I see the gashes.

Some are deep and fresh; some are from earlier days.

I remember the fog last night.  I remember how beautiful it looked, way up there on the hills.  It all seemed so distant, so non-threatening. 

And then the deer leaped out; I braked, but the driver in front of me couldn’t stop fast enough.  Because he was pulling a heavy load. 

I was surprised at how sad I felt for the deer as it tumbled, rolled, and finally just slid down the icy incline.

I remember seeing a fresh set of tracks down into the ditch, in the snow and ice, and several trucks lined up, ready to pull the vehicle down there back up to the road, so I moved on.

I remember, later in the evening, how danger tasted; tart and bitter.  Because the black night was all around me by then.  And I knew there were icy spots on the dark, winding road that I couldn’t see.  And because civilization and cell service were imaginary, at best.  And my lovely sat beside me, and I feared for her safety.

*****

I know that the temperature is still below freezing, even though the sun is shining this morning.  I see icy spots here and there on bridges, so I take my time and am careful.

I continue to see the gashes.

There are lots of them.  Some still have broken vehicles parked in them.  Some of the guardrails have come undone. 

Finally, because there are so many of them, and since it’s not icy anymore, and because the day is warm, they slip by in a 79 miles per hour collage of blurred snap shots. 

They don’t affect me so much anymore.  The deer is an isolated event from the evening before; there is distance between me and it now.

I began to wonder why so many people were out on the roads when they were so icy. 

I shrug.  I don’t know the answer to that question. 

And, I’m afraid, there is a little bit of indifference in my shrug.

But then the truth slams home. 

Every one of those gashes tells a story. 

Every person who slipped off the icy road yesterday is looking at life totally different today, because of the gashes. 

Some may have been changed only enough to have had to call a tow truck and the rearrangement of their schedules.

Some may be changed in a way that leaves them physically impaired.

*****

I see the gashes.

They may not be visible, but I see them, nonetheless.

I see them as my life and yours intermingles.

On some, they are fresh, they are deep. 

Whether deep and fresh, or timeworn, the truth they tell has been etched with excoriating certainty. 

The pain they cause is definable; real.

Your wounds remind me of mine, and I’m surprised, at times, how deeply I feel about your life.

Sometimes your wounds cause a new round of pain in my own life that I need to take time to deal with. 

And that is how it is supposed to be.

The day should never wear on, like it did for me on the interstate, and I become complacent, even zoned out, to what you feel.

Because each wound, each scar, is evidence to me that your life has been irrevocably changed.

And I hope that for every person down in the ditch today, there are 3, maybe 4 folks stopped by the side of the road, ready to give assistance.

I may not know you.  For sure, I don’t know what you are going through at this exact moment. 

But because of the scars in my own life, I feel deeply for you.