I am driving on the Deerfoot, a super-fast eight lane highway that spans north to south ends of the city. It is 8am. The temperature is -23 Celsius with a 10 degree windchill factor. It is cold. Very, very cold
I am driving below the speed limit. It is icy. Treacherous. Blowing snow. Speeding cars. Upset mother. Bad combination.
I breathe.
It is only moments since the phone call broke through my reverie as I poured myself a second cup of coffee in the warmth of my kitchen.
It is my youngest daughter, Liseanne. “I crashed my car on the Deerfoot,” she cried. And I fly into action.
C.C., who had been sleeping soundly, jerked upright at the noise of my searching for clothes to throw on. “What? What? What’s happening?”
Liseanne crashed, I cry out. I gotta go.
Do you need me to come? he asked.
What? Come with me? No. Yes. No. I don’t know. I gotta go.
And I race from the house. My mind wants to leap into that place of horror. Where what happened is magnified through the glass of what could have happened if…
Stop it. I tell myself. Drive. Safely.
The sun is rising. Ice fog dances in the air.
Breathe.
My cell phone rings. I answer it. Handsfree. It’s C.C.
Drive carefully, he says.
You should have come with me, I cry back.
You didn’t give me a chance, he says. You were gone before I even really had a chance to get my eyes open.
He’s right. But being reasonable isn’t high on my list.
I hang up and focus on my driving. My mind still wants to veer over into the lane of disaster. I bring it under control. It steers me back over the line. “Remember all those stories of people being hit on the highway when their car broke down? Remember all those…”
Stop it. Focus. Concentrate. Drive.
I see the towtruck lights flashing.
I slow down.
Pull over onto the median in front of my daughters car. It is stopped, snug against the guardrail. From the front, it doesn’t look like too much damage. I throw on my flashers. Get out. Walk back towards her, hugging the guardrail as close as I can. The snow is deep. the traffic close and fast. Good thing I put on my snowboots, my mind whispers.
I am walking on the Deerfoot. Cars are whizzing by. It is cold. Noisy. Terrifying.
I check on Liseanne and her boyfriend Ryan who she was driving to the airport for an early flight to Vegas when the accident happened.
I couldn’t see, she cries from where she is boxed in behind the driver’s wheel. Her door is fast up against the guardrail. We’ll later discover she’s lost both door handles, her side mirror and put a huge gash in the driver’s door. “I turned the heat vents onto the side windows to clear them,” she cried, “And snow blew up onto my windshield and froze. I couldn’t see.”
We’re okay, Ryan tells me. “She’s a good crasher,” he jokes. “Kept the car straight. Didn’t panic. Didn’t lose control.”
I am grateful.
I walk back to speak to the two-truck driver who is sitting in the warmth of his vehicle.
Cars whizz by. Nobody slows down. It’s the law, my mind says. It’s the law. I want to wave my fists at them. To scream out, Slow down! You’re threatening the life of my baby girl. Slow down!
And nobody slows down. I ask Scott, the tow-truck driver who was first to arrive on scene, if they ever do. Slow down. As required. By law.
He laughs what wasn’t really a laugh, more a ‘you got to be kidding?’ kind of snort. Never. He replied. I guess they just don’t get there are people’s lives at risk.
He suggests I go sit in my daughters car while we wait for the second two-truck to arrive. The one that can tow her away. “I’m the rover,” he tells me. “I was just a few minutes behind when it happened. But I can’t tow her off. We need the other truck to do that so I can stay on post. You should go sit in the car. He’ll be here soon.” He must see how I don’t want to go inside. How I want to scream at traffic to slow down because he adds, kindly. “It’s okay. I’ll stay back here and keep her safe.”
And he does. As does Mike who arrives fifteen minutes later to hook up Liseanne’s car. He walks along the shoulder seemingly oblivious to the traffic speeding by. I tell him how grateful I am. How thankful for his and Scott’s presence. “How do you do this?” I ask him. “It feels so dangerous.”
He shrugs. Smiles. “I like to help people.”
I am grateful.
It was a rollercoaster morning. But all is well.
Ryan got a cab to the airport. Liseanne had her car towed to our front driveway where it joins her other car that she’s been meaning to dispose of since she bought this one five months ago. When I call to tell C.C. where the car is being delivered to, he laughs. “Maybe we should start a used car sales lot,” he jokes.
