personal essay about car accident

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How A Car Accident Impacted My Life And Changed Me Forever

It was the conclusion of a holiday weekend gone right. As someone who usually was not a fan of Thanksgiving, I found myself very grateful for the things I did have.

I spent Wednesday night drinking beer with friends, and the celebration on Thursday was met with jokes and catching up with family. Saturday was spent working about a 9-hour shift, and I got out early enough to meet my friends.

They wouldn’t hear from me until the next day, as that drive home in my 2008 Santé Fe would be my last in that car.

I was no more than five minutes into driving, but my mind was only thinking about a million other things, including what I’d have to eat and drink once I got to where I was going. It was within minutes that I collided at the intersection.

There is no way to really describe accidents accurately. I don’t remember the sound of a horn at all; I don’t remember my car spinning and almost hitting the nearest pole.

I just remember the sound of crashing metal against one another, and then silence. My shoulder hit the steering wheel, and I was frozen for only a moment, as I thought about one of my teammates whose mass card hung from my mirror.

Then, I jumped out of my car and ran across the street to see the car I hit. It was a green van with two passengers. They rolled down their window and I was trembling uncontrollably. They said they were okay and told me to be the one to call the cops.

I stood in front of my car as incoming traffic ran over the broken pieces left on the highway, a combination of two cars ruined. The sound drew crowds and it was like a movie I never thought I’d play a part in, as I stood in center of it all in shock.

I dialed 911 not even remembering it, or remembering how I got there. The color of blue and red lights were the only thing lighting up the night sky at 10:05 that evening. They asked if I was okay and I moved my shoulder to feel a slight pain, but I ignored it. “I’m fine, are they okay?”

Tow trucks came and they removed what was left and took my car away. My father pulled up and got out just hugging me. The car ride was silent.

We got home and I stayed awake just looking at my ceiling. My best friend called, who was out with the friends I probably would have met.

Screams and noise circulated in the background and the only thing clear was, “At least no one was hurt. That is what is important,” he said.

I fell asleep crying wearing my Carly sweatshirt. It was the ugly brown one I purchased the weekend I went to her funeral in Michigan, as I couldn’t seem to pack properly for the weather because it went from hot to freezing in a matter of minutes.

I hugged the bear her and the team made me and just looked at the bracelet with her name on it. “You saved me tonight,” was all I could whisper in quiet prayer.

How I wish I could have done the same for her. But, I knew like always, she had my back since day one, and nothing was changing that.

My first reaction wasn't, "Okay, you no longer have a car," but rather, everyone was okay. I wasn’t in a hospital bed; I wasn’t visiting someone else. My coach wouldn’t have to make that dreadful phone call twice in one year because no one deserves to do that even once.

I woke up in pain tossing and turning only to readjust my shoulder. But, I woke up the next day crying and I walked to my friend’s house and completely fell apart. “I’ve never seen you cry. I’m not good at this,” he said laughing, which made me laugh.

But, reflecting on it, it’s these moments that forever impact us. The things in life that cause the greatest trauma end up shaping you if you find the lesson it is trying to teach you.

I consider myself so lucky, and I think luck comes in the form of an angel named Carly, as I truly believe in guardian angels.

What I learned more in and after that moment is the responsibility that comes with owning a car. It isn’t something you can mess around with; it is something to which you need to give your complete attention.

As someone who is in constant motion, it taught me to slow down a little. It taught me to be aware of my surroundings. Although during my accident, I wasn't on my phone, I admit that in the past I was guilty of texting and driving on occasion.

But, then, I realized how one single moment can change your life.

No text message, no call, no thought is worth distracting you enough to lose your life or live with having killed someone else. The possibility of that happening became more real to me than ever before on that fatal Saturday night.

If you are someone who is naïve the way I was, don’t be. Learn from me and learn from Carly. I don’t want someone learning by having to experience an accident.

Your life is too valuable to even risk it. When you are on the road, focus on the road only because every time you get into that car, there is a chance you may not make it to your destination.

Your friends and your family are going to be wondering why they haven’t heard from you, so don’t do that to them, and don’t do that to yourself.

A recent study shows texting while driving makes a driver 23 times more likely to crash, and 15- to 19-year-olds are the largest proportion of distracted drivers.

