1. The Accident

Last week, as I was walking home from the grocery store, I had an accident, a moment of suffering and public humiliation that led to a moment of realization when I learned something about life. Foolishly, walking with my hands filled with packages, I tripped on the uneven city pavement and fell to the hard concrete, unable to stop my fall. I literally fell on my face.

2. Good Advice Ignored

I have been told so often, and indeed tell others, to run or walk with hands free so that you can protect your body when you fall. My great French friend told me a story of her uncle, who was walking down a hill with both his hands in his back pockets and fell to his death. Here I was on Columbus Avenue in New York City, striding along with my hands filled with heavy packages and head in the air like the little girl with her nose lifted in the Snakes and Ladders game of my youth.

3. Stiff Upper Lip

My head slammed down hard with a horrible bang I will never forget. I took the blow on my chin and, for a moment, lost consciousness. I came to my senses surrounded by a group of good Samaritans, cellphones in hand, ready to call 911. I have fallen before and used the same sentence to prevent the arrival of an ambulance and a visit to the hospital. I followed my stiff- upper-lip training and said, "I’m fine. My husband is a doctor." This is true, though obviously I was not fine, blood flowing, groceries spread across the concrete, and not entirely sure of where or even who I was. But I managed to stagger to my feet, and someone kind handed me my sunglasses. I was able to collect my somewhat battered belongings and wander for a way before I gathered my wits sufficiently to find the street that led to our apartment.

4. Luck

I was lucky to find my doctor husband there upon my arrival. I washed my face and my bloody scarf and maintained again that I was fine. My husband looked at the gash on my chin and said we would have to go immediately to the emergency room. I protested once again, but finally gave in to his urgent words. "You need stitches," he said, looking at my poor chin. Indeed, I did. Once again, I am lucky enough to live near an excellent emergency clinic associated with Mount Sinai, and I was very lucky to find a wonderful doctor who sewed me up in four stitches.

5. The Influence of Other People

To distract me from the pain and perhaps because my husband was there with me and told the doctor I am a writer, the doctor asked me a few questions about my life as a writer while he stitched me up. I asked him about his life, and he told us he is officially retired but refuses to remain at home, enjoying his work in the emergency room. "I like to be useful," he said with a smile. He told us the people he had hired in the emergency center were people he would have wanted to take care of his own family. What a wise man, I thought. I was moved by this elderly man who preferred helping people in distress to staying home, which he could obviously have done. I was particularly moved by his excellent care of me.

6. A Catalyst

Small acts of mercy can be an inspiration to us in our lives! I realized how often these moments of change, when we realize what is important in life, come about through a catalytic action: The help of good Samaritans and the intervention of people we may not know well. When someone is willing to share his or her story, or we see someone else’s example, it can bring about change in our own lives. I thought of the stories I teach, which portray this so beautifully: Yiyun Li’s “All Will Be Well,” for example, where the hairdresser tells the young mother her story and illuminates the narrator’s own sorrow. Or Alice Munro’s “Friend of My Youth,” where a story her mother has told enables the narrator to understand her own mother better.

Though we cannot all be so essential to people in distress, we can all try to make the lives of those around us a little better in some small way and give back something of the bounty that has been bestowed on us by so many along the way.

References

Yiyun Li, "All Will Be Well" (The New Yorker)

Alice Munro, "Friend of My Youth" (The New Yorker)