Failing Traffic Safety, by Brandon Tucker

I've done a lot of stupid things in my time. A lot. And now I get to add "car rolling" to that seemingly endless list. After work on Wednesday, I joined a friend and coworker for a couple beers and shared tragedies. She too lost a parent too soon when her father succumbed to cancer some years ago, and we've often talked about the pain that comes with experiencing the death of a parent at such an early age. We sat, surrounded by strangers, laughing and crying and telling stories about family, in a cathartic process that can only truly be understood by someone who has been so directly affected. The conversation went too long into the night, and it was past time to head home. The beer had long since been set aside, and I can easily and honestly say alcohol had nothing to do with what followed; exhaustion and sheer stupidity more than account for everything.

It's about an hour's drive from Anchorage to Wasilla, and around the time I crossed the Knik River and entered the Mat-Su Borough, I started dozing off. The highway was empty, everything was dark and at nearly 2:00 am, I was fighting to stay awake. Finally, I fell asleep at 65 MPH. Not for more than a second, of course, as the car suddenly veered sharply. The tires screamed, I instantly awoke in a panic and tried to bring it all under control. But I never had a chance, and found myself skidding into the soft right shoulder, down the grassy embankment and ultimately rolling onto the passenger side, personal effects falling and dangling everywhere.

I was stunned, terrified, furious with myself. Luckily, I had hit a large patch of marsh near the intersection of two highways, and the grassy bog seemed to have softened the impact. I never drive without my seat belt, a lesson learned early on from my Mom. Unbuckling myself, I had to hang on to keep from dropping toward the passenger door, which now lay pressed down against the watery ground. Pushing open my door was like forcing up a giant emergency hatch. I was shocked and shaking, and above all, angry at myself to the point of tears. As I climbed out, the shift in weight began moving the car. It was now rolling over onto its roof, farther into the water, and before I could scramble away, my left arm became momentarily trapped in the driver-side door, which now sat pinned upside down. I was able to wriggle my arm out, and I now knelt in a foot of water and grass, trying to make sense of the senseless.

My car was on its roof. Everything was wet. It was about 50° out, which considering the time of year, was surprisingly warm. The few towering highway lights looming over the nearby intersection provided the only meager light. The occasional car sped past, though I doubt anyone could have seen me down that dim embankment. I fished out my cell phone and called for a tow truck. I got a hold of the towing company; the driver was on his way. Then I texted Stephanie. I didn't want to call and wake the kids. I told her I'd fallen asleep and rolled the car, but that I was okay and a tow truck was coming. And then the phone died. Water had seeped in somewhere, and there was no resuscitating it. I was alone in a dark marsh, up to my calves in cold water and hating myself, my poor car belly-up and seemingly comatose.

But I was alive. There are any number of bridges, overpasses, curves and other obstacles on the highway between Anchorage and Wasilla that would have seen me dead should I have dozed off a few minutes sooner or later. Even a wandering moose or bear (an animal which I nearly hit once, and that was during the day) would have been the end of me. Fortunately, traffic had been nearly nonexistant at that hour, so others were never in harm's way. Alaskans famously add extra headlamps to their vehicles, from oversized pick-ups to small commuter cars, because driving at night is an exceptionally dark experience. Cities and crowded suburbs have lights everywhere; rural fields and forests have the moon, stars and not much else. I could have died in countless ways, yet there I stood, not a scratch on me. I even drove the 40 miles to work this morning, my car displaying only a few small dents and smears of dried mud and grass. Most people believe in miracles, in divine intervention. I never have. I believe in coincidences. Wild, outlandish coincidences, perhaps. But random chance nonetheless.

And yet... My brother Ryan reminded me of something this morning. When I had the accident, what still felt like Wednesday night was technically Thursday morning. It was September 17th, the day we found out our Mom had died. I could so easily have had the same fate, but I was totally unharmed. Stephanie, Malcolm, Chloe and Calvin could have lost me forever, but they didn't. It all could have ended so differently, so horribly, but it did not. Ryan is convinced Mom was there, ensuring that it didn't end differently, that my family got to keep me, that I stayed unharmed. It's an incredibly uplifting thought, and I'm not about to argue with it. I'm just thankful. That's the only feeling I seem to be harboring right now. I'm thankful for my family, for my well-being, and for having another chance at making smarter decisions.

-Brandon