What happens, when we die, suddenly, unexpectedly? And, why would I ask?

Thursday, June 18th, we 'escaped' to Monterey for the day. David had recently retired from 43 years of working construction, 4 am to God knows when. It was a reality shock, and quite a treat, for us to simply, on a weekday, decide to take off for the day and go see the world.

Off we go, only to find a tool sale in Gustine. Golly gee, can't pass that up! Drew calls, we talk about arranging the pickup of his motorcycle, he puts Jena on who requests I mail her California driver's license to Germany after all. I said I could mail it tomorrow as we would be gone most the day. My mind says, quietly, to myself, "Will you be able to mail it, will you have a tomorrow, because of the accident?" WHAT accident? Ok, paranoia is setting in here, stop being an idiot. It doesn't feel like a doomsday thought. Back on the road.

Pacheco Pass makes me sick to my stomach. Give me my old 82 Supra and a windy road, and look out. What IS going on here? I feel like I ate gravel out of the driveway or someone has whacked me in the stomach with a baseball bat. About two miles before Casa De Fruita, traffic comes to a dead stand still, so quickly that David puts on his hazard lights to warn the cars behind us. Someone has, in his grand words, done something stupid. Never, never, never, in thirty years of traveling this road, have I seen this. An hour later at 5 mph we reach Casa de Fruita, hearing traffic advisories along the way. A car has driven under a semi, and they expect the mess to be cleared by 6 pm. Yikes. It's only 1 pm. One of the clerks at Casa de Fruita saw the incident on her way into work, including the tarp they used to cover the scene. That means this was very messy. Joy. We decide to charge on. After all, where do we have to be?

Passing the scene will live in my heart and mind forever. The semi remained in the center meridian, the small silver car looked like a convertible with it's top up until you realize that is the roof. Torn off. The flash that hit my senses is hard to describe. The ability to see through the car, from the passenger's open (gone) door to the driver's open (gone) door, and the very small amount of space left between the seat and the dashboard started a 'video' that I would replay the entire day - the last moments before the accident, coupled with the literally crushing and fleeting moments of alertness after while rescue teams simply cannot act fast enough. I tried to digest the onslaught to no avail, as we somberly passed the scene and continued on our way towards Monterey.

In May, a long long time ago, we were in a car accident. Someone wanted our lane worse than we did, and took it, hitting us head on in what was about a 50 mph accident. No one was hurt, Chris's beloved Isuzu Rodeo was totalled, but the memory of those seconds can be replayed in my head any time I want, if I wanted. This was identical, but the memory wasn't mine. It belonged to a girl.

I spent the day sick to my stomach. Every so often, a guy would peek in, as if the driver had been a guy, not a girl. Then, the girl would tug at me again. What a day. Somewhere about midnight I was able to let go enough to sleep, but the 'why/what' haunted me in my sleep and in the days to come.

The next morning, I go surfing to find any news article. The rock in my stomach becomes quite hard to read about three teens, a girl from local Ceres was driving, two guys from local towns of Hughson and Turlock were passengers. The guy from Turlock died at the scene, the others medivacted to San Jose.

Jay agrees I need to talk to someone who knows this a bit better than I do. Christie's mom? Maybe. Why me? What was that for? Why me? Time passes.

I am clear that we are 'given' information in order to be able to change a path, so this event had me puzzled. Had we missed the tool sale, we would have been close enough to have witnessed it, or been involved in the accident, or by being in the lane they wished to be in and prevented it? Should that have happened? Since the tool sale was placed in our path, we were not meant to be at the scene. So, why? Why would I have received anything from a girl I did not know, and so clearly? Strong enough to know I was hearing from a girl, strong enough to know a guy was involved.

Tuesday night, we are wrapping up dinner and getting ready for the nightly hot tub. Wind the cuckoo clock, feed the dogs, cats, rats. I drop my cell phone and it splits open, lights go off, disaster!! Get it on the charger, hope for the best, but plan on a trip to the phone store in the morning. Whoops, make the coffee. My phone rings. Run to the bedroom to get it. Debra? What an odd hour. What are you doing? Out with the girls, what's up? Ok, I'll bite, why ARE you calling, Deb? Cause you just called me! I didn't, I was making coffee. Debra laughs, and again asks, "What's up? Obviously, something is, or this would not have happened."

When someone dies, suddenly, unexpectedly, when disaster on this level happens, a person is not able to comprehend, completely, the entire event, and will send out alarms to hold on to anyone 'listening' in the area.  This not only seems plausible, it is a better theory than anything else I have found, and it fits, to a tee. I am a listener. As Debra put it, you are one of those who are sensitive, and some times it's painful. Call their new guardians, and send them on their way, with love.

It's been an interesting few days, full of questions and very few answers, until tonight. Maybe I was just one of those that hear, in the right place at the right time. New surfing does not provide any new information about the two survivors. I don't even know her name. But, I will be going out to the evening night for some quiet time, alone, and ask who ever is assigned to her, to take her in their arms, guide her, love her, wrap their beings around her, and release her to where ever she has to go. May we all be this blessed.

Oh, and my phone does not show an outgoing call to Debra.

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