'Bout time for a blog, i'n't it?

I wish you could have been there in the car with me a year ago. Well, that's of course not true. I wouldn't wish that experience on anybody. But I wish you could learn from what happened to me. There are experiences in a person's life that just can't be communicated to another, and that was one of them. The birth of my son is, too. Yeah, everyone hears about how incredible it is to see your child being born, and you hear people telling you to appreciate what you have while you still have it, but that's not just us saying it. Watching Xander draw his first breath was the greatest moment of my life. Nothing even comes close. From the very first instant I saw that beautiful boy I loved him unconditionally. If you're a parent, you know exactly what I'm talking about, and if you aren't you can't possibly. Sorry. I wish I could explain it somehow, but it's one of those special moments that you're either a part of or you aren't.

So my car accident was a little bit like that. Time slowed down, almost stopped, as I realized lightning-quick that I wasn't going to be able to stop the car or regain control of it. I remember swearing and letting go of the wheel and saying a silent prayer that more or less said, "Yo, you got this, Lord." It's weird that in what I thought might be the last seconds of my life I would phrase a prayer like that, but I promise that's the closest translation to what I was thinking. And the car spun around so that I couldn't see the car in front of us any more and then I could see the car behind us and then we went off the road and time went back to regular speed. The flip was a pretty cool ride, especially in retrospect, knowing that I survived it essentially unharmed. I had a moment when my elbow was pressing into my shattered driver's side window that I thought, "Hey, let's do that again."

There were a lot of other thoughts going through my head at the moment, including a massive sigh of relief. After I caught my breath, I wanted to know that both of my passengers were OK, and I'm eternally grateful that they were. I assume the only thing worse than killing yourself in a car wreck is killing someone else and living. I'm struck by the kind-heartedness of people in this world. Before we could really compose ourselves, some Romanian guy that I've never seen since (it turns out I use to work with his sister) was opening the passenger side door and helping us climb out of the wreckage. Another good Samaritan went on ahead and called in the accident to the State Patrol. All three of us got rides home from tired casino employees who surely would rather have been in bed. If anyone who reads this stopped for us that cold, snowy night, thank you. I didn't get a chance to say that to most of you, but you should know that it meant a lot.

My only regret about the accident is that my perspective was only temporarily changed by it. When I finally got home that morning, I was so relieved to see my wife and to know that I had survived to spend another day with my family. I kept a little chunk of windshield glass as a reminder of the day that God decided Xander needed his daddy. Once in a while I remember that, and try to honor that gift by being the best dad that I can, but too often I just get dragged down by the day-to-day. Life is so fragile, and so precious, and I spend so much of my limited resources on attending to my own petty needs, and on dragging other people down in an effort to feel better about myself. That's a tragedy. We should all focus on the positive, and put our energy into pleasing each other, not ourselves. It's the least we can do with this amazing gift we've been given.

So I'll reiterate the advice I gave last Christmas: Hug your loved ones, and tell them how you feel. Merry Christmas, everyone.