What You Do Matters

By Christy Gualtieri

A little over a week ago, my children and I were involved in a car accident. We were traveling on the highway and a garbage truck crossed into our lane and hit us, causing us to hit the concrete divider on our left side. It dragged us for quite a way; and when the accident ended, my car stayed, immovable, in the left lane and the garbage truck had made its way to the right shoulder.

I had never been in that large an accident before. I had been rear-ended a couple of times, but those were only minor events; and this was a real, window-glass-shattered, doors dented, tires-blown-out emergency.

When it was over, I was aware of a breeze coming through the large hole where my passenger front window used to be. Shattered glass littered the seat next to me. Other vehicles outside were slowly passing by my car, the curious faces of the drivers trying to catch a glimpse of what had happened. I tried to catch their eyes and made a handsign of a phone – please, call; somebody, please call the police. I turned to look at my four year old, who was scared but otherwise okay, and as I tried to calm him down, reassuring him that we were fine, I realized that I could not hear my nearly two-year old daughter, who was strapped in behind me in a rear-facing car seat.

“Is she okay?” I asked my son, but he did not answer me – he was still recounting everything that had happened. I couldn’t open my door to get out to see her, so I tried calling out her name. No answer. I tried to put my hand on the passenger seat to turn around and see, but there was so much glass. I began to brush it off, and just then, a face appeared at the hole.

It belonged to a friendly-looking, curly-haired woman. “Are you all right?” She asked me. “I’m a nurse, I drove by – I didn’t see the accident happen, but I saw that you had your kids in the car and I had to stop. I called the police, they’re coming – help is coming.”

I tried to smile, but I was still disoriented. “My daughter, I can’t see her,” I told her. “She’s behind me in the seat, but I can’t get out to see her. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” the woman told me. “I see her right there, she’s giving me a little smile – hi sweetheart, you’re okay – She’s fine. I just had to stop to see if you were all right, I’m glad you are all right.  I got kids too, I know what it’s like. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

I thanked her again and she got in her car and drove off. I kept reassuring my children as I looked out of the back window. Traffic was starting to back up; I was sure we were the cause of a lot of grumbling from folks trying to get through one of Pittsburgh’s many tunnels. Cars continue to trickle past us, and I was worried that it was taking the police so long to arrive.

A few minutes later, I watched as another car drove around us and stopped in front of my car. A man walked out and over to my passenger window.

“Are you all right?” He asked me, looking into the car. He was a large man, with a tattoo on his arm.

“Yes, thank you,” I replied. “Someone else stopped too, said they called the police.”

“Good,” he said. “I saw you were here, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He looked around again, nodded, and left. A few seconds later, we heard the sirens of the ambulance and fire truck that had been dispatched to help us, and it wasn’t too much later than that when my kids and I were able to safely exit the car and make our way home, a bit shaken up but amazingly otherwise no worse for wear.

There is a lot to consider when I think about that accident. There are the biggies, of course, the what-would-have-happened-if scenarios to ponder, but I mainly find myself thinking about those two commuters who went out of their way to stop and make sure we were okay. They didn’t have to stop; they just could have called from their own cars and continued on, but they took the time to stop on a busy highway to make sure a frightened woman and her two children, whom they had never met, were all right.

And that means so much to me. I am, of course, grateful for the EMTs and Firefighters that assisted us and did a wonderful job helping, but I was just so struck by the impact (no pun intended) that those other two people had on me. I will probably never see them again; I don’t know who they are or where they are from, but I know that their kindness meant a great deal, and I am so grateful to them.

I know that sometimes, maybe most times, you may feel as though the little things you do don’t matter much. But honestly, as the recipient of a little kindness that did a lot to calm my heart and my mind, those things do matter, quite a bit. I hope this encourages you to keep doing those little kindnesses; they may make someone’s really bad day much, much better.

Until next time, be well!

Christy Gualtieri is a freelance writer specializing in pop culture, religion, and motherhood. She lives in Pittsburgh with her husband and son, blogs at asinglehour.wordpress.com, and tweets @agapeflower117. Follow PghPsych on Facebook and Twitter for daily updates, inspirational quotes, articles, and different events and causes related to good mental health.