Death on the Seward Highway

We had just finished watching the end of the track and field world championship broadcast last night when we heard a heck of a sound outside. We're used to hearing cars and trucks tear down the Seward Highway in the summer, when it becomes a kind of drag race. But this sound was different. Squealing tires and the something louder and contorted. Within minutes the sirens screeched to a halt just beyond our backyard, which faces the highway. We went out to see what all the commotion was. Police officers were blocking off northbound traffic at Fireweed Lane. A pickup was turned over on its side. The other car, a black sports car, was facing south but it had been traveling north. Its driver was sitting on the grass by the highway as police talked to him. In the middle of the highway lay Michael VanRoten, and paramedics were tending to him.
More neighbors spilled out of their homes to see what had happened and passersby stopped to ask what had happened. Witnesses talked to police about the crash.
Within a few minutes, paramedics draped a white sheet over Mr. VanRoten.
Although I didn't see the crash itself, I saw the moment the paramedics knew VanRoten had died.
And I wondered about this man's life. What had he been doing in the minutes before the crash? Had he and the driver of the Pontiac GTO been in a vehicular tussle moments before, as one neighbor who saw the crash said? Had VanRoten been thinking about his sister Kimberly, who died on the same highway in July? Had he been looking forward to getting home, even if for the mundane tasks of taking the dog for a walk, opening the day's mail?
A lot of people will wonder if he was at peace, but the truth is that death sometimes comes too fast for us to know what that even means. The best we can hope is that every day we have at least a taste of the real stuff of life—a kiss before we head to work, a good meal, a measure of grace before our last breath.