There is no Going Back

“There’s no going back from a killing” Shane tells Bob after killing Fletcher and Wilson at Grafton’s bar in that classic western by Jack Schaefer. And I guess he’s right.

I have never killed anyone – well at least not directly. I have killed lots of animals. I suspect we all have – unless we are a Jain. I have got close, though. Or so, I thought.

I was zipping along the high street, when, out of nowhere, a child stepped sideways onto the road. I braked as hard as I could, but it was no use. I could not avoid him. I can still picture him bounce after the impact. Miraculously, he got up, his mother pulled him back onto the pavement and to my surprise gave him a smack. The boy was lucky – I was riding my bicycle. On the face of it, I seemed to have sustained more damage than the boy. Ever since that day, I have imagined that most other road users I meet are about to move in an unpredictable direction.

But time moves on, and many years later, I was driving along with my son as a passenger and I collided with another vehicle, I totalled the car. The other driver had emerged from a side road, right in front of me. As luck would have it, my previous experience had led me to cover the brake whenever another vehicle presented a possible conflict. So although we collided the impact was less severe than it would have been had I not been paying attention.

My son was shocked by the experience. Fortunately, he not only had a seatbelt on, but it was properly adjusted close around his hips as it should be. Something I’m sad to say, many parents, are remiss in not insisting upon.

It is so easy to think that disaster happens to other people. But it only takes a momentary lack of concentration or a misjudgment to turn a happy day into hell. And then there is no going back.