It was an early funeral. It was all over by 10am. Around me people were offering sympathetic comments and gestures, but I was oblivious to who they were and what they were saying. All I could do was stand there by the road in a trance of immobility. Devoid of emotion I stood silently as the rest of the crowd departed around me. Murmurings of condolences were offered but I was in no place to receive them let alone acknowledge them. Fear gripped me like a vice and held me motionless as I stared at the road before me. My head pounding, my heart racing. A road. It is only a road. But it was a road like this one that had just stolen from me everything dear to me. A road accident. A road statistic had stolen my wife and only child.
The fear cascaded over me, bringing with it a river of tears. I became aware of a single car and a solitary figure that was parked across the road. The same car had been there before the funeral. I had no intention of getting near a road, let alone crossing one. I was scared of what could happen, what did happen to those that I loved. I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. I collapsed on the ground and edged further away from the roadside.
As I sat there by the graveside I prayed that someone or something would come and break through my fears, pick me up and carry me to a safe place. But no one came so there I remained. I thought of the life that I had, that I was going to have, the same life that just days ago was taken away from me. The car remained there also. The man remained there. Who was he? He looked perhaps twenty years old. He was standing on the road leaning on his car and looking directly at me.
The young man reminded me of myself, not in what I used to be but, in the way that I am now. His pale face was expressionless. His eyes were hollow and listless. I wondered if he too had a fear, a fear like mine that had no expiration date. I wondered what was holding him here. Me, trapped in my fear, but him? Was it fear? Was my fear consuming him also?
I felt a growing desire to question the man. I needed to get to him. I stared at the road and fought against the paralysing effect it was having on me. The fear that was gripping me was in some way connected to this man. This motionless young man was either the source of my fear or the answer to my fear. I had to get to him. In some way his presence was becoming for me a source of strength.
With a pounding head I slowly rose and step by agonising step I approached the road. If I stared at the man and not at the road I knew I could reach him. With all my effort I crossed the road and sat on the ground near where the man was parked. Closing my eyes I reflected on what I had and what I had lost. This time though I spoke out loud so the young man could hear. I spoke of my family, my career, my ambitions, my whole life, and how I feared the prospect of facing it all again. In a way the fear I faced of crossing the road was just the outer wall to the unnerving reality that lay beyond.
The whole time I spoke the young man listened silently. I didn’t need him to speak. I just needed to talk. It didn’t matter if he listened. When I exhausted of things to say I just sat there. Not a word or glance passed between us. The cold winter afternoon had melded into the evening and it was getting dark. Talking to this man had given me strength. The fear remained as an unwelcomed guest, however, its grip on me was no longer all pervasive.
I got up and approached the road. I stopped at the edge and glanced back to see the young man still there. He had listened to my story and in a way had absorbed my troubles and fear, enabling me to move on. Why he had stayed for so long? Feeling in debt to the young man I questioned him on whether he could relate to me and what I was facing. I asked if he had felt the same sense of utter loss. He gave no answer, just a look of sorrow as tears welled in the young man’s eyes.
I offered some advice. Saying that just talking about it and letting it all out really helped me. I decided to move away from questioning the man; however I still felt the need to get through to him. I pondered on whether the person who had caused everything thing to happen in the first place felt the same. I wondered whether they knew how much them running over my family had affected me. I looked to the young man for an answer. It was then that he spoke his first and only word to me.
"Sorry."
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