A Cold Rain

Late November...early December. This darkest time of year always brings a definite feeling of foreboding, my personal ides of March.

A decade ago now, the last year serving as the Commander of a rural municipal emergency medical services department, a fall and winter of horrific motor vehicle crashes and attending to the dying, friends and neighbors, teenagers the same age as mine at that time, and the soul-shaking aftermath. It's strange how some experiences that would make most people faint with shock don't leave as much of a mark as some small, seemingly insignificant events do. And while most of the sad stories involved patients who were also residents of our small town, others were just as sad stories about total strangers, who fell asleep while driving home from a night at the casino, or were taken down while on that last ride on the Harley before winter set in for good. I can close my eyes and hear the rescue radio crackling with the dispatcher's desperate-sounding updates on the awaiting carnage, the wail of the sirens, running toward the crumpled wreckage, the body in the road.

And now, three days every week, I drive past too many ghosts, and I haven't forgotten. I think of the victims, the maimed, the friends and family, and my comrades...one of them, my husband, who understands.

So lest we forget, my dear friends and readers: your life or the life of a loved one might be shorter than what you've planned. So love deeply and fully, make sure every moment is special, even the most mundane moments. Appreciate what you have and this holiday season, leave petty grievances and useless worries behind. Because you never know what is around the bend.