I got into a car accident last night. Nothing serious. But technically it could have been a hit and run. I was stopped at stop sign when I saw a red pick up truck with a horse trailer attempt to make a pretty tight turn. It didn’t turn out well for my new minivan. The driver destroyed driver-side part of my car and obliterated the alignment of my car. I laid on the horn but it didn’t matter … she was in a rush. I was furious, after all I had my three-year-old in the back seat who, at this point, was in tears. I was able to follow her about a half mile down the street to the animal hospital in my hometown. I called the police and eventually confronted the driver. Why didn’t you stop after you hit my car? The answer was a simple denial that she had not hit me at all. My heart started to pound. But I kept cool.
Eventually the town police arrived and the campus police of the animal hospital where she was taking her horse were talking to her. In the moment I truly thought the person who hit me was mentally ill. That something must be so off that they would deny all the scratches on her trailer, the screeching of metal on metal, the sound of my horn.
What I came to learn was that she was rushing her horse to the animal hospital and that ultimately the horse would not make it. “An old horse” the campus police said at Tufts Animal Hospital. She was so engulfed in her grief that I believe she didn’t realize she had hit my car … not that I excuse her … but now I can rationalize it.
This moment hits me as a reminder that we don’t know other people’s lives, we don’t know their pain, their sorrows or even their triumphs. It reminds me that two different people can have polar opposite experiences to the same experience.