Coming home last night, you'd have thought I had come upon a war zone. In a way, I had.
A horrible — and I mean horrible — accident had backed up traffic for miles along New Jersey's Route 78: a jackknifed truck, an all but completely crushed SUV and another car — its backend almost sheared away. Rescue workers were frantically trying to extricate whoever clung to life in its shell.
All of this happening but a few miles from another horrific multi-vehicle disaster only hours earlier: a huge semi loaded with bricks, trying to avoid traffic, topples over killing four people, including a mom and dad just returning from vacation and their 2-year-old little girl.
Another accident occurred just the other day when I was in Florida: a woman, apparently very confused, was driving the wrong way on the interstate. She killed herself and the driver of the other car unlucky to fall in her path.
So fast. So sudden. So few of us think when we leave for work in the morning we might not be returning that night.
But things change. Wrong place. Wrong time. Then, no more time.
Families who just celebrated vacations together, are now planning funerals. A 4-year-old girl, no doubt once laughing in the back seat with her parents, now clings to life without her parents.
I know nothing I'm saying here is profound — just jarring. Like a journey home that goes horribly wrong. Or a young woman whose bearings go horribly bad.
Now just twisted metal wreckage for slowing traffic to ponder and me to wonder, they didn't even have a chance to say goodbye.
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