My Life Saved; Waiting To Find Out Why
LC Van Savage
Are you amazed about how many times we narrowly miss getting killed or dead in some way or other?
Lately, probably because the numbers 7-0 are hovering, Iíve been thinking about how come we escape the Reaper of Great Grimness as often as we do. Well of course there will be that one time when we canít. But, if we miss that Final Bullet does that mean weíre supposed to hang around in order to accomplish something else? Something important? Meaningful? Beneficial?
I donít know about all that, but I do know Iíve had my share of those incidents and Iím always left wondering first, why I didnít get killed off, and secondly, how come I wiggled out of it? And how come I didnít even know I was wiggling?
Iíve had a couple of brushes with death, but I remember my first. I was on the St. Lawrence River visiting a relativeís farm and was out on a dock leaning way out over the water because my small tin yellow boat was floating away from me. Splash, over I went. I recall lying on the bottom of that river, rolling around and looking up at the sky through the clear water. Finally, right through that water, I saw a farm worker lean over, look at me, frown, reach down and haul me out. His name was Grant and he was clearly annoyed at the bother. He took off my pink bathrobe, wrung it out and made me put it back on. Ugh. When I noticed my black patent leather Mary Janes were soaked and I complained, Grant told me I was not a very grateful little girl and hauled me off, roughly as I recall, to a relative.
Hey Grant, thanks. Really. Because of you Iíve had 60 + really great years, experiences and family stuff, but I still canít figure why I was wandering around on a dock on the St. Lawrence River in a pink bathrobe and Mary Janes. But thanks again, Grant. Wherever you are.
And then there was that morning when I was walking to school and began to cross a street behind a big blue bread truck. Yes, Iím old enough to have seen bread trucks cruising neighborhoods. Ice trucks too.
So anyway, I crossed behind it and I heard a man across the street yelling really loudly and I remember wondering why he was making such a scene, waving his arms about the way he was, and bellowing. I mean honestly. Some people.
And then bam! I felt this huge, hard heavy thing smash into my side and yes, it was that blue bread truck I was walking behind to cross the street. He was backing into me, never saw me and it really was my fault. Back then trucks didnít have those incessant beeping things they have today when they back up which are really good indeed if a truckís driver has no clue youíre behind it, but really maddening if you live near a construction site.
Well anyway, the guy in the bread truck took off and the man across the street stared at me and when he saw I was upright and had dropped nary a book, he sauntered off and I went on my way to school, battered but happily undead.
So thanks man across the street. Because of you Iím enjoying a great life. But still, oh I donít know, how come I didnít drown in the St. Lawrence River? Or get flattened by the big blue bread truck? How come Grant and across-the-street man were where they were, when I was where I shouldnít have been? I sure donít know, but if I was spared for some mysterious reason, well, Iím still here and waiting to discover whatever it is Iím destined to do. So --- what do you suppose that is?
Click on author's byline for
Hear LC on "Senior Moment" with Dave Wilkinson,
WBOR, 91.1 FM
Weds. 1-1:30 PM
or on http://www.sturdorgs.bowdoin.edu/wbor/index.html.