My New Best Friend

Five years ago this month, I was in a car accident that I should not have survived. Thankfully, there are a number of reasons why I did.

First of all, the grace of God. Then there was the quick arrival of the Elma First Responders, the professional training of the ambulance crew, the amazing Erie County Medical Center ER team and ICU staff, and the love, prayers, and support of family and friends who knew of the accident.

All that said, there is one key element from that accident that most essentially kept me alive
My car.

At the time I was driving a Volvo I had purchased in 2006. It was the first new car I’d ever bought on my own, and I was beyond proud. I decided to name her, “Vivvie,” and together we traveled over 100,000 miles across America.

Over the years Vivvie’s body, like mine, became a bit worse-for-wear. There were nicks and dings on her exterior, and her leather seats began creasing and sagging. Still, like a valiant road warrior, she ran whenever and where ever I asked her to go.

I clearly remember the moment of the accident ---the loud explosion of the air bags, the blackness that veiled my vision, the sense of spinning and whirling, all while desperately trying to understand what was happening.

As it turned out, what was happening was that Vivvie was flying across the road, over a ditch, and into a field of grass and pine trees. As for me, I ended up with a cracked sternum, three fractured ribs, head contusions, an assortment of bumps and bruises, and possible heart damage. Then there was my injured knee--- the size of a football---which I was unable to move for five days, no matter how strongly my brain commanded it.

For weeks following the accident, my life revolved around medical appointments, therapy regimens, recovery forecasts, endless insurance forms, and painful conversations about Vivvie. In the beginning I struggled to engage in those discussions. I loved that car and couldn't imagine traveling without her, even though I knew she was totaled in the accident.

Then one day my daughter engaged my sense of curiosity with the statement, "Mom, you should have seen what your car did."
Did?
I definitely valued Vivvie and the road trip adventures we had shared. But even I knew that she (ok...it) was an inanimate object. Why was my daughter suggesting more? Her next words explained.

”When your car finally stopped, the frame was bent over you, mom. It was like it formed itself protectively around you.” Still today, that description touches my heart.

Eventually I bought another car. It was a difficult process, as I was still shaky from the accident, really not ready. But life goes on and I did too. I'm sure you are thinking that I bought another Volvo. Truthfully, I tried, but time and circumstances were not in my favor. I had to get back on the road. Back to my life. So I purchased a car that was the best of the lot at the time.

Fast forward to February of this year, and that "best of the lot" car decided it was done—literally. It quit functioning. Once again, I was in a position where I had to find a car quickly. Only this time, I was healed and able. This time, I was blessed with a friend closely-connected to an area car dealer. This time, I was able to find a Volvo.

Like me this Volvo is not new—-she’s got some miles on her. Yet every time I get behind her wheel I’m comforted by my belief that, should I get into driving trouble again, she will protect me.

Introducing Vonnie, my new best friend.

Day 17 of 17 Days of the High Holy Month: It's the Irish Way

When I began this project, it was out of a sense of sadness over the 25 year anniversary of my mother’s passing. Yet in completing these 17 videos, the storytelling in each one has brought joy and reminded me of the great value family, friendship and traditions. I hope you enjoy this finalvideo that perfectly exemplifies all of those things.

Day 16 of 17 High Holy Month: Experiencing Buffalo’s Valley "Old Neighborhood" Parade Lineup

Since I was born in Buffalo, NY and have lived most my life here, I thought it was time to experience my hometown’s Valley “Old Neighborhood” Patrick’s Day Parade. It is a shortened version of the city’s traditional St. Pat’s Parade and takes place in the First Ward—the cradle of Irish culture and heritage in the Queen City.

For some reason I thought this parade was a long-running Buffalo tradition. However, today while meandering through the pre-parade lineup, and chatting with organizers and participants, I learned this year marks the 25th anniversary of the event. Which means it began the same year my mother passed.

And so this video project comes full circle…..

Day 14 of the 17 Days of the High Holy Month: The Irish Song

In 1999, my daughter and I visited the Emerald Isle on a quest to try and discover members of our family. While there we managed to take part in a walking pub tour in Dublin, It was there I learned this song that I’ve since performed in theaters for many-a-year.

This is a recording of it that was part of a virtual “live mic” performance.
Enjoy!

High Holy Month Project Payoff

Whenever I tackle a project like the 17 Days of the High Holy Month, I spend time wondering if I should, if I can, if anyone will care.

While I am only two days into the creation of these videos, responses to this project---celebrating the High Holy Month and honoring my mother---have already banished all doubts.

It all began yesterday after sending out my newsletter. In it I included information about my 17 Days project, along with an advance view of Day #1's video.

Within hours, I received an email response from a woman whose name I did not recognize. Opening and reading I was thrilled to discover that the sender was the youngest member of the Walsh Family, who had lived next door to my family during my teen years in Kenmore.

