"Hit and stop"

It's always odd when I see the man who hit my husband. See, about 5 years ago Ron was run over by one of "our" postal workers as he walked to work. Ron was crossing at a light, he had the light, but "Rick" was in a hurry and blew through the red light. Ooops! There's a blind man, swerve, bang, drag, stop, 911, lights, sirens, etc. When they asked about it at the hospital, I told them it was a "Hit and stop".

I never really understood the whole concept of "God filling you up" with one thing or another, I just kind of said "Yeah, right", with a little dose of "That would never happen to me". So, it's the day after the accident (January 8). I've just had a dreadful encounter with the officer investigating the accident. The officer (he doesn't deserve to be capitalized), began by informing me that he wasn't going to file charges on the man who hit my husband. Then he told me Ron was walking opposite the direction I knew he was going (for that to happen, he would have walked backwards into the street). He stole money out of Ron's backpack (he had the backpack with him, minus the cash, which I discovered when I opened it later), and blamed me to my face for the accident "What did you expect? You let him out of the house by himself!" Oh, excuse me. Where does being blind automatically equate to being incapable? I used to get lost walking in "The City" of San Francisco. I could never find any street signs but Ron always knew were we were, and could direct me to wherever we wanted to go.

So, the officer's just walked off and I'm sitting in my chair, literally nailed to it with shock. I can't believe this man can look at me, with my husband in ICU, could die at any moment (and expected to die), and say something so hateful. I still can't believe someone sworn to "Serve and Protect" could do that. The officer told me the driver's name. We'll call him Rick. Let me tell you, I wanted to give Rick the kind of traumatic injuries that would assure him a spot in the next bed over.

At this point and time, I am on my metaphorical knees begging God for help (and have been since I heard of the accident). I felt like some Biblical figure - similar to Job, plagued by one disaster after another. I believe I asked God for something along the lines of "Help me to be a good example for you, guide the doctors and medical staff, take care of Ron's family, take care of me."

Then the payphone rang. I've been a receptionist (3 years' experience). I had a very difficult time walking away from a ringing phone. Most of the other families are either upstairs visiting (Ron was off for some test, so I couldn't), or at work (I'd been laid off by Ron's boss). I pick it up. The caller, in a quavery voice, asks after Ron. I tell the guy how Ron's doing and he begins to cry. He doesn't know who I am. "My name's Rick" he confides. "I'm the guy who hit him." He's crying, obviously incredibly remoseful, aghast at what he's done... and I was filled up with such a sense of pity. This poor, dumb, ox just wanted to get home. Now he knows he could be a murderer. So began the most bizarre experience of my life: I consoled the man who ran over my husband, telling him if Ron had made it this far, all the doctors were amazed, God was taking care of us all. I even put up a prayer request for him, too.

He called every day for a week, or I'd call him. I'd let him know how things were going. When they took Ron off the ventilator, I stopped calling, but I gave him our home phone number. I'd record a message on our answering machine, people could hear from my own mouth how things were going. When Ron woke up and could talk, I'd have him on the "Ron update" too.

Rick's insurance paid us $2,000. The hospital had a $303,000 lien on any settlements we'd get, so they got $10K. The lawyer got $8K for haggling the hospital down from $303K to $10K, and we got the 2 thousand dollars. We see Rick periodically.

Ron's permanently damaged. He has more risk factors now for various illnesses. It wasn't a bump on the head, it was massive trauma, permanent brain damage (but not bad, considering), partial paralysis of his right side, 2 years in a wheelchair, traumatic arthritis, broken leg, broken ribs, heart operations, collapsed lung, road rash, and facial scarring (he didn't have a forehead after the accident, but the mole he hated was gone too).

Thanks to Rick, we closed the deli. The deli days were so hideous the word "deli" is considered a profanity in my house. Our lives improved in many respects. We try not to look at what we've lost, but what we've gained.

I guess it isn't too odd, after all, that I always smile and wave whenever I see Rick.