Thoughts after coming close to being a fatality

Many of us have experienced a close call with death. A car just missed hitting our vehicle and plowed into another yards from us. A plane we were supposed to be on crashed. We were present during a mass shooting — an increasingly common occurrence in America.

It’s natural to think, it could have been me.

On Monday afternoon I walked westward through the intersection of Wabash Avenue and Roosevelt Road less than a block from my home. I had just reached the other side when I heard a thud and screams behind me. Turning around, I saw a FedEx truck — with a body pinned underneath. The victim, who died, must have passed me in the crosswalk. If I’d been a few seconds later, I would have been in the spot where the truck struck her. 

We go out to do everyday things in the neighborhood not thinking we might not return. If we live with others, we probably say, “Bye, see you later.” I say that to my cat. The accident victim, identified as Marsha Frankel, 72, lived two blocks away. Her crushed walker or grocery cart and shoe were still at the accident site hours later as the police investigated. Since she was walking toward Michigan Avenue, where she lived, she might have been returning home from an errand.  

I was grateful to be alive, sad about Ms. Frankel, and guilty about feeling blessed when an unlucky person was dead.

Why her and not me?

I started to ponder that question, but I have a problem with thinking that everything happens for a reason. If that were so, God should be held accountable for the bad events as well as the good. I do not believe that a guardian angel pulled strings for me. I do not believe that a less benevolent spirit decided that the poor woman’s time was up. 

Advice I read online proposes that we’re better off not looking for meaning in a traumatic event: “Whether you survive or not, or are injured or unharmed, often comes down to luck and has no deeper meaning. . . . Try to accept what happened and give yourself permission to stop trying to find meaning in what occurred.”

An accident might be defined as being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes accidents are so freakish you wonder how someone could have been so unlucky. Chicagoans, remember when a woman was killed by a chunk that fell off a South Loop church as she walked by? 

I cross the Wabash-Roosevelt intersection multiple times a week to go to the el station, Jewel, Walgreens, and shops farther down Roosevelt. Sometimes I’m just out walking. The morning after the accident, I had to cross there to get to the el. When the walk light came on, I paused for a second or two and looked all around before stepping off the curb. 

I intend to continue to be cautious there. It’s a dangerous corner, with cars, delivery trucks, buses, bicycles, skateboards, and pedestrians converging. I hope the city can do something to make it safer. But accidents can happen anywhere. We can avoid foolish risks, but we can’t guarantee that we’ll never have an accident. But neither should we think it’s only a matter of time before we are in one. Accidents aren’t rational or predictable.

Although I felt extremely unsafe for a time after the incident, my vulnerability hasn’t changed. I am no more or less vulnerable than if I had not gone out that afternoon. I am no more or less vulnerable than anyone else. Having a close call simply reminded me of how vulnerable any human is, how fragile life is. 

If I take any meaning from the close call, it’s to value every day because you never know.