Our friend Karen who was hit by a car a month ago is doing pretty well these days. I’ve been to see her at home a few times. She had a broken leg and fractured skull. They put some screws in her leg and didn’t even put a cast on it, just wrapped it for two weeks. She told me more of the story of the accident when I saw her Saturday afternoon. Apparently, the woman who hit her got out of her car and leaned over Karen, who was lying on her back on the roadway and started screaming at her: “Are you OK? Are you dead?” Then she got back in her car and hit Karen again in the legs while Karen was flat on her back. This second impact flipped her in the air again and she wound up on her face. Two people ran over to help and turned her over so she could breathe.

The other day a woman came to Karen’s door with flowers in her hand. Karen answered the door and the woman said, “Karen?” “Yes?” “I’m Karen, too!” the woman said. Turns out Karen number two had witnessed the accident and stopped to help our friend. Karen number two was with her daughter in the car and told the little girl to watch how Karen crossed the road, with the light, in the crosswalk—using our friend as an example of how it should be done. Then the little girl screamed when Karen was hit—fodder for nightmares, I think.

I still believe the driver's sentence should be as long as Karen's rehab, especially after I heard more of the story. Looks like she will only be charged with a misdemeanor, though.

Oh, wait. The driver did call 911, but here is what she told the 911 operator: "A woman was hit on Snow Road." "Where on Snow Road?" the operator asked. The driver just repeated her first statement. No help at all. This road runs for about ten miles. According to her call, the accident could be anywhere along that length. Fortunately, a bunch of other people also called and saved Karen's life.

Kodiak and I are very safety conscious during our walks, crossing streets, watching lights. Main streets, back streets—it doesn’t matter. People routinely run stop signs, speed down our street. I remember Mom sitting on the front steps of our childhood homestead, hollering at people to slow down. I’ll probably start that now myself.