The Surprising Lesson a Car Accident Taught Me

What happened when we were faced with a life-changing event.

By

Carmelene Melanie Siani

 
Published March 12, 2026
Illustrated scene showing a person exiting a white vehicle in a parking lot while another occupant remains inside, with a red car parked nearby
Tara Anand

One quiet Saturday, when we were heading out for a weekend brunch, my husband decided to drop his shirts off at the laundry along the way. That small decision became ominous when, without warning, we were faced with a life-threatening turn of events.

I waited in the car while Richard, my third and last husband, was in the laundry. When he got back into the car and pulled out of the parking lot, he turned in the opposite direction from where we needed to go.

Within seconds, I heard the horrible sound of two vehicles colliding, followed by the screech of tires as our car sickeningly careened sideways across the road. We came to a stop against the curb when Richard blurted out, “What just happened?” Of course, it was obvious what had happened. Richard had run into another car.

Miraculously, none of us were hurt. Not a scratch. In fact, my air bag hadn’t even deployed. We looked around. Thankfully, there was no one in the other car except for the driver. The passenger side of his vehicle, however, clearly showed the impact of our having run into it.

When the dust cleared, Richard got out and headed tentatively over to the other driver, a young man who actually put his hand on Richard’s shoulder and asked if he was okay. I watched as they exchanged insurance information and phone numbers. They shook hands, said goodbye and simply walked back to their respective vehicles.

Before he got back into our car, Richard went to the front wheel on the driver’s side and kicked the fender and tire a few times. He then tried to turn the wheel, found it completely disengaged and announced that our car was undriveable.  All told, the entire thing took about 20 minutes. Amazing how much can happen in so little time!

Richard managed to get the car around the corner to a pullout, sighing loudly as if he were trying to exhale the energy of the events that had just occurred. He stared ahead for a moment at nothing in particular while we waited for the tow truck to appear.

“I feel like I’ve just been given a second chance at life,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else. “That whole thing was entirely my fault. He was a decent guy and I could’ve killed him. I could’ve killed us all.”

While Richard sat there, the responsibility of his actions weighing on him, I looked up to see the other car simply pulling away.

A few days later, Richard and I were sitting at our breakfast table talking about “The Bonk” (as he began calling the accident). All of the hoops had been jumped through — the insurance adjustor called, the rental car arranged and the mechanic chosen.  During our conversation, Richard admitted that for him the accident had brought about a definite change toward safer driving.

He then glanced up and thanked me.

“For what?” I asked.

 “For not saying anything during the entire incident,” he answered. Then he asked me, point-blank, “What made you do that? It was different. What made you do it?”

Actually, I’d asked myself the same question.

I’m 84 years old. I met and married Richard just after I turned 70.  It had taken decades — and lots of therapy — for me to recognize that my ready criticisms and harsh opinions had, in my first two (failed) marriages, made me part of the problem, not part of the solution. In those early days of my youth and immaturity, I thought loving my husband gave me license to try to change him into who I wanted him to be.

I was wrong. My job was to change me.

By the time I met Richard, I no longer had time to be part of the problem. That Saturday morning, when he turned the wrong way, instead of rushing to judgment and pointing his mistake out to him, I told myself to wait. He’d figure it out.

And he did figure it out. In fact, everything would have been fine if only he had seen that other car.

But he didn’t.

When I married Richard, I committed to loving and accepting him exactly as he was — “Bonks” and all. By that time, I had also learned what love really is, something that I simply didn’t know when I was younger. Love requires healthy doses of empathy and respect, with a sense of humor thrown in. It has nothing to do with trying to change the other person and everything to do with changing yourself.

And when it comes to pointing out the mistakes others make, less is more. The truth is, I had known the accident was Richard’s fault from the beginning. I guess I just figured he didn’t need me to wife-splain to him.

Later that evening, Richard commented that we had lucked out. The rental company had given us a convertible.

 “How about tomorrow we go for a drive and brunch?”

I walked over to embrace this man I loved, my heart swelling with warmth.

“I’d love to go to brunch with you tomorrow, honey,” I quipped, “as long as you don’t stop to drop off shirts.”

Carmelene Melanie Siani is an 84-year-old freelance writer who began writing on her 70th birthday. She has been published in Elephant Journal, The Tattooed Buddha, 50 Plus Magazine and The AARP Ethel Newsletter among others. Her stories are narratives on aging, personal growth and late-in-life love. She lives by the dictum of Muriel Rukeyser that “The universe is made of stories, not atoms.” Today, she writes only for a few publications but spends her days crocheting Afghans and giving them away to anybody who asks!