A Fraction of Life...

LIFE RE-CAPTURE 1998: November 7th, 2009 - life exposed @ a fraction of a second.

Eleven years ago to the day I woke up in a hospital bed. The day before was like a dream, a bad one that you carry with you for awhile. While laying in that bed, covered up in surgical white wraps, I kept seeing a slow motion re-capture in my mind as a large pick up truck goes flying by me, and I wonder why the person driving is looking at me? I was making a turn at a local intersection just a couple of miles from home, and the truck was coming at full speed, with both of our views of each other blocked by a large delivery truck making a turn at the intersection exactly opposite from me. "Unavoidable" is the term the police report stated in describing the crash (meaning neither of us was at fault so to speak). The skid marks of the pick up truck were over 170 feet long as he slammed on his brakes after hitting my right front corner bumper. In a split second I had multiple fractures. Up until that instant I had nary a broken bone before that day, November 6th, 1998. And in a fraction of a second reality became a frightening one for me...


In the process of recovery and rehab that took place over a year, including multiple surgeries on my shattered right hip (that eventually was replaced with titanium eleven months later with a total hip replacement), a broken left wrist, a broken right ankle (with titanium screws, souvenirs if you will still inside me today), and my right eye (of which the eyelid was torn from top to bottom with eyeball exposed) all happening during that fraction of second (yet no damage to my actual eye!) I had ample time to reflect on my life, 40 days away from home, held hostage in a world of life and death...



The eye surgeon proclaimed "miraculous" that my eye was not damaged. In the hospital room when I was told by a nurse what happened to my eye (when I asked why I was wearing an eye patch)  I saw another re-capture in my mind, almost like watching a film, or instinctively knowing memory of one. I saw a wing, a great feathered thing covering my eye in that fraction of a second that my head hit the rear view mirror, protecting the eye from damage or worse. An angelic intervention? Perhaps. Or maybe a hallucination induced by the morphine? I know not? But the word, "thankful" became my daily expression to God, the author of all life. Giving thanks was an intutive way for me to avoid serious depression. And it just never occurred to me to ask, "Why me?" (which may have been a greater miracle than my escaping death!) as I am a complainer by habit...


My two children were still in the young stages, Josiah was 10 years of age, and Elizabeth was 5. They meant more to me at the moment of awakening in that hospital then ever before, and I was thankful that my time on earth was not through. I was thankful for my wife Nancy, a nurse at St. Joseph's Hospital, who was a virtual tower of strength, seeing me every day. and she made sure they carried on as best as possible under the circumstances. I was thankful for family and friends who took the time to call, write letters, and visit me. I was thankful for everything. This was contrary to my nature to complain or criticize, so I knew there was something supernatural going on...


We photographers expose life @ fractions of seconds. Our digital captures are visual records, lasting memories in our consciousness, and in the best moments something we hope becomes "art" and is for sale. But truly the most valuable captures in life cannot be priced. They are living, breathing moments we have and hold each day. We have milestones along life's path, and we look at them from time to time like we do our favorite photographs. Yet these moments are more valuable than any picture or work of art. Sometimes we need life-changing memories that cause us to reflect and see the light, hope, and love that is there deep within, for they will last forever. 


Epilogue:  
I have done some of my very best work since that year-long recovery process from that fraction of a second's impact on my life and my family's life. Though I will never descend again with my cameras to favorite waterfalls, the ones where few photographers attempt to go, nor climb steep vertical pathways to photograph these mountains on the Highlands Plateau, I am still able to walk (albeit with a slight limp sometimes) for most photographic journeys, and to work with my cameras, and to write. Many never regain these primary physical functions after a major 'accident.'  Thankful is the word, the life-concept I still attempt to keep on my heart and mind every day...and every fraction of a second becomes clearer when seen in the light of eternity.
"The one who offers thanksgiving as his sacrifice glorifies me..."   - Asaph (ancient writer of psalms. *Psalm 50: 23)