Out of my dining room window sits ‘our field’. We call it our field when we tell the kids, “look at the deer in our field,” or “check out those turkey in our field.” It is not really our field though, but our neighbors. I’m sure they don’t mind our possessive admiration of their field though.

Truly, there’s no better time to admire it than in the morning.

There is a gentle fog sitting low across the field. The trees that run along its back and across the street are but shadows of what will be a dark green in hours to come. As the sun crests in the sky just over the furthest trees it shines a warm orange glow across the tops of the blades of hay.

It’s an absolutely gorgeous sight and I am truly blessed to see it nearly every morning.

I think for a moment of how blessed I really am. How lucky I am to be enjoying this spectacular view.

I didn’t notice the view before the accident.

Granted, I left the house for work shortly after 3am. On the one day a week that I didn’t work it was rare to see me out of bed before the sun. After all, it was still summer and the sun woke awfully early. So, it wasn’t entirely that I didn’t fully appreciate how splendid such views are, merely that I missed the opportunity to really see them.

I don’t think I ever told anyone. Well, aside from my mom who understands such things. Really, it sounded a little flaky to say out loud so I just kept it to myself…. Remember when we went back a few days after the accident to retrieve our belongings from my SUV? It amazed me what we had lived through. Seeing the car as destroyed as it was. Tires ripped off. The back hatch torn and twisted so that it lay half closed at an awkward angle. Most the doors were so dented that they couldn’t be opened. Windows busted out. Mirrors ripped off. There were scrapes that went from one end of the car to the other, front to back, top to bottom. Scrapes that were nearly through the metal of the car.

We did manage to find a way in to the car and for a long time I was hesitant about putting even the tiniest part of my body into that vehicle again. As time passed, I slowly did. I began to see what we had truly went through. The center council was torn from the floor and laying at an awkward angle. Every locked compartment the SUV had was burst open, its contents strewn about the car, some lost forever among the rubbish that lays forever on the side of that expressway.

I slowly scanned the car for items we needed that my husband might have missed. It was hard to see past the shattered glass and dirty gravel that was everywhere. I couldn’t believe what a mess my car was. I always kept it so clean. There was change everywhere. We joked about how we scattered a good twenty dollars in change across the entire expressway. Somewhere among that change was also my wedding ring. I had taken it off because my hands had been sore from work. A sadness waved over me as I knew it was gone forever.

Soon I began looking through the little paper work I found strewn here and there. We kept all our important papers in the car and I didn’t want to miss a single one. As I began searching more I looked at where I had been sitting. I remembered the tiny area I had to curl up into as our car rolled again and again and again. The door was crushing in on one side of me. The front windshield and steering wheel trapping me from the front. The center council blocking me in from the other side. And that’s when I saw it.

There wedged between the seat belt and the drivers seat was a small piece of paper. It was like a card. But bigger than a business card. I took a deep breath and mustered up what bravery I could as I leaned further into the car and plucked that paper from its spot. In my hand I held my grandfathers funeral card. I thought it strange. I didn’t remember even having them, let alone having them in the car. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw something wedged into the front of drivers seat near the floor. Long and behold, it was another of his funeral cards.

For all the papers we had in that car. All the change. The jewelry. The tools. The kids toys and shoes and random jackets they took off. Of all the things we had in that car that could have randomly found their way to my seat, not just one, but both of my grandfathers funeral cards managed to wedge themselves perfectly around the area I had curled up into.

It could all be a simple coincidence. A coincidence that we all lived. A coincidence that those cards landed where they did. A coincidence that the sun rises in the field every day.

As I awake each day and relish in the sight of the gorgeous view across our field. The blanket of warmth spread across the earth, like the arms of my grandfather wrapped around me. I can’t help but to think, in this life, nothing is mere coincidence.





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