On the way to my chiropractor last night I passed an accident scene.
I must have arrived fairly soon after the accident; paramedics, firefighters and the police had arrived on the scene. More were coming up and down both sides of the highway to help.
As I inched my way past the scene, my stomach fell. They car had gone down a huge hill (at least 20 feet) and had obviously rolled many times. The windshield was cracked, all the doors were thrown open in the impact. Paramedics and helping pedestrians were standing in the field, with greenery up to their chests. The paramedics were carrying body supports, looking for the bodies of the people who were in the car.
I don't talk about this much, very few of my friends even know of this... I have this... um... "gift." I don't necessarily consider it a "gift" and it is not very useful. It is actually more a burden.
But as I passed it, all I could think of was how they needed to find the man before he died. The woman was already gone.
I've been worried about him since that happened; this morning he is in critical condition in a local hospital. The woman was dead on the scene.
And I feel guilty.
I realize there is nothing I could have done to prevent this (that's not how "it" works), and given my broken foot I couldn't have helped find anyone had I decided to pull over (and I almost did).
Anytime I have one of these "episodes" I feel guilty (unless it concerns someone being pregnant, then it's a good thing); but everytime it happens I have "it" when it is too late -- too late to prevent a miscarriage, too late to prevent the cancer, too late because someone has already passed.
And "being too late" all the time is heartbreaking.