It was one of those beautiful spring days. I had traveled into downtown Baltimore with a group of colleagues. We were spending the afternoon doing service at the Toolbank—partly a service opportunity and partly team-building.
When we formed carpools that morning at the office, I offered to give three of my coworkers a ride in my minivan. I wanted to have my own transportation because our seventh-grader had a concert that night, and I needed to be there.
Everyone loves a minivan—or at least my carpool crew did. Most of the way down the Jones Falls Expressway we were chatting about the joys of minivan life.
We arrived at the Toolbank, and I found a place to park. We climbed out of the car and headed inside for a pizza lunch and instructions. We started our work, and I volunteered to inspect utility knives. This is apparently not my skillset, and I had only checked a few when one of my colleagues came to find me.
“Rita, there’s a man here who says he hit your car.”
Now, if you’ve been following along here, you might know that I just had another accident earlier this year. We just got the van fixed.
I greeted the driver, and we walked outside together to see my van. I hoped it would just be a scratch or a dinged bumper. Nope. Part of the side of the car was gone. I could see the gas tank. The tire was flat—and looked damaged. And the van wasn’t where I had left it. It had been pulled 10 or 15 feet down the street.
It turned out that the driver had been driving a tractor-trailer. He was trying to turn into a parking lot across the street to make a delivery when the flatbed ripped into the side of our van.
He was kind and apologetic. I was completely stunned.
When I could speak, I called the police and my insurance company. I texted my husband and sent him some photos. He called and we talked about the damage.
My co-workers all wanted to know how they could help. My boss quickly befriended the friendly employees at the pipe and steel supply business across the street. They gave her a flash drive containing a video of the entire accident.
My coworkers finished the service activity, said goodbye, and headed out. My supervisor stayed behind to wait with me for the police and the tow truck, and to give me a ride home.
As the afternoon melted away, I was nervous about making it home in time for my son’s band concert that night. Would the police come in time? Would the tow truck driver ever arrive? But they both did. The police officer did a full report and told me, “Hold onto that video for the rest of your life.” The tow truck driver came while the police officer was there and took the van to the same body shop that repaired it earlier this spring. The woman who called from the body shop saw my information come in, remembered me, and called to make sure I was all right.
No one was hurt. Everyone was so very kind and supportive. If your minivan is going to get hit by a tractor-trailer, I suppose this is the best possible situation.
As I was thinking back on the day, I was realizing the accident happened on the Feast of the Visitation. That’s the day we remember our Blessed Mother’s visit to her cousin Elizabeth, and how St. John the Baptist—in utero—recognizes Jesus in Mary’s womb.
It’s one of my favorite feasts and a beautiful reminder of how we can connect with others on many levels. I love thinking of how you can know Christ is in someone else even when you might not be able to see him.
I’m obviously not happy that my van was damaged—and that I don’t know whether I’ll be able to drive it again. It is the newer of our two cars and not the one we were thinking of replacing anytime soon. I love my minivan. But it’s just a car. Cars can be fixed. If necessary, cars can be replaced. I don’t know what the next chapter of this story is.
Still, as I look back on how the events unfolded, I am so grateful for the people who accompanied me through that day. It’s easy to see God in their actions and their presence. He was with me in so many ways.
Thanks to them, I made it home in time to feed my family hastily-ordered Chinese takeout and get to the band concert. What a gift in every way.
Copyright © 2023 Catholic Review Media
