Regina’s Writings: Is It Really That Important?

by M. Regina Cram

My daughter and I were late for my mother’s birthday celebration As we hurried through a remote area in frigid temperatures, we came upon a stalled car facing the wrong direction. The driver’s door hung open, and long blond hair dangled as if someone was slung backwards across the seat.

I sprinted to the car, where I found a teenage girl, screaming and incoherent except to cry, “Don’t tell my parents!” The car smelled of smoke from the airbag.

I calmed the young driver, flagged a motorist to call 911, then ran across the icy intersection to a badly damaged second car. Through shattered glass, I could see two people inside. The driver’s door was jammed, so I pried open the passenger door. The woman inside nearly fell out, held in place by only her seat belt. Her face was ghoulish in color. When I checked for a pulse, she slowly opened her eyes, but they seemed vacant.

The teenage victim became hysterical again, then passed out. Bystanders carried her to their car, where they covered her with a jacket and stayed with her until paramedics arrived. Police and ambulances screamed in the distance. Sometimes the girl cried out in pain. The other victims were eerily quiet.

My daughter and I lingered to provide what little information we could. Then we drove away, but not before I hugged my daughter tight. Suddenly, a lot of things didn’t matter anymore. The accident reminded me, once again, of the fragility of life.

Such a simple lesson. Why is it so hard to remember?

My thoughts transported me to a muggy July day years earlier. I’d begun the day as a young, healthy woman. By nightfall, I lay unconscious in an ICU, gasping for breath after a crisis had interrupted my ordered world. Oxygen deprivation caused brain damage. They said I wouldn’t survive the night.

And yet I did survive, and when I opened my eyes, I was not the same. The injuries had changed my body, but the experience changed my heart. Dangling close to death does that. It’s not as though one can return to ordinary life as if nothing happened.

I began making small changes. I frequently ask myself, if I were going to die tomorrow, what words of gratitude would I speak? What reconciliation would I bring about? What’s keeping me from doing these things anyway?

Is it really necessary to fuss about petty things? Do I need to holler at a waitress, or demand that a coach give my kid more playing time? Is it truly that important?
I think about these things, and I pray God will give me the grace to live according to what’s truly important. I pray I’ll speak words of encouragement more liberally and silence words of harm.

I never learned what happened to the people in that car accident. I hope I made a difference in their lives. I know they made a difference in mine.