Eleven teens die every day from texting while driving, and 60 percent of teens admit to being distracted while driving.

In 2012, 3,328 people were killed because of a distracted driving accident, while 421,000 were injured in accidents. One in four teens respond to texts they receive while driving, and 14 percent of people admit to reading emails while driving.

It’s time these statistics stop rising.

I don’t know if it is just in my community, but there have been way too many accidents lately. No one deserves to be just another statistic. No parent deserves to lose a child, and no child deserves to lose a parent.

I’m tired of losing my friends and acquaintances to car accidents. I’m tired of reading the stories, and I’m tired of people being naïve to it the way I was.

It was a louder wake-up call than anything else. It is completely and totally within our control to reduce accidents, and it is time we take control.

To anyone reading this, make a promise with me to not let anything distract you while driving. If you ever consider answering a text or call, or you admit to driving carelessly the way I did, take a moment and ask yourself, “Is this more important than my life?”

Cars are not toys; life is not something with which you can gamble, and I sure as hell know there are a lot of people in your life who do not want to go to your funeral.

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Narrative Essay on Road Accident I Witnessed

Narrative essay generator.

Accidents on the road can be life-altering experiences, often leaving a lasting impact on those who witness them. One such incident that I witnessed a few years ago still lingers in my mind, a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the importance of road safety. This essay recounts the details of that harrowing event, aiming to shed light on the consequences of negligence and the paramount importance of vigilance while on the road.

The Day of the Accident

It was a bright and sunny afternoon in mid-July. The streets were bustling with people, and the air was filled with the usual cacophony of honking cars, chattering pedestrians, and the distant hum of city life. I was on my way home from school, walking along the sidewalk, lost in thoughts of the day’s events and the homework that awaited me.

As I approached a busy intersection, the traffic light turned green, signaling for pedestrians to cross. I waited for a few seconds, allowing a car to pass before stepping onto the zebra crossing. What happened next unfolded in a matter of seconds but felt like an eternity. A speeding motorcycle, attempting to beat the red light, swerved into view. The rider, realizing too late that he couldn’t make it, attempted to brake but lost control.

The motorcycle skidded across the road, heading straight for a pedestrian about to reach the other side. In a desperate attempt to avoid a direct collision, the rider veered to the left but ended up crashing into a nearby car. The impact was so severe that the rider was thrown off his bike, landing several feet away, motionless.

The Immediate Aftermath

The scene that followed was one of chaos and panic. The sound of the crash had drawn the attention of everyone nearby. Pedestrians screamed, and drivers honked, creating a cacophony of noise. I stood frozen, my heart racing, as I processed what I had just witnessed.

Several people rushed towards the injured rider and the occupants of the car, trying to offer assistance. I remember the overwhelming sense of helplessness as I watched them dial emergency numbers, their voices urgent and shaky. The driver of the car, visibly shaken but uninjured, stepped out to check on the rider, who lay still on the pavement.

Within minutes, the wail of sirens filled the air as an ambulance and police cars arrived at the scene. The medical team quickly attended to the rider, who was fortunately still alive but seriously injured. The police cordoned off the area, redirecting traffic and starting their preliminary investigation into the cause of the accident.

Reflections on the Incident

As the adrenaline faded and I continued my journey home, the gravity of what I had witnessed began to sink in. It was a sobering reminder of how quickly a normal day could turn tragic due to a moment of carelessness. The rider’s decision to speed and beat the red light had not only endangered his life but also those of others around him.

This incident highlighted the critical importance of road safety measures, such as obeying traffic signals, wearing helmets, and driving within speed limits. It also underscored the unpredictable nature of road accidents and the need for both drivers and pedestrians to remain vigilant at all times.

In the days that followed, I found myself more cautious and aware of my surroundings while walking or riding in a vehicle. The accident served as a powerful lesson on the consequences of negligence on the road and the collective responsibility we share in preventing such tragedies.

The road accident I witnessed was a stark reminder of the thin line between life and death and the impact of our choices behind the wheel. It taught me the importance of road safety, not just as a set of rules to follow, but as a commitment to protecting ourselves and others. As we navigate the roads of life, let us do so with caution and care, mindful of the precious lives that depend on our vigilance and responsibility. This narrative serves as a call to action for all of us to prioritize safety and make our roads safer for everyone.

