One time I mentioned this to Katherine who replied that I couldn't have done anything about it. Well in this particular case I could have, but decided to late, and someone died as a result. That is something I get to live with, that directly or indirectly, I failed to prevent someone from dying. Perhaps someday you will be in a situation like that, or know someone who is. Guilt will be a strong emotional response. Don't try to invalidate it by suggesting you or they "couldn't do a thing about it". I think a much better response to the person experiencing the guilt is the simple, unadorned truth: You could have done something about it, but for whatever reason you did not, or could not, or what you did was too late; it is these mistakes that make us human, and that we learn from: perhaps in a future situation what you do will lead to a better outcome.

The Other Victims

As I have mentioned earlier, some of my encounters with the cloaked traveller were a direct result of someone's complete lack of good judgement, or selfishness, or total lack of respnsibility. It is these events to which I consider the traveller has been invited, when he absolutely did not need to be. Generally it is easy to determine who the victims are, as they are lying lifeless in their vehicles, or die on the way to hospital, or perhaps after being admitted. And for some reason, these victims generally did not bring their deaths upon themselves, but had another person deal them their final hand.

There are however, a group of other individuals who can also be identified as victims. Although they do not suffer any physical harm, the emotional, psychological, and mental injuries they suffer can last a lifetime. They are the people who, like me, have to witness the completely abysmal behaviour of some total fuck-up who, driving like a complete moron decides to kill somebody else on the road. Pardon the language, but there really isn't a simpler way of expressing it.

My goal in presenting this argument is not to garner any sympathy, as I don't need it, but for the reader to understand that in every collision that claims a life or lives, not only are the lives of the few people directly involved affected, but those of a large number of other people as well: The families and friends of the all the drivers and passengers involved in the collision, all of the witnesses to the collision, and their families, as well as all the emergency personnel called out to clean up the carnage.

Sometimes I get angry, and think "What fucking right do you (the irresponsible driver) have to come out here on a public roadway, risking the lives of both yourself, and other innocent people, or even killing someone outright.....If you want some death, just stay at home and blow your fucking brains out in front of your TV, and make the world a whole better place."

I remember testifying in a case involving two men charged with Dangerous Driving (Cause Death) about a year and a half ago. One thing I will never forget is speaking with another witness, who had been driving directly behind the vehicle involved in the head-on collision caused by one of the two "racing" vehicles. It had been almost two years after the collision, and in that length of time she never got behind the steering wheel of a car. She had been completely traumatized by the violence and horrific nature of the collision, and the death of the innocent driver in front of her. Not a particularly good thing for her, as she had a good career as an outside sales representative of a large canadian pharmaceutical company. I think the company made room for her in the organization, but what if they couldn't? That would be the end of her career in that field.

No One Said Life Was Fair

Over the years I have lost count of the number of people I have witnessed die. It is certainly well over 10, but if i sat down and thought about it, dug deep, I think the count is closer to 15 or 16. There are many questions I have asked myself, thoughts I have pondered, as a result of my meetings with the traveller. Probably the most compelling, however, is the argument that life should be fair, that of those who died, most of them did not deserve death. Why did these people die? Whose right was it to take their lives from them? I can't begin to imagine the sense of loss, heartbreak, and sorrow experienced by those who have been told that someone they love has died as a result of an automobile collision.

One of the more recent

Two Out of Five Ain't Bad - Part 2

In the time I had spent checking out the condition of the people in the little red car, a few other people had stopped to help. The traffic passing the scene was slowing right down, and one gentleman was asking if any passing motorists had a cellphone (This was in the early days, hardly anyone used them). A trucker coming by radiod in on his CB, and knowing that police and fire were on the way, I headed down the road and put my last flare out.

After what seemed a long time, a lone OPP cruiser approached from the opposite direction, and about three minutes later finally arrived on our side of the road. The officer stepped out, a younger guy, maybe 40 or so, and approached us, asking who know what was going on. The slightly freaked out tow truck driver who was first at the scene immediately went into an excited babble, and I had to interject.

