San Antonio Express-News (Sunday)
The short, blessed life of Helga the Battle Wagon
After the first two impacts, my wife’s world slows and spins as her gray SUV hurtles across three lanes of morning rushhour traffic.
As hot coffee splashes from its cup, her vision narrows and sound dulls as the highway shoulder and a shallow embankment rush up.
Milliseconds later, a flash realization that she didn’t roll over and resignation as the vehicle jettisons parts and plows on through knee-high weeds. No response from the brakes.
A rusted barbed-wire fence with old-school log posts fills the windshield. She thinks about the absurdity of it all as the post explodes into a half-dozen chunks that cartwheel away in lazy arcs. Next comes the foul screech of barbed wire raking the hood and roof.
Then, finally, silence. Stillness. A pause and the slowmotion realization and feelings of life continued. A tangle of confusion, panic, anger, fear and anxiety.
When Jen called, an edge in her voice instantly told me something was wrong, but she downplayed the accident. She didn’t realize the extent of the damage, and at that moment she thought she’d drive the car home.
A car going too fast spun and slammed into her rear passenger-side tire, sending her out of
control. It must’ve looked like a poorly executed pursuit intervention technique, or PIT, maneuver — that controversial law enforcement trick to stop cars.
No air bags, broken glass or ambulances, but we still made a trip to the hospital. Beside aches and pains, the crash hit Jen’s psyche.
As she retells it, my mind conjures rainbowed flocks of NASCARS that whirl, dodge and slide in a jumble of debris and tire smoke.
We joke about penning an obituary for “Helga the Battle Wagon,” our nickname for the 2012 Honda Pilot that safely chauffeured our quick-growing military family for nearly a decade
across Virginia, California and Texas.
From cross-country moves to work, play and everything in between, Helga was there … in the background.
Never the focus, but sometimes in the photos, the SUV ferried us to countless volleyball tournaments; football, basketball and baseball games; track and cross-country meets; back-toschool nights, music recitals and school plays; doctor and dentist appointments; scrambles to the emergency room and hospital visits; grocery store and shopping runs; barbecues and gettogethers; birthdays, graduations, farewells, weddings, retirements and funerals.
And road trips. Just think of Johnny Cash’s song, “I’ve been everywhere.”
Several times while I was overseas, the vehicle carried my family safely across hundreds of miles of deserts and mountains to visit relatives back home. On those late Baghdad and Bagram nights, it was tough to tamp down the feelings of vulnerability and helplessness should they need anything. The dread wouldn’t subside until the call came that they’d made it to their destination.
Our family, youngish at the time, is now grown and nearly out of the house. Our 17-year-old twin boys, the babies, were 8 when we bought the vehicle on that muggy day in Williamsburg, Va.
Helga provided a constant as we landed in new places and homes every few years. Yes, it’s an inanimate object that will be replaced, but the memories it helped create will live on.
During this holiday season of gratitude, I’m thankful for the chain of miracles that came together for Jen to walk away from that wreck. We were lucky.
According to the Texas Department of Transportation, more than 3,200 people have died in vehicle accidents across the state so far in 2021. Many of these boiled down to speeding and reckless driving.
One of the TxDOT infographics says state traffic fatalities could fill 10 jumbo jets. Our society wouldn’t tolerate those kinds of losses each year from another cause, but for some reason we’re more accepting of vehicle crashes.
These bleak numbers remind us that we must slow down and be kind on the roads.
Let’s take a collective breath while driving during this frantic season of travel, shopping, cooking and visiting. Everything we’re rushing to can wait, so let that other person merge, pass or have the right of way. Patience feels good.
For our family, Jen’s accident was a harsh reminder to live in the moment.
While we didn’t know this before the wreck, Helga is Scandinavian for “holy” or “blessed,” and at 7:45 a.m. that bright Thursday morning, that vehicle truly was blessed. Now, Helga sits tilted, dented and broken in a tow yard, but those aren’t the images we’ll remember.