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Compose a narrative essay about a student's first day at a new school

Develop a narrative essay on a memorable school field trip.

Essay on an Accident I saw| Description of A Car Accident Essay

The experience you had in your life of watching an accident is a personal story that describes the incident chronologically and the lessons you take from it.

These are two examples: an essay on an accident I saw; sharing a personal story; and learning from a road accident you encountered in life.

Table of Contents

Pro tips: While you write an essay on any personal story, always present the fact that the story’s influence on your life.

Essay on an Accident I saw points:

• Introduction
• Eyewitness experience
• My immediate reaction
• Reflecting on the Consequences
• The impact on me

Short Essay on an Accident I Saw

On a regular day, I was returning from school. It was a hot summer day, and the road was clean and traffic-free. Suddenly, listen to a loud sound: a bike hits an SUV car, and the biker falls onto the road.

Immediately, I ran to the biker. He was without a helmet and heavily injured in the head. Meanwhile, the driver of the car came out and started scolding the biker. I stopped the driver and said, This is the time to help, not fight. I requested that he call an ambulance a few minutes later to the hospital.

This accident experience will stay with me for the rest of my life. This experience taught me the importance of helmets and road safety.

Long Essay on an Accident I Saw

The time was early morning on winter’s foggy day. The road was fully covered by fog, and there was not any traffic on the road.

I woke up early that day for my study. I was studying at my table when I suddenly heard the loud sound of someone shouting. I opened my window and saw that somebody had crashed his car into the wall beside the road.

Immediately I ran to that car, and two of my neighbours reached the car, and we together brought the driver outside of the car. He was bleeding from his head and had several other injuries to his body.

The driver had not worn a seatbelt, and that led to several injuries. I called an ambulance within 5 minutes, and it reached and took him to the hospital. In the evening, the police took his car out.

I remember this terrible experience from that accident. It happened so fast that I just can’t believe it in my eyes. This accident reminds me about road safety and the importance of consciousness when driving.

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56 Car Accident Essay Topic Ideas & Examples

🏆 best car accident topic ideas & essay examples, 🎓 most car accident topics to write about, 📌 interesting topics to write about car accident.

• Causes and Solutions of Car Accidents There are several factors that cause road accidents which comprise the following: majority of the accidents occur due the rise in the number of road users who do not obey traffic rules, drivers who drive […]
• Car Accidents Prevention The annual costs of car accidents to the economy are estimated to be billions of USD and it is more in countries that import medicines and vehicles.
• Car Accidents in Kuwait Foreigners are in a hurry because they have a lot of things to do and fail to meet the deadline. Thus, it cannot be denied that the improvement of traffic safety and driving behavior is […]
• Car Accidents Causes and Measures Poor roadway design makes it difficult to drive The roads may have some obstacles that block the visibility of pedestrians especially when the road has many corners The presence of many speed bumps can limit […]
• Men are Responsible for More Car Accidents Compared to Women The role of men in car accidents supersedes that of women. The way to safer roads, it seems, is to reduce the number of men in our roads.
• How to Prevent Car Accidents?
• Car Accident: Reasons and Responsibilities
• Seconds Away From Disaster in the Case of My Car Accident
• Things That Will Cause a Car Accident
• The Effects of Car Accidents
• The Liability of a Car Accident
• Types of Distracted Driving That Cause Car Accidents
• Car Accident: The Most Disastrous Day Ever
• Teenagers Cause Higher Number of Car Accidents
• Intelligent Information’Systems for Cars and Highways: Car Accident
• Cars and Driving: Car Accident
• Unusual Car Accidents in the World
• Requirement of Airbags in Cars During Car Accidents
• Reflective Journal: The Car Accident
• Car Accident: Texting and Driving Accident Statistics
• Car Accidents: How to Prevent Drunk Driving?
• Google’s First Self-Driving Car Accident
• Causes of Car Accidents in Oman
• Road Control: New Rules of the Road to a Car Accident
• Teenage Driver: Increase in Car Accidents
• Cell Phone Usage Causes Car Accidents and Injuries
• The Death of a Car Accident
• Car Accident: How to Save Yourself?
• Icy Roads Lead to Increased Risk in Car Accidents
• Rules and Regulations for Drivers During a Car Accident
• Risky Driving Contributed to an Increase in Car Accident
• Car Color and Car Accident: The Relationship of Concepts
• Teen Drivers and Passengers: Car Accident
• Car Accident: Costs and Statistics
• What to Expect Physically After a Car Accident?
• How Physics Relates to Car Accident and Car Safety in Germany?
• Types of Spatial Econometric Models of Car Accidents in America
• Car Accident: Crashes at Intersections
• Medical Conditions and the Car Accident: A Path of Interrelation
• Car Accident: Claims and Settlements
• Car Accident: Interactions Between the Built and Socio-Economic Environment and Driver Demographics
• How to Cope with Trauma After a Car Accident?
• Why Do Insurance Companies Prefer Car Accidents vs. Car Crashes?
• Claiming for a Car Accident Abroad
• Car Accident and Safety In Tanzania
• How Is Fault Determined in a Multi-Vehicle Car Accident?
• Common Fatal Injuries After a Car Accident
• Degrees and Severity of Punishment for Car Accident
• How to Draw Up a Car Accident Report?
• NYC Car Accident Guide: What to Do After a Car Accident?
• Car Accident: Causes of Car Accidents and How to Avoid Them?
• How Is a Car Accident Defined?
• Car Accident: The Main Source of Death for Young People
• Influence of Natural Conditions on Car Accident
• Car Accident and Traffic Flows: An Econometric Investigation
• Crime Prevention Research Topics
• Criminal Justice Essay Topics
• Crime Ideas
• Crime Investigation Research Ideas
• Crime and Punishment Titles
• Drunk Driving Essay Ideas
• Alcohol Abuse Paper Topics
• Death Titles
• Chicago (A-D)
• Chicago (N-B)