"I didn't see it officer, but I can tell you what's up." I said. He seemed relieved, and approached me, ignoring the babbling man.

"Three occupants of the pickup are right over there, being taken care of by his wife." I said pointing to the guy again, "Apart from shock, they seem okay, but he has lost it a bit I'm afraid."

"Yeah, I was getting that...." the officer replied.

"unfortunately, the pickup has crushed a car underneath it, if you want to follow me. Both occupants are dead."

"Okay, got it, how did you determine that?" He had his flashlight out, and we started in the direction of the front of the truck.

"Well the passenger had no pulse, and was totally non-responsive." I replied.

The officer paused. "And the driver?"

I thought for a moment "...Based on visual observation." I replied quietly.

We had reached the front end of the truck, and he cast the light toward the side of the car, and checked on the passenger. Then he knelt down, and looked further inside. It surprised me actually, when he turned around and vomited, but then I suddenly realized that cops probably didn't take a course on "how not to react naturally when presented with the horiffic aftermath of a collision". I gave him a bit of room, and turned back toward the embankment. He joined me quickly.

"Almost twenty years" he said "and I have never seen anything that bad." He started up the hill, a bit unsteady, and I put my hand on his shoulder to guide him and help him up.

"Thanks." He said, reaching the top.

"That's okay. I spent at least twice as long puking down there than you did," I replied. He laughed, and at that moment we could see the flashers of the fire rescue vehicles, and ambulance, heading toward the scene.

About fifteen minutes after that, after giving my statement, I continued the drive to Waterloo.

Two Out of Five Ain't Bad - Part 1

Many years ago I was driving from Ottawa to Waterloo. It was very late, as I had left Ottawa well after dinner, and had passed through Toronto after Midnight. About 40 minutes past Toronto, driving up the hill on the 401 past Kelso Conservation Area, I saw a pair of brakelights well ahead of me flash on for a couple of seconds, then completely disappear. Odd, it seemed, as I had been following the same small group of vehicles about a kilometre back for at least the last five kilometres.

After cresting a rise about where the lights disappeared, I noticed then that the road dipped a bit, possibly the reason for the lights to disappear. At the same time I noticed a set of taillights ahead of me and to the right, off to the side of the road. An instant later, my tail end started to slide, as the road curved to the right, and there was gravel all over the place. I popped the clutch, straightened the back end, and slowed down.

To my right the taillights I saw were on the back of a large horse trailer, which had followed the pickup truck towing it off the roadway and into the ditch. I hit the brakes and geared down, and noticed ahead of me a little SUV parked on the shoulder. I had plenty of time to stop, so I pulled in behind the SUV and stepped out.

Just then I saw a man come trotting up toward me: "We got to get them out, We got to get them out!" he yelled at me, frantically.

"Get who out? What are you talking about? Buddy, calm down a bit" I told him, but he just continued on ranting: "Jesus man, I was a tow truck driver in Toronto for years, and ain't seen nothing this bad! We got to get them out, hurry!"

From behind my seat I pulled out my fire extinguisher, and a three-pack of flares, and we headed back toward the pick up, he running ahead, urging me to hurry. As I got closer, I saw four people standing on the shoulder near the tail end of the pickup truck, A crew cab F-350. It had completely run off the shoulder and into the ditch, with the horse trailer behind it still mostly on the shoulder. Three of the people appeared to be dazed, or in shock, the other a lady, seemed to be taking care of them.

"That's my wife, and the three from the pickup." the guy said to me "I think they're ok, but down here.....oh Jesus, man, we gotta get them out!"

I looked down - Jesus Christ - was all I thought when I saw it, and recognized what it was. A small red car, barely visible, was completely crushed under the front end of the pickup. It was sideways, with only what appeared to be the passenger side of the vehicle visible under the mammoth front bumper of the truck.

"We gotta get them out! c'mon man, we gotta get them out, let's go" the guy urged me. I was starting to lose it. I took out my first flare, and struck it. It began flaming brightly.

