Last night, while driving home from Newark Airport, my car crossed three lanes, spun around once or twice and slammed into a concrete barrier.
The car was totaled
I walked away unscathed.
I hate cliche—but here’s cliche. I sit here, in front of my computer, counting my blessings, holding my kids extra tight, looking at my wife with unparalleled love and appreciation, smelling the occasionally foul, oft-beautiful scent that is life.
This was the closest I’ve ever come to death, and it scared me. The old line is right—everything moves in extreme slow motion when you’re involved in something like this. As I sat spinning, wondering whether an 18-wheeler was about to end me, I heard a momentary voice say, “You’ll be OK.” I don’t think it was God or Jesus or Berenyi. I think it was me, knowing/believing/hoping that somehow it wasn’t my time.
Man.