IvyPanda. (2023, October 26). 56 Car Accident Essay Topic Ideas & Examples. https://ivypanda.com/essays/topic/car-accident-essay-topics/

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IvyPanda . (2023) '56 Car Accident Essay Topic Ideas & Examples'. 26 October.

IvyPanda . 2023. "56 Car Accident Essay Topic Ideas & Examples." October 26, 2023. https://ivypanda.com/essays/topic/car-accident-essay-topics/.

1. IvyPanda . "56 Car Accident Essay Topic Ideas & Examples." October 26, 2023. https://ivypanda.com/essays/topic/car-accident-essay-topics/.

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IvyPanda . "56 Car Accident Essay Topic Ideas & Examples." October 26, 2023. https://ivypanda.com/essays/topic/car-accident-essay-topics/.

Essay on Car Accident

Students are often asked to write an essay on Car Accident in their schools and colleges. And if you’re also looking for the same, we have created 100-word, 250-word, and 500-word essays on the topic.

Let’s take a look…

100 Words Essay on Car Accident

What is a car accident.

A car accident is when one or more cars crash into something. This can be another car, a tree, or even a building. It often happens because someone is not paying attention or is driving too fast. Accidents can lead to car damage, injuries, or sometimes even people dying.

Causes of Car Accidents

Many car accidents happen because drivers are not careful. They might be looking at their phones, feeling tired, or not following road rules. Bad weather like rain or snow can also make driving dangerous and lead to accidents.

Effects of Car Accidents

After a car accident, people might be hurt and need to go to the hospital. Cars get damaged and need fixing. Sometimes, the people involved in the accident get scared to drive again. Accidents can also make traffic jams.

Preventing Car Accidents

To avoid car accidents, drivers should focus on the road and drive safely. Wearing seatbelts and using car seats for kids helps keep everyone safe. It’s also important to follow speed limits and not drive in bad weather.

250 Words Essay on Car Accident

A car accident happens when a vehicle hits another vehicle, a person, an animal, or something like a tree or a building. It can occur due to many reasons like driving too fast, not paying attention, or bad weather. When cars crash, it can hurt people and damage the vehicles and things around them.

Many car accidents are caused by drivers not following rules. For example, they may drive faster than the speed limit or use their phones while driving. Sometimes, drivers may not be careful when roads are slippery from rain or snow. Cars that are not kept in good shape can also lead to accidents, like when brakes fail.