"Buddy, take this flare, and stick it out on the highway, about 300 feet down the road." I said to him. He took the flare, and trotted off. I hadn't noticed at all, but a couple of vehicles were passing every minute, and I didn't want them all spinning out on the gravel over the road.

I struck the second flare, and then carefully picked my way down into the ditch, to the front of the pickup truck, and the little red car crushed underneath it. I couldn't smell gas, but still held the flare carefully in my left hand, up high as I approached. As I came up to the car, I noticed the passenger side was facing out, with the nose of the car pointing to my right. The pickups bumper was on top of the car, resting on the roof of the passenger side of the vehicle. Things didn't look to good for whoever was inside. The passenger side window had exploded out, and an arm was hanging out the window. I knelt down, to get a better look, as the car was so close to the ground. I couldn't find a pulse, and the passengers head was tilted at an odd angle - she was dead.

I brought the flare closer, as I hadn't seen the driver. As I did so, and looked further in, I saw what was left of the driver's head, exploded over their body, a grisly mix of blood, bone, brain and hair. The pickup had apparently smashed through the side of the car, with some of the engine parts crushing open the drivers head, and probably crushing their body also. In the now gruesome orange-red light of the flare, I felt nausea rush over me.

I turned around, stumbled away, and started puking. I hadn't eaten in a long time, but I heaved up whatever I had for about half a minute, before climbing back up to the shoulder.

"Hey man, we gotta get them out! Can we get them out now?" He was now past the point of me being polite in any manner whatsoever.

"Buddy, could you shut the fuck up! I don't wannna hear that again!" I yelled, and he immediately quieted down. "They are dead! DEAD! We don't have to get them out. It's all over, they are both dead."

The Traveller Leaves Emptyhanded - Part 2

After a few minutes of heaving and pulling with brute force, the guys managed to simply peel the rear passenger door off the car body. One of them climbed inside and twisted the seat forward, freeing the injured girl, and gently passed her up to waiting hands on the outside. All the while I was monitering the engine, making sure the fire didn't come back to life.

Finally, she was carried to the shoulder and laid down on a blanket provided by a nurse who had stopped to help. She was barely conscious, but breathing, as far as I knew. The fire had spurted back to life, which I allowed to burn up a bit for a few minutes before putting out with the last of the contents of my extinguisher.

"I really thought that it would blow up, like on TV, or something like that" It was the second gentleman; "How did you know it wouldn't have done that?" He asked me.

"Because thats TV for you, they gotta make it exciting" I replied "Besides, this isn't the first car fire I have had to put out....Don't ask, if thats okay."

He nodded, but didn't reply. About this time, I heard sirens, and the ambulance arrived, followed by a local volunteer fire crew with a pumper truck and a rescue vehicle, and last, the OPP. The car fire had decided to burn back up again, and by the time the fire crew had gotten everything together, much of the car was being consumed. Ten seconds with the big hose and the show was over.

After waiting for the OPP to take statements from gentlemen numbers one and two, I finally gave mine, and roughly 90 minutes after the incident, I crossed the highway again, to Katherine, who had been waiting patiently in the van with Rudi.

"I guess thats why I stop" I said, as I started the van, pulled onto the road, and headed, albeit rather late now, for home. As I looked back to the left, to the scene, The OPP cruiser was still there, along with a couple of other vehicles, and a tow truck was on the shoulder, winching the car out of the ditch. And I can't tell for sure, but I thought I may have glimpsed him, a tall man, dressed in black, stepping back into his car, and driving away emptyhanded.

The Traveller Leaves Emptyhanded - Part 1

So there we were, Katherine and I, with Rudi in the car seat in the back, driving home from the cottage one Sunday afternoon about 4 years ago. A little past Peterborough, we were having a rather lively discussion on why I had to stop and help people at the side of the road, which generally resulted in me being late for something... like dinner for example.

I was part way through my response when I noticed it... It was rather sublime actually, a little green Honda in the oncoming lanes drifted toward the outside shoulder, then lurched toward the median, and then twisted to the outside again, sailing off the shoulder and cartwheeling three times before coming to a rest near a tree.

