Dear Mr. D.,
I would ask how you are, but this would imply that I care. You see, you have absolutely no idea how I am, two and a half years after you carelessly slammed your car into mine. Did you notice how the trunk wound up in the back seat? Huh? Did you happen to see the way I was driven off in an ambulance?
But, as far as you are concerned, you have no idea how these past few years have been for me. All you know is that your insurance company is going to pay me a paltry sum of money, and my medical bills will barely be covered, all because you were horribly underinsured.
I still wonder why in the world you hit me. I remember (vividly) seeing your black car approaching in my rearview mirror. I remember thinking (since I was stopped), why isn't that car slowing down? Oh my gosh, it looks like it is going to hit me. Oh my god.
And, at that moment of realization, I still didn't really believe that it was about to happen. I still believed that, somehow, there was not going to be an impact.
And now, Mr. D., I am in such unbelievable pain, that I am pretty much going insane. My life and my work revolve around whether or not I can get out of bed each morning -will my back cooperate today, or will it need bedrest, pain killers, and ice packs?
Has your life been affected in such a way? I highly doubt it.
I wish I was at a point where I could forgive you. I am not yet there. In fact, it could be due to the fact that you have not asked for forgiveness. I wish I could be like those victims on the news who bravely say, "I forgive the (murderer... abuser... robber...)." I guess I am not that kindhearted at this point. Nope - still too angry.
And then there are my poor friends and family members who have to put up with my constant complaining, my aches and pains, my tears as I try to figure out a way to feel more comfortable. I am endlessly grateful to them for their patience and love. But I wouldn't have to rely on them so much if it wasn't for the careless way in which you drove into my car on that afternoon so long ago, Mr. D.
I guess I won't ever know why you hit me - I won't ever know if it was because you were on the cellphone, or changing channels on the radio, were drunk, or just stupid. In the end, I don't know that it matters, because the outcome is the same. I am forever changed, because of a split-second of absolute, irrevocable stupidity on your part.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Dear Mr. D.,