What surviving a car accident taught me about life

A long time ago, I was a passenger in a car accident. I remember every second of the lead-up to impact: the awareness of the cataclysmic gravity of the situation; the overwhelming panic; the suffocating impotence of not being able to do a single thing to stop it.

I found a certain peace, like the one I experienced in that accident, that has never left me. Credit: ISTOCK

Then, you know what happened? What I remember most clearly? Once I realised that I couldn’t do a single thing to stop what was about to happen, I became overwhelmingly calm, tranquil even. Seconds felt like slow-motion minutes. And it was beautiful. True peace. I gave myself over to fate.

Obviously, I survived. But those moments are etched in my mind forever, a lesson I don’t want to forget.

I recalled this incident recently to a new friend of mine, a woman in her early 40s who is doing what most single women without children of that age do – obsessing about babies.

She is weighing up all her options, but at the same time says her intuition tells her no, motherhood’s not for her. But what if she has regrets? What if she wakes up one day and believes she missed her mission in life? It’s a rough emotional ride. I know. I’ve been there.

My friend asked me how I made the decision, how I got through the biological pull and hormonal hell. And my answer was that I didn’t. I just kept flagellating myself until, one day, I was told I was heading into menopause. It was no longer an option. The decision had been taken out of my hands.

I see so many of us trying to control everything in our lives – and I am no exception – when the ride of life is a rodeo, not a trot.

WENDY SQUIRES

At first, I was shocked, my mortality magnified. But gradually – and it didn’t take long – I grew lighter. The psychological weight lifted from my shoulders was profound. I found a certain peace, like the one I experienced in that accident, that has never left me. It was time for me to get on with my life. (I have no regrets, by the way. You don’t miss what you never had.)

I see so many of us trying to control everything in our lives – and I am no exception – when the ride of life is a rodeo, not a trot. As the Stones sang, you can’t always get what you want. Fate has other ideas and there is solace to be found in accepting that as fact.

When my mother was dying – when she had accepted her fate – I had never seen her so calm, content even. She was warm, honest and open. And funny. Even when the pain was at its worst, she would see us by her bedside, light up, and clap her hands for the merriment to commence.

She had the choice to spend her last days angry with her lot and frightened about the end. But she knew minutes were to be embraced, cherished and celebrated. They were precious and not to be wasted. There was nothing she could do to change her circumstances and so she made the most of her final moments. I watched on with unwavering respect and gratitude.

A goddaughter of mine recently passed her law degree. But damn, in the lead-up to the results being released, she was a neurotic mess. Of course, I understood her angst. Big time. She’d worked so bloody hard. Her future was at stake. But I tried to tell her that nothing further could be done, that she couldn’t change the outcome, that she should enjoy some peace while she can.

Another friend has just put his mother into a retirement home. Riddled with guilt, he was self-flagellating at my place before moving her, running through all the options once again. However, the reality was always the same. His mother couldn’t look after herself any longer. Doctors insisted she got 24-hour care. She wasn’t safe in her home. But still, he beats himself up.

My only advice to him was to spend time with her, console her, love her, but also take a breath. She is being cared for. Others now have the baton. He can and should rest a little easier. The decision is now not his, but fate’s.

And so, I am giving myself the same advice as I grow older. I look in the mirror and lament the sags, bags, wobbly bits (my eyelids look like a basset hound’s). But I’m also keeping a lid on my vanity and the temptation to tinker, to try to control the process. Que sera, sera has never made more sense. Ageing is a gift, and like all things worthwhile, it comes with a caveat. Just as life comes with death, living comes with ageing. I can’t change nature, so why beat myself up trying?

This doesn’t mean I won’t do my best to make the most of myself. But the truth is, I can only do my best. The rest is out of my control. I can either dwell on futility or get on with my future. I choose the peaceful option.

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