In the roughly six seconds and 200 metres travelled that this all occurred within, I had begun saying to Katherine "Grab the cellphone and dial 911".

"Why?" she replied, not having seen the car, which was now twisting away from the centre meadian.

"Look over there! That's why!" I replied, as the car had begun its series of three cartwheels over the ditch. By now I had our van on the shoulder, hazards on, slowing to a stop. "911, tell them to send everyone, and that we are just east of the 1/4 Tapley Line!" I yelled as I put the van in park, and headed across the highway to check things out.

After crossing two lanes of traffic in each direction, I arrived at the scene. The car had come to a rest opposite where I had the van parked. It was a crumpled mess, a Honda Prelude station wagon, dark green, laying driver side up. I didn't have a very good feeling about this as I approached, as I had seen at least one occupant tossed around the vehicle as it was cartwheeling, and guessed there was one dead person inside.

As I came closer, another gentleman approached, an older guy who had been following the Prelude. He had pulled over about 50 metres back, and was just walking up the shoulder toward the wreck. I went down, looked in, and saw a man in the front passenger area, injured slightly, calling out "Lee, Lee, Lee!"

It appeared he was calling for his driving companion, a young lady who was now wedged between the rear seatback on the passenger side, with her upper body in the rear seat compartment, and her legs in the storage area of the station wagon. It amazes me to this day, but her body had somehow become stuffed in the space between the side of the seatback and the wall of the car, barely a half inch space at best. She was unconcious, but I could barely make out her breathing and moving; fortunately she wan not dead.

Holy shit. That was pretty much all I could think. Not the standard variety of holy shit though, more of "this is quite amazing" version. A second man had joined the first. "Are they dead?" he asked. What an optimist! I laughed, and replied that they weren't, but we might have to get them out. The first gentleman replied he had been following them, and saw the whole thing happen, that the vehicle seemed to lose control and veer right, then left to the median, and then off the road - exactly what I saw.

We all returned to the car, and I spoke to the gentleman inside to calm him, that we would get him out, and that an ambulance was on the way (or so I hoped!) It was at this moment that a fire burst out in the engine compartment. Time was now an issue, and we would have to get both he and his passenger out before emergency vehicles arrived.

Three or four more people had arrived now, and the second gentlemant to arrive produced a fire extinguisher. "My wife bought it for me last month." he said, but added that he was having difficulty getting its tab release to work. I asked if he had ever used one, and he replied no, so I suggested he hand it to me. Sure enough, the safety release tab had broken off, and the nozzle could not be depressed, rendering the unit non-functional. By now the engine fire was cooking up nicely, flames licking four feet in the air.

"Where did she pick this up?" I asked.

"Wal-Mart" he replied. I burst out laughing. At that moment, a kid approached and asked if he could help. "Yes" I immediately replied. "You see that van across the highway? you have 30 seconds to get over there and get the fire extinguisher, inside the sliding door. Do everyone here a favour and DO NOT get run down!"

He trotted off; thankfully traffic was light, and slowing to pass the scene. Several younger guys had just helped the driver out of his window, but the girl in the back was still pinned, motionless.

"Here it is Sir!" The kid was back with my fire extinguisher. The engine fire was large now, and flaming out from the open engine compartment and left wheel well, licking 10 feet into the air.

"Okay Sir." I said to the gentleman who brought the first useless extinguisher, "When you arrive at a scene like this, it's best to bring proper equipment, like this Garrison extinguisher....bought at Canadian Tire." I deadpanned, then pulled the clip, and aimed, depressing the trigger firmly.

'Fllloooofffffffff' is the only way I can describe the rather pathetic manner in which dry chemical extinguishers release their contents. The stuff doesn't shoot out, It kind of splurts out, anemically. Three seconds and half the contents of my extinguisher later the fire was out.

About 20 people were now near enough to be considered helping out, including at least half a dozen younger men. "Okay gentleman, you have two minutes, rip that door off and get her out!"

(to be continued)