Car accidents can be very serious. People may get hurt or even die. Those who get hurt might have to go to the hospital. Accidents can also make people scared to drive again. Cars that are broken need to be fixed, which can cost a lot of money. Sometimes, roads are blocked because of accidents, which can make it hard for others to get where they need to go.

To stop accidents, drivers should pay attention and follow all the driving laws. Wearing seat belts can keep people safe if an accident happens. It’s also important to keep cars in good condition. Learning about road safety can help too. Everyone, including drivers, passengers, and people walking, has a part to play in keeping the roads safe.

500 Words Essay on Car Accident

A car accident is when one car hits another car, a person, an animal, or something like a tree or a building. This can happen for many reasons, like when a driver is not paying attention, the weather is bad, or a car part breaks. Car accidents can be small, with no one getting hurt and just a little damage to the cars, or they can be very big, with people getting injured or even dying, and the cars getting ruined.

Car accidents can cause a lot of problems. People can get hurt, sometimes very badly. They might have to go to the hospital and could take a long time to feel better. Some might never fully recover, which can change their lives and the lives of their families. Accidents can also make people feel scared to drive or ride in cars again. Besides hurting people, accidents can be expensive. Cars need to be fixed, and sometimes people have to miss work while they heal, which means they are not earning money.

Staying Safe on the Road

To stay safe and avoid accidents, there are several things drivers and passengers can do. Always wearing a seatbelt is very important. It can protect you if you are in an accident. Drivers should focus on driving and not do other things like texting. Following the speed limit and road signs is also key to staying safe. When the weather is bad, it’s best to drive more slowly and carefully. If someone feels tired or sick, they should not drive until they feel better.

What to Do After a Car Accident

In conclusion, car accidents are unexpected events that can have serious consequences. They can be caused by many things, including driver mistakes and bad weather. Accidents can hurt people and be very costly. However, by being careful and following safety rules, drivers and passengers can help prevent accidents and protect themselves and others on the road. If an accident does occur, knowing what steps to take can help manage the situation more effectively.

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Car Accident Essay: Chilling Experience

My personal narrative essay car accident made me rake over my memory and get not the most pleasant memories from it. I preferred such an awful and chilling story never to happen to me at all. I hid my memories carefully in the depths of my head, somewhere on the furthest shelf, so far that nobody was able to make me touch them. The task to compose a traffic accident essay, which seemed to be very easy at first sight, jarred my imagination. The most terrible day of my life appeared in front of my eyes again…

How Memory Works

The scientists are sure that children remember a lot, though the bigger they are, the less info is remained in their heads. The events, which seemed to be too vivid until we are small, start vanishing and soon they disappear at all. The adults are able to remember themselves just from the age of 4. I don’t think so, though it is not easy to argue with the science. I just can say that my memory keeps all the important situations, in which I played the principal roles, perfectly. Of course, a lot of details really got decayed, though there are still a lot of things, which I am able to talk about as if it were yesterday.

The biggest part of my memories is bright and clear and makes me smile as soon as I think about them. Unfortunately, not all the periods of my life were so sweet. The day, when my mom and I got into the car accident, left a giant and deep imprint on me forever.  Even if I had a desire to forget it, I wouldn’t be able to do this because of the large scar on my arm. I see it each time, when I look into the mirror or lower my gaze. It annoys me. It makes me feel sacred again.

It Happened When…

It was fifteen years ago. This period in my biography seemed to be unreal even for me, because the story, which divided the life of my family into two parts, sounded like a fairytale.

It happened when I was a five-year-old girl. We were in our new car, which maneuvered skillfully among the other vehicles, the drivers of which had just one dream: to get home as soon as possible. It was the Christmas Eve and it was understandable that nobody wanted to celebrate it on the road. The bus, which was moving super quickly, approached to us. It hit us so loudly that I heard nothing but the awful metallic squeal. The unbearable feeling of fear, which overwhelmed me suddenly but very strongly, and this squeal were the last things, which I remembered. This moment was enough for me to understand that something incredibly bad happened to my mom, me and some more people, who were the passengers of the devilish bus.  Bam! And the light went off.

When I got real, the first thought, which entered my head, was that I was dead and the light that was shining right into my face was nothing else but the transcendent irradiance.

