Florence

I’ve always prided myself on being a safe driver.

The only time I’d gotten into a car accident was when I had my learner’s permit. I backed Nana’s Grand Marquee into something in her garage and busted out one of the taillights. With some elbow grease and a few hours on a Saturday afternoon, it was as good as new.

No one was more surprised than I when my 2002 Honda Civic, Florence, was sideswiped by an 18-wheeler on US-29 South in Danville, barely an hour into a five-hour road trip from Central Virginia to Upstate, South Carolina.

The cabin of the truck scraped the driver’s side of Florence, and we spun out, rolled, and landed right-side up on the shoulder, nary a scratch on us. The only blood drawn was from my husband nicking his finger on some broken glass while helping me out of the car. The same couldn’t be said for poor Florence—her body was mangled and broken beyond repair.

Florence in the junkyard after the accident – my in-laws were kind enough to get everything out of the car for us while we were being evaluated at the hospital

I had been doing everything right. I’d checked my mirrors, kept to the 65-mile-per-hour speed limit, and stowed my phone in one of the cupholders to avoid distraction. Only staying home could have prevented the accident.

Before the hit-and-run in December of 2019, I never worried about the trip to and from South Carolina. I would hop in the car after a full day of classes and drive straight through, only stopping at Sheetz in Greensboro to grab a large black coffee and stretch my legs. I’d never been in a collision with another vehicle, so I didn’t worry about getting into a crash—not the way I do now.

For the first couple of years after the accident, I would have nightmares in the weeks leading up to trips. Even thinking about driving on interstates and highways made me sweat, and I would arrive at my parents’ house shaking, tense, and frustrated. Trips home came with a five-hour torture session each way.

Many people who have experienced trauma say that if they had the choice, they wouldn’t change their experiences because they helped them become who they are today. Surely, that can be true. But I’m not at a point in my life where I can say the same.

If I could go back in time and stop us from going on that trip or tell us to leave earlier or later to avoid the accident, I would. It has taken years for me to rebuild my driving confidence, and I still struggle with road trip anxiety, even though I have made the trip dozens of times without incident.

Maybe I’ll get to the point where I don’t want to change things, but I’m not there yet. I still miss my Civic (especially the gas mileage), being able to take trips without anxiety, and feeling confident in my ability to get somewhere safely.

Even so, I recognize there is always something to be grateful for or a lesson to be learned.

The most obvious thing to be grateful for was that we weren’t injured more severely in the accident. Aside from some whiplash and a minor concussion on my part, we were fine. No broken bones, no bleeding, no disfigurement. It was the best-case scenario given the circumstances—David vs. Goliath, Florence vs. Mack.

Several months after the accident, we received a couple of nice-sized insurance payouts for our pain and suffering that allowed us to pay off our student loans. 

Some days, I think the accident was a blessing in disguise, but more than anything, it realized a common proverb: life can change in the blink of an eye—for better or for worse.

The accident probably only lasted a few seconds from the moment of impact to when we stopped on the side of the road. But that sliver of time when the world was spinning and the car was rolling felt like an eternity. I remember the roof collapsing over my head, feeling the pressure of my skull rolling across the pavement as the car overturned. 

In those few seconds, my life didn’t flash before my eyes. The life I hadn’t yet lived did.

I was afraid of dying, of being paralyzed, or of losing my new husband. I was more terrified in those few seconds than I have ever been in my life. 

Every time I get behind the wheel of my car, I think about the accident—how quickly control can be ripped away. I don’t know if I will ever be at peace with what happened on that cold December day, but I am grateful for the chance to keep living. To experience the life I hadn’t yet lived. 

Florence serving as our getaway car on our wedding day — my dad and brother got her repainted for me as a wedding gift