Last Thursday, at 5:30 in the morning, there was a terrible car crash on a road about two miles from our house. A car went left of center and hit another head on. One car burst into flames and the driver had to be rescued by a passerby before the rescue personnel arrived. Both drivers were life-flighted to a local trauma hospital where they were listed in serious condition, and, unfortunately, the passenger in the car that was hit did not survive.
Thursday evening I spent some time out in the yard mulching the dahlia garden. As I went to toss a pitchfork of mulch between the plants something caught my eye. At the end of the fork was a toad. I shook it off, dropped the tool and squealed like a little girl as I ran away screeching “I killed a toad!” When I got some nerve to go back and check him out, he was staring at me with his beady little eyes, stunned but apparently okay. He had gotten shoveled up but not stabbed.
I know, I know. What do each of these things have to do with the other? I promise, there is something, at least to me.
After the toad incident I got to thinking about how bothered I was by the thought of killing it. And I began to wonder how the twenty year old driver of the car that went left of center was going to feel when he woke up in the hospital to find out he had killed someone with his car. Would he care? How much would it bother him?
Had Himself hit and injured (or worse) one of those dogs he would have been beside himself. I would have been crushed knowing that I speared that toad. I’m sure it would have kept me awake. But both of those things would have been completely accidental and unforeseen.
How does one feel when they do something that knowingly could be harmful to another and it turns out it is? You see, the state highway patrol reported that alcohol was involved in this accident and the car was stolen.
The women whose dogs were running loose wanted us to think if we minded our own business all would be okay. This time it was. But next time?
I'm still wondering, how does he feel?