The serious crash made our Mini Cooper flattened and turned it into a real sandwich. It was absolutely irreparable and even the best auto mechanics were not able to restore it. The policemen, who arrived soon after we crashed, were amazed that we were still alive. The state of our car made impossible to imagine that its passengers were saved. In fact, my mom flew through the windshield and fell on the roadside at once. Nobody could explain whether it was just a fortune or her guardian angel was next to her at the moment. My mom’s body was covered with bruises and nearly all of her bones were broken, though she stayed alive. She spent long and painful two years in the hospital, she was made several plastic operations and despite all these hardships, she recovered. I survived this accident badly, though the biggest traumas of mine were the open fracture of the right hand and the psychological shock. The best professionals worked with me to make these fearful memories disappear from my hand or, at least, to become not so vivid. I was told that I was born with a silver spoon in mouth and I was the only one, who got off with such light injuries. It was a real mystery that I survived. Yes, my bones, which were well-seen through the torn skin and muscles, were not the worst, by the way. Ten young men, who were in the bus, which provoked this catastrophe, died. They were the members of the hockey team, by the way, and they were getting home after the victorious match…

Long after this accident happened, we got know that the driver, like all his passengers, wanted to reach the station of destination quicker, so he rode at full speed. Their last dream wasn’t come true...

Be Careful!

Unlike the fellows, who were in the bus, we are still alive and feel perfectly. We don’t know why God saved us, though we were thankful to Him. It is not easy to understand the value of life until you get into a trouble, which may take your life away. I am twenty now, though I am not ready to take to the wheel. Any car, which is driving by, makes me feel discomfort and I can’t control my fears. I see how the modern drivers manage their cars, how they are talking on the phone at the same time. I see their confident faces and the words, which are written in their foreheads: ‘Everything is under my control!’ Not everything, dear gentlemen, really not everything…

The task to compose the car accident essays can’t be called an extra difficult one, though if you don’t have (thank God!) such an experience, it may be not very easy for you to make up such a story. Are you so lucky that you have never been in a car accident? Just buy an essay car accident from Livecustomwriting.com and don’t draw troubles on yourself. Our best writers will make your text perfectly shaped and there will be no differences with the reality. Don’t think twice and follow my advice right now!

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7 powerful stories of recovery after injury

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Cross-country skier Janine Shepherd was Olympics-bound in 1986, with many thinking that she was a strong contender to earn Australia’s first-ever medal at the winter games. But everything changed on a training bike ride through the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. Shepherd was hit by a truck, and broke both her back and neck.

Doctors did not expect Shepherd to survive. And when she made it through surgery she received some jarring words.

As Shepherd recalls in today’s talk , filmed at TEDxKC , “The doctor came over to me and said, ‘Janine, the operation was a success … but the damage is permanent. They’re central nervous system nerves. There is no cure. You’re what we call a partial paraplegic and you will have all the injuries that go along with that. You’ll have no feeling from the waist down. At most, you might get 10 to 20% return.’”

To hear how Shepherd recovered, learning to walk again with only a slight limp, watch her incredible talk . As she explains, the key for her was realizing that she was more than just the circumstances of her body, and that she could create new dreams. For example: becoming a pilot. Shepherd took her first flying lesson in a full body cast, but within a year had earned her private pilot’s license. A commercial pilot license and instructor’s rating followed. Shepherd even went on to become the youngest — and only female — director of Australia’s Civil Aviation Safety Authority (CASA).

Shepherd’s is a powerful story of recovery. After the jump, watch more TED Talks from speakers who beat their physical odds and learned about their own incredible strength in the process.

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Ed Gavagan: A story about knots and surgeons Years ago, Ed Gavagan was brutally stabbed while walking down a New York City street. In this talk, he shares how watching two medical students practicing their knots on the subway reminded him of the surgeons who saved his life. A powerful love letter to medical skill from TEDMED 2012. [ Read much more on his story .]

Giles Duley: When a reporter becomes the story Fashion photographer Giles Duley found his calling when he began traveling the world and documenting the stories of the forgotten and marginalized—a boy with autism, street teens in the Ukraine, refugees who’ve spent years in camps, the injured in the South Sudan. Duley’s life, however, changed when he stepped on an IED in Afghanistan and lost both his legs and arms. At TEDxObserver, he tells his story.