I come home. Make Liseanne tea. Wrap her up in blankets and hold her.
She’s okay.
And I thank God. The stars and moon and sky above. I thank the universe, Mike and Scott, who, when it was time for me to go back to my car and drive home said, “I’ll walk you to it to make sure you’re safe,” and who then put himself on the side of the traffic as he walked me to my car. Thank you. And I thank the wisdom of the system that knows to have tow truck drivers roving the highway.
But I do not thank the drivers who whizzed by. They could have killed someone.
Dare Boldly 
Glad your baby and her man were safe – being a mum is such hard work, the worry and need to protect does me in constantly 🙂
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A happy ending, thank God!
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Oh my gosh – you scared me to death – you need to tell the outcome first – kind of like the way you read books…….Thank goodness Liseanne and Ryan are okay…….what a scare. Give her a huge hug from me.
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Now Jane… I may read the ending of stories first, but once a story-teller, always a story-teller and keeping the ending ’til the end just heightens the anticipation of a good ending 🙂 — sorry for scaring you.. And yes, thankfully they are both okay. Hugs to you too!
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So happy Liseanne is ok and so are you….I am grateful like you for the kindness of strangers…and friends. xo
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Thank you Misifusa! I really appreciate your presence and your light on this path. And… I also appreciate the thoughtfulness of your sending me a card! Thank you 🙂
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You are most welcome! Enjoy! Hugs
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Here when there is an accident cars usually slow down just to have a look, and yes I am one of them. I am glad your daughter is ok and wasn’t hurt during the accident. I hate drviing in bad weather.
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Written from the core of a mother’s heart, I am grateful for the tow truck drivers, and for the universe that put there where you needed them most, and Lizanne is grateful for a mother who cares and comes when she is needed. Blessed are the children who have mothers that care!
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Thank you Josie — yes, I am grateful that she knows she can call me, anytime, anywhere and I will come. Blessings.
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I am thankful you are all safe. Fear for our children is a unique emotion that is fierce in its intensity. It doesn’t end when they are three, thirteen or thirty. Such is a parent’s love.
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So true Jennifer — and the ferocity is all consuming. I hope you and your family had a blessed Christmas. Hugs.
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Don’t they put flares out? And here, the State Troopers will cut the lanes of traffic to keep the tow truck with a free lane while they’re getting a car out. (Alaska, so I’m all too familiar with the road conditions you describe.)
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Hi SueAnne — they do if it’s a serious accident, but this was a one car event that didn’t require ambulance or police so they don’t. Given the highway though, you’re right — it would be wise and safer to do so! Thanks 🙂
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This definitely makes me remember the goodness of a select few when I rolled my car on Glenmore 10 years ago. The random guy who stopped and called 911, the emergency team that showed up in what seemed like hours and was really seconds after and the friends that raced back to second cup because not everyone had cell phones 10 years ago (can you believe?). And then the way my mom probably did exactly the same thing to get out of the house. Crazy times. Reliving that is a scary as hell.
Glad everyone is ok though, and give Lise a hug!! I know what she is going through!
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Thanks so much Aaron — and I’m so glad you’re okay too. Two drivers stopped when it happened to make sure they were okay — strangers are amazing! (I’ll tell Liseanne to come in and visit you — I’m sure you’ll cheer her up with something yummy! 🙂 )
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So glad Liseanne, Ryan and you are safe! I agree thoroughly that tow truck drivers are heroes, they make a big difference. I cannot imagine the risks they go through each day, and I hope this blog reaches the people who fail to slow down for them on the roads. God bless you all!
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Me too Sarah!
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So glad all concerned, including you, are safe.
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Thanks Maureen.
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Oh my gosh Louise. As I started to read your blog, my heart did flip/flops or whatever it does when something frightful happens. I read quickly as I wanted to know how Liseanne and Ryan were and were they OK. Thank goodness they are both well and neither was hurt. Please give Liseanne the very biggest of hugs from me, her auntie, who loves her very much. Hopefully your nerves and those of Liseanne & Ryan are calm today. Love, Jackie
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Hugs Jackie — now… if only you could get your husband to remember to tell you these things when he hears of them! 🙂
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