How a Car Wreck Left me Homeless

“Were you the one who called 911?” The officer asked as he approached, mask on, pen and notepad in hand. “Yeah, I’m the one who called,” I responded, still slightly in shock that I almost didn’t notice the tears streaming down my face. I had never been in a car accident before, never with me behind the wheel anyway. I’ve seen many as an EMT and I always responded just the way an EMT should; calm, controlled, focused, concerned for the patient’s health and safety but emotionally detached.

I tried to stay calm, controlled, and focused but there was no stopping the tears. They kept flowing out of me and I couldn’t control them. I tried to gain some semblance of composure as I gave my statement to the officer. He asked if I was hurt or needed an ambulance. I told him no. Other than the shock of the event, I was uninjured and not in need of any medical assistance. Then the officer walked across the street to the other driver to take his statement.

That’s when I looked back at my van, broken down and in pieces, and I lost what little control I was still holding onto. I broke down. I was in pieces. Slumped over with my head in my hands and my turtleneck sweater covering my face so no one would see just how hard I was crying, I dissolved into tears. It just came out of me all at once, the fear of not knowing where I was going to sleep that night or the night after that. The fear that I wouldn’t be able to find a new home that I could afford. Fear left me shaking and sobbing on the sidewalk.

Even as I write this now, 17 hours later, my hands are still shaking and my heart is still beating slightly faster than normal. I am still in shock. From my emergency medical training, I know this reaction is completely normal and to be expected. I just never thought that I would be the one experiencing it. I don’t like this feeling!

I never liked the feeling of being a patient, but I think a lot of people can relate to that. We humans, in general, don’t like the feeling of being out of control. This is especially true for those of us who work in positions where we are expected to be in control at all times.

I was always completely controlled as an EMT, and the various other medical positions I’ve held over the years. That was one of the reasons why I loved working in the medical field so much. Beyond my initial desire to help, care for, and protect others - a calling I’ve had since childhood - I loved working in the medical field because I was good at it. No, scratch that. I was great at it. I always knew exactly what to do to gain control of any situation, ease and treat the patient with confidence and compassion, coordinate with my fellow medical and emergency personnel. I was on top of it, always totally in control. But in that moment my control was ripped out from underneath me and I was left foundationless. Or more accurately, I was left homeless.

It’s scary, to say the least, knowing that in an instant your home can be taken away from you. Without notice, and completely out of my control, my home was destroyed. Not by a natural disaster, unless you consider human error to be a natural disaster. No, my home was taken from me all because of a simple mistake; a mistake that anyone could have made.

“I am so sorry. Are you okay?” The young man said to me after exiting his car and coming right over to check on me. “Yeah, I’m okay,” I responded. After my initial assessment, I was left with the assurance that I had sustained no injuries, nor did my best friend sitting in the passenger’s seat; my dog, Forest. Be it fate, angels, the heavy-duty steel of my old Chevy Astro, or the luck of the one-quarter Irish, Forest and I were both left unharmed.

“I just looked down for a second,” he continued to explain, “and I don’t know what happened. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’re okay?” He seemed so sincere, so genuinely concerned and remorseful. I didn't see it then, but I would later come to realize that we were sharing this moment, he and I. I wonder if he was feeling the same symptoms of shock that I was feeling; heart racing, hands shaking, throat in stomach. I don’t know about you, red-headed boy who crashed into my van and into my life, but my stomach was in such knots that I couldn’t eat a single bite for dinner. My stomach remained entangled in that moment like I was unable to fully unweave myself from the reality of what just happened.

I stood there in a daze, staring at the wreckage that was just moments ago my home now being towed away like a hunk of scrap metal. I was now homeless… if only for the moment.

At first, the towing company told me that they could not allow me to ride with the driver because of Covid. But the driver, a kind young man completely covered in tattoos, said he would allow it given that I didn’t have anyone who could pick me up. My mom lived 50 miles away and wasn’t answering her phone. I called over and over again with no luck. I didn’t know where I was going. I had to tell the tow-truck driver something but I didn’t know what. He finished loading up my van and told me and Forest to hop up in the truck. Then my mom called me back. I answered and immediately started crying again. “My home is gone!” I belted out to my mom over the phone. “I don’t know what to do. It’s completely totalled!” After asking if Forest and I were okay, she offered to let me come stay at her place for the night. So I told the tow-truck driver where we were going, 50 miles south.

About an hour later, we arrived. The driver unloaded my van and I thanked him for his help. He wished me luck and headed off to his next destination. I tried to sort through the rubble of my personal belongings all tossed around in the back of my van. I grabbed a few things; some clothes, toiletries, important documents, my laptop, and all of my notebooks, of course. Everything else would have to wait. My mom and I would come back tomorrow with boxes for the rest. It was late and I was exhausted and emotionally drained. But at least for now, Forest and I were safe and had a home to rest our heads.

As I lay on the couch at my mom’s house, my stomach still in knots and Forest lying at my feet, I couldn’t help but dwell on the trauma of the day. If only I had taken a different street, left a few minutes later or a few minutes earlier, none of this would have happened. It kept replaying in my head, over and over again, until I finally fell asleep.

But dreamland had no desire to let me forget the sorrow of the recent past and the worries of the near future. My sobbing followed me to sleep and found me in a most peculiar place; crying in the arms of the very person that wrecked my van. Why was I dreaming about you, red-headed boy? Why was I hugging you and soaking your shirt in my tears? Why were you being so kind? I should be mad at you. You took my home from me, albeit unintentionally. I wanted to hate you, but I couldn’t. I almost felt sorry for you. We were connected in a way, and somehow that connection soothed me in my dream state. I needed a hug, needed to cry in someone’s arms, and you gave that to me even if it was just a dream.

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