This woman was about five years old when we first met---a delicate sprite with beautiful blond curls and the greenest of eyes. And when we met, she introduced herself succinctly and distinctively.

"My name is Mary Katherine Walsh Katherine."

I found great joy in this sweet child's independent nature and for all the years we were neighbors, I called her by that name, exactly as she deigned.

Swirling memories of our families enveloped me as I read through her email. It had been 50-plus years since we had seen or spoken to each other. I had so many questions and soon began crafting a reply---of course beginning my note with the salutation she had always clearly demanded!

I shared bits and pieces of my life and asked questions about hers. I asked how she had come to my newsletter mailing list, as I was sure our paths had not crossed for many years.

As I sent my email on its way, I found myself wishing for a response. And was most grateful when my wish was granted.

Mary's reply was lengthy and filled with stories about her family and memories about mine. She noted that she had heard me in a radio interview a few years ago and she found comfort in the familiar sound of my voice. Then she shared memories that fully honored the intent of my High Holy Month Project.

"While looking through family photos recently, I came across a photo of your mom singing with my family at my wedding! Your mom was always there for my brothers and sisters, and me. She came to our rescue on more than one occasion and I hope she knew how much we appreciated her. I remember her as having a sharp wit and a cool head in a crisis, of which we seemed to have many, while growing up next door to you."

My mother passed 24 years ago this month. Her family of parents and seven brothers and sisters have also passed. There are very few people alive who can share their experiences---their memories--- of my mother. But when it happens, those stories are the best gift anyone could give to me.

Fifteen days to go.....and I look forward to every experience those days will bring.

In Honor and Memory

Like everyone connected through the internet, I get a lot of e-mails. In fact every day I sort through a host of funny pictures, ribald jokes, and forwarded chain letters that I read, enjoy, and summarily delete.

However, every once in a while I receive an e-mail of significance—a collection of words important enough to compel me to share them with the cyberspace community. Which is exactly what I did on a sunny Tuesday morning in September, 2001.

A friend of mine had sent along a thought-provoking e-mail, entitled, “Some Thoughts for a Happy Day.” The theme of the composition focused on the need to “seize the moment and live life to the fullest.”

I read the essay and re-read it, in so doing realizing the electronic transmission perfectly matched my own personal life philosophy. Further, the words provided me with a valuable reminder that life is short, we need to play hard and enjoy. So, I decided to tap into my lengthy list of e-mail addresses and forward the correspondence to family and friends. In the process I re-titled it, “Life as it Should be Lived”.

In one of those serendipitous life moments, as I hit my computer’s “send” button to put my group mailing on its merry way, the phone rang. It was my husband urging me to turn on the television.

Within moments, my mind was reeling as I watched the incredulous turn of events play out in New York, in Washington, and across a grassy field in Pennsylvania.

Conflicting emotions of fear, anger, sorrow, and compassion pulsed through my body, while the relentless journalist’s queries of who, what, when, where and why tortured my writer’s brain.

The last time I’d visited the Big Apple I went to the World Trade Center. I sat at the restaurant in the rooftop Windows on the World Restaurant and felt as if I was, truly, sitting on top of the world. It was a memorable evening forever captured in a group picture I have hanging on my office wall.

Yet on that sunny September day, in a matter of moments, that picture and the people in it were al that remained of that magical evening.

Moving my glance from that celebratory photo to the devastating reality unfolding before me on TV, I felt suddenly isolated. I wanted, no needed, to reach out and touch another human being— to assure myself that no matter how shattering this incomprehensible event might be, my family and my friends were still alive and well—that my sense of normalcy was somehow going to survive.

At about that same moment, e-mail messages began filling my inbox, all referencing the same subject—”Life as It Should Be Lived.” The sender’s names reflected many of the family and friends to whom I had written, only moments earlier.

As I opened their notes, a flood of grief and fear filled my computer screen, along with phrases that spoke of the value of family, the importance of friendship.

At the same time, my phone began ringing—my husband, my daughter, my sister-in-law, my friends, fellow writers, people from New York to California— calling one after another, all responding to the same need to reach out and ensure the stability of their lives.

We talked until our senses and sensibilities were somewhat soothed, then said loving good-byes, promising to talk more often and get together soon.

As I refocused on the day’s terrible events still unfolding, I once more returned to the e-mail that had so innocently started my morning. I read it yet again, this time with a new focus and understanding, lingering over the final line that read:

“If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call, what would you say and why are you waiting?”

For the countless numbers in those four airplanes, three office buildings and random city streets, that question is now irrelevant.

For the rest of us, perhaps of greater import than the question is how we shall decide to answer

2001 “A Life Well Lived” by Christina M. Abt. Excerpt from Heart and Soul The Best of Years of My Op-Ed Life 2016