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Jill Bolte Taylor’s stroke of insight Brain scientist Jill Bolte Taylor became her own research subject when she had a massive stroke and experienced a shutdown of all her mental functions. In this talk from TED2008, she shares the incredible story of feeling herself exist on two different planes.

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Simon Lewis: Don’t take consciousness for granted Simon Lewis spent a month in a coma after a terrible car accident in Los Angeles. In this talk from the INK Conference, he shares how the experience of coming back gave him a whole new appreciation for consciousness — and for the plasticity of the brain, the incredible balance found in our bodies and for our capacity to communicate with others.

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Aimee Mullins: The opportunity of adversity Aimee Mullins is a record-breaking runner … who was born without shinbones. In this talk from TEDMED 2009, Mullins shares why the term “disabled” is no longer appropriate: because we will all face adversity of some kind, whether physical or otherwise. She shares a powerful message — that it’s not about whether you will meet adversity, but how you will approach it.

Joshua Prager: My personal half-life In this harrowing talk from TED@NewYork, Joshua Prager describes a life-altering bus crash and its paralyzing effects. He shares a moment that was particularly meaningful for him—the exact minute when he had spent more than half of his life afflicted—and how he chose to spend it. [ Read a TED Blog Q&A with Prager .]

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When my wife and I are at our summer house in western Maine, I walk four miles every day unless it’s pouring down rain. Three miles of this walk are on dirt roads that wind through the woods; a mile of it is on Route 5, a two-lane blacktop highway that runs between Bethel and Fryeburg.

The third week in June of 1999 was an extraordinarily happy one for my wife and for me; our three kids, now grown and scattered across the country, were visiting, and it was the first time in nearly six months that we’d all been under the same roof. As an extra bonus, our first grandchild was in the house, three months old and happily jerking at a helium balloon tied to his foot.

On June 19th, I took our younger son to the Portland Jetport, where he caught a flight back to New York. I drove home, had a brief nap, and then set out on my usual walk. We were planning to go en famille to see a movie in nearby North Conway that evening, and I had just enough time to go for my walk before packing everybody up for the trip.

I set out around four o’clock in the afternoon, as well as I can remember. Just before reaching the main road (in western Maine, any road with a white line running down the middle of it is a main road), I stepped into the woods and urinated. Two months would pass before I was able to take another leak standing up.

When I reached the highway, I turned north, walking on the gravel shoulder, against traffic. One car passed me, also headed north. About three-quarters of a mile farther along, I was told later, the woman driving that car noticed a light-blue Dodge van heading south. The van was looping from one side of the road to the other, barely under the driver’s control. When she was safely past the wandering van, the woman turned to her passenger and said, “That was Stephen King walking back there. I sure hope that van doesn’t hit him.”

Most of the sight lines along the mile-long stretch of Route 5 that I walk are good, but there is one place, a short steep hill, where a pedestrian heading north can see very little of what might be coming his way. I was three-quarters of the way up this hill when the van came over the crest. It wasn’t on the road; it was on the shoulder. My shoulder. I had perhaps three-quarters of a second to register this. It was just time enough to think, My God, I’m going to be hit by a school bus, and to start to turn to my left. Then there is a break in my memory. On the other side of it, I’m on the ground, looking at the back of the van, which is now pulled off the road and tilted to one side. This image is clear and sharp, more like a snapshot than like a memory. There is dust around the van’s taillights. The license plate and the back windows are dirty. I register these things with no thought of myself or of my condition. I’m simply not thinking.

There’s another short break in my memory here, and then I am very carefully wiping palmfuls of blood out of my eyes with my left hand. When I can see clearly, I look around and notice a man sitting on a nearby rock. He has a cane resting in his lap. This is Bryan Smith, the forty-two-year-old man who hit me. Smith has got quite the driving record; he has racked up nearly a dozen vehicle-related offenses. He wasn’t watching the road at the moment that our lives collided because his Rottweiler had jumped from the very rear of his van onto the back seat, where there was an Igloo cooler with some meat stored in it. The Rottweiler’s name was Bullet. (Smith had another Rottweiler at home; that one was named Pistol.) Bullet started to nose at the lid of the cooler. Smith turned around and tried to push him away. He was still looking at Bullet and pushing his head away from the cooler when he came over the top of the knoll, still looking and pushing when he struck me. Smith told friends later that he thought he’d hit “a small deer” until he noticed my bloody spectacles lying on the front seat of his van. They were knocked from my face when I tried to get out of Smith’s way. The frames were bent and twisted, but the lenses were unbroken. They are the lenses I’m wearing now, as I write.

