But for the Grace

By A.J. Llewellyn

One of my neighbors was in a very bad car accident on Sunday. She and another neighbor were driving down the street when they saw – and could do nothing about – a young girl on the other side of the road, barreling out of her driveway, cell phone illegally plastered to her ear, music blaring, smashing into a car passing the opposite way. The driver of the second vehicle was speeding. He was driving so fast his vehicle spun around three times and swerved across three lanes of traffic hitting my neighbors in their vehicle. It was a bad crash and all three cars were totaled. The only person really injured was my neighbor whose legs blew up like balloons.
The girl has marginal insurance, the man who actually hit them was an unlicensed, undocumented illegal immigrant who spoke no English, but since the girl was at fault, her insurance is responsible. Try telling that to the company involved. They’ve given my neighbor the proverbial runaround and yesterday, I noticed her hobbling out of her front door to bring me and a couple of other neighbors her first batch of grapefruits from the tree outside her townhouse.
I was appalled to see her like this. She was almost in tears telling me that she is in severe pain but could not get to her appointment at St. John’s Hospital and her ride had just canceled. I immediately offered to take her. She kept saying, ”You’re busy. You’re always working.”
Yeah, but a couple of years ago I was hit under similar circumstances. I will never forget the feeling of helplessness, the disorientation, the pain of injuring my arm but worst of all, my poor dog being badly injured. I was lucky. I really was, and I know it, because a young woman in another vehicle also hit by the same lunatic was killed.
In the initial confusion, I had no idea she was dead. I still see it in my mind, that moment when I was aware of her lying in the middle of the road, her USC scarf flapping in the wind. There is still a shrine to her on the corner where the accident occurred and sometimes I visit it when I am walking my dog, just to remind myself my problems really, are not that huge.
I sometimes take her flowers and find others have been there too. One of the boys who was in the car with her that day recently left her a note: “You took the sunshine with you.” I’ve talked to him, neither of us able to this day to make sense of why we lived and she didn’t. My car was completely crushed on the right side, the side my dog was sitting in. That she survived it remains my greatest gift.
The people who own the shop at the corner have been very patient with us, the living. They leave the shrine there. The notes, the flowers. They’ve seen tons of accidents there but they too, remain affected by this one. They told me recently that great flocks of birds come to that corner, as if keeping vigil.
So you see, offering a ride to my neighbor seemed like no big deal to me. She was so worried about keeping me waiting as she waited inside the hospital for attention. I took my work with me, enjoyed the sun, sent my boyfriend a text message and even napped a little.
My neighbor is a sweet old thing and I do enjoy her. Sometimes she picks inopportune moments to engage me in long conversations, especially when I am in a hurry, but when I think she might be dead, I will be sure to make extra time for her in future. Why is it that we’ve become so used to rude and atrocious behavior that somebody extending the hand of friendship seems like a gift to good to be true?
She offered me cash, she offered me cookies. She offered to walk my dog. No, no, no. I wasn’t doing it to get anything back. I hope if I’m ever in her situation, somebody offers help to me. I thought about this a lot last night when she called me in tears – twice - thanking me for not being mean to her when her appointment took longer than she expected.
I don’t know what kind of friends she is used to dealing with, but this made me so sad. I thought about the young girl killed in the accident I was in. I’ve heard nothing but good things about her. She was a med student destined for big and beautiful things. Yes, her death haunts me still. Maybe it’s my upbringing…yeah, I think it is. But I will always help when I can, if I can, wherever I can, because that’s what neighbors do. And because there but for the grace of God go I.

Aloha oe,
A.J.

Someone Else's Family

By A. J. Llewellyn

On Monday morning, Don Yun Yoon, a Korean immigrant to the United States, left his home in San Diego to go to work. Inside his house were his beautiful wife Young Mi, his 15-month-old daughter Grace, his two-month-old daughter Rachel and his visiting mother in law Suk Im Kim.
Three hours later, inexplicable horror occurred.
A marine corps fighter plane from a nearby base, returned from an off-shore training mission. The pilot lost control of the plane clipping the trees above the family home before plunging right into it, killing everyone inside.
In a matter of seconds, Don Yun Yoon lost three generations of his family and has no clue how to go on.
As devastating as his loss is, I was impressed and frankly amazed when he stood in tears outside the wreckage of what was once his American Dream and stated that he doesn't blame the pilot, who survived the catastrophe.
My first thoughts were - forgive me for this - he can't be American, he has to be an immigrant. if he was American he'd be lawyered up with some high-profile celeb lawyer who'd already be on the Today Show hollering for Ju$tice.
Don Yun Yoon stood on the street where he lived and spread out his hands. "I don't have any hard feelings. He [the pilot] did everything he could." His bewildered gaze traversed the wreckage of his crushed life. He said he didn't know how he could cope with the loss of his family.
"Please tell me how to do it." His voice cracked. "I don't know what to do."
My heart went out to him and in that moment, I remembered a tragic incident in my family. My Uncle Peter was married to one of the sweetest most wonderful women I ever met.
Her name was Helen and when my own mother died when I was six, she fluttered around me and my brothers, always making sure we were included at family functions. They had a beautiful 10-year-old daughter Theoni, who I remember as being both angelic and tough to beat at Vigaro (the Australian street version of cricket).
Helen and Theoni were sitting at a bus stop bench one morning waiting for the bus when a drunken driver did the unthinkable. He veered off the road and slammed straight into my aunt and my cousin, killing them.
I did not see much of my uncle after that. He was not a broken man. He was a wraith.
A few years ago, when I was back in Australia for a vacation, I looked him up. He'd long ago given up the family home, given up on life and he was a thin, unhappy soul just waiting to die. He wasn't particularly interested in talking to me, but there is, among those who have experienced deep tragedy, a kind of connectedness. It's a belonging to a club you have no wish to be a member of, but fate's decided you belong to.
After almost giving up on having any type of decent conversation with my Uncle Peter, he suddenly asked me if I think about my mother.
"Every day," I said. "I miss her every day."
He nodded. He understood. "What happened to me," he said, looking traumatized as he revisited the past, "Is something so horrendous you couldn't wish it on someone else's family."
These two remarkable men have been dealt vicious blows by life, blows that will forever mar them. I have no doubt Don Yun Yoon feels the same way as my Uncle Pete, but as I watched Mr. Yoon on TV surrounded by his sister, brother and family pastor, I felt certain his future is less hollow, that he will be able to talk about his feelings. These are different times and I hope the people close to him will encourage him to talk, to help him keep the faith and give him strength.
I don't wish this had happened to someone else's family. I wish it hadn't happened at all. I'd like these cruel mysteries of life to be explained, but until that day happens, I can only hope and pray that there is some good, valid reason God makes these decisions.
I do believe in the Rainbow Bridge, where our loved ones are waiting for us. I know my Uncle Pete believes in it too.
In the meantime, the inexplicable has occurred. As one of Mr. Yoon's tearful neighbors told reporters, "I can't get over that a family has perished. A young, beautiful family."

Aloha oe,

A.J.