I never really understood what people meant by having an “out-of-body experience” — until one winter day in early 2022.
One minute, I was driving and chatting with my sister on the phone. The next, I was sitting in my car with an airbag in my face, unsure of what had just happened.
I heard myself say, in a voice that didn’t feel like mine:
“I’ve just been in a car accident. I need to hang up now.”
A car accident? It felt surreal — like I was watching a movie. I could see smoke. Smell it. My body was still in the car, but my mind was somewhere else, entirely.
Then came a knock on my window.
“Ma’am? Are you okay, ma’am?”
I couldn’t roll the window down — my car must have shut off on impact. Suddenly, memory returned: I had been making a left turn into a store parking lot when I heard a loud explosion. A truck had T-boned my car on the passenger side.
Where had that truck come from? I recalled someone in the opposite lane stopping, leaving space, then waving me through to make my turn.
I was frozen, unable to move — until my car door suddenly opened. A police officer stood there. Behind him, a fire truck. Firefighters moving around.
Panic surged.
“Is my car on fire?” I heard myself ask.
“No,” he replied calmly. “That’s just your airbags. They do that when they go off. Are you okay? Are you hurt, ma’am?”
“I don’t know,” I said, patting my face and arms, searching for pain. “I think I’m okay.”
“Alright, ma’am. Stay right here. I’ll be back.”
I looked out through the cracked passenger side of the windshield and could see the other driver. He sat alone, still inside his large, red pickup.
I got out and rushed to his truck.
“Are you okay, sir?” I asked, scanning the cab for passengers.
“I’m fine,” he snapped.
I returned to my car, sat down and broke into sobs. We were both okay — but what if we hadn’t been? What if someone had died?
I shouldn’t have trusted the driver who waved me through. I should have double-checked the other lane. The realization hit all at once: this could have been so much worse.
The officer returned.
“Ma’am, can you tell me what happened?” he asked, kindly.
“It was my fault,” I said, trying to hold it together. I explained everything I could remember. “I’m so sorry. Is the other driver really okay?”
“He’s a little irritated,” the officer said with a slight smile, “but he’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be alright, ma’am.”
Since getting my driver’s license decades ago, I’ve spent most of my time behind the wheel avoiding cops — nervously watching my rearview mirror, tapping the brakes, checking my speed every time I passed one on the road.
But in my worst moment as a driver, when I expected judgment, this officer offered something far more powerful: compassion.
And somehow, that made everything feel okay again.
