SAUCIER — An unexpected turn

We left early, hoping to avoid the morning rush hour. Beyond that, we wanted to reach the one-lane section of I-40 before the traffic thickened.

There were construction slowdowns and the gnarl of cars and trucks in Nashville, but we were making good time and decided to drive home in one day.

Ten hours in, there was a warning sign of stopped traffic ahead. By the time we passed the notice for a lane merge, we were inching along.

Our mood eroded. We shared names for drivers who used the shoulder to advance, and questioned the wisdom of engineers who would suddenly merge three lanes into one.

After an hour, we could see an open highway ahead. As we approached, we saw flashing lights.

It wasn’t just road construction: there had been an accident. 

There was a semi alongside the road. Near it, a black pickup crumbled like a wad of foil.

As we passed, EMTs were zipping up a body bag.

While we crawled and complained, a life had ceased.

Were they racing to get somewhere and lost control? 

Did they have an aneurism or heart attack and die before impact?

What kind of day were they having before this abrupt end?

Were there children, or a spouse, waiting for them to come home on just another Monday?

If not, did they have others in their life who would hear the tragic news and weep?

Had they ever thought about death and what it might mean?

“Memento mori,” Roman philosophers used to say. “Remember you will die.”

A slave would whisper it in the ear of a victorious general to keep him humble. It echoes in the “remember you are dust” we hear on Ash Wednesday.

The wreck had that effect. That could have been me with the zipper closing over my lifeless body.

As age draws the horizon near, I need to be reminded of death, to befriend it and let it speak to the time I have left.

Ultimately, though, this was not about me, but about the loss of someone I had never met. I felt grief, like something had been taken away. I felt the sudden urge to pray for them.

I don’t know what I was praying for. I was sure they were in good hands on the other side, but I wanted to make certain their passing was noted in this life, if even by a stranger.

May they rest in peace.