Smith sees that I’m awake and tells me that help is on the way. He speaks calmly, even cheerily. His look, as he sits on the rock with his cane across his lap, is one of pleasant commiseration: Ain’t the two of us just had the shittiest luck ? it says. He and Bullet had left the campground where they were staying, he later tells an investigator, because he wanted “some of those Marzes bars they have up to the store.” When I hear this detail some weeks later, it occurs to me that I have nearly been killed by a character out of one of my own novels. It’s almost funny.

Help is on the way, I think, and that’s probably good, because I’ve been in a hell of an accident. I’m lying in the ditch and there’s blood all over my face and my right leg hurts. I look down and see something I don’t like: my lap appears to be on sideways, as if my whole lower body had been wrenched half a turn to the right. I look back up at the man with the cane and say, “Please tell me it’s just dislocated.”

“Nah,” he says. Like his face, his voice is cheery, only mildly interested. He could be watching all this on TV while he noshes on one of those Marzes bars. “It’s broken in five, I’d say, maybe six places.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him—God knows why—and then I’m gone again for a little while. It isn’t like blacking out; it’s more as if the film of memory had been spliced here and there.

When I come back this time, an orange-and-white van is idling at the side of the road with its flashers going. An emergency medical technician—Paul Fillebrown is his name—is kneeling beside me. He’s doing something. Cutting off my jeans, I think, although that might have come later.

I ask him if I can have a cigarette. He laughs and says, “Not hardly.” I ask him if I’m going to die. He tells me no, I’m not going to die, but I need to go to the hospital, and fast. Which one would I prefer, the one in Norway-South Paris or the one in Bridgton? I tell him I want to go to Bridgton, to Northern Cumberland Memorial Hospital, because my youngest child—the one I just took to the airport—was born there twenty-two years ago. I ask again if I’m going to die, and he tells me again that I’m not. Then he asks me whether I can wiggle the toes of my right foot. I wiggle them, thinking of an old rhyme my mother used to recite: “This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home.” I should have stayed home, I think; going for a walk today was a bad idea. Then I remember that sometimes when people are paralyzed they think they’re moving but really aren’t.

“My toes, did they move?” I ask Paul Fillebrown. He says that they did, a good, healthy wiggle. “Do you swear to God?” I ask him, and I think he does. I’m starting to pass out again. Fillebrown asks me, very slowly and loudly, leaning down over my face, if my wife is at the big house on the lake. I can’t remember. I can’t remember where any of my family is, but I’m able to give him the telephone numbers both of our big house and of the cottage on the far side of the lake, where my daughter sometimes stays. Hell, I could give him my Social Security number if he asked. I’ve got all my numbers. It’s everything else that’s gone.

Other people are arriving now. Somewhere, a radio is crackling out police calls. I’m lifted onto a stretcher. It hurts, and I scream. Then I’m put into the back of the E.M.T. truck, and the police calls are closer. The doors shut and someone up front says, “You want to really hammer it.”

Paul Fillebrown sits down beside me. He has a pair of clippers, and he tells me that he’s going to have to cut the ring off the third finger of my right hand—it’s a wedding ring my wife gave me in 1983, twelve years after we were actually married. I try to tell Fillebrown that I wear it on my right hand because the real wedding ring is still on the ring finger of my left—the original two-ring set cost me fifteen dollars and ninety-five cents at Day’s Jewelers in Bangor, and I bought it a year and a half after I’d first met my wife, in the summer of 1969. I was working at the University of Maine library at the time. I had a great set of muttonchop sideburns, and I was staying just off campus, at Ed Price’s Rooms (seven bucks a week, one change of sheets included). Men had landed on the moon, and I had landed on the dean’s list. Miracles and wonders abounded. One afternoon, a bunch of us library guys had lunch on the grass behind the university bookstore. Sitting between Paolo Silva and Eddie Marsh was a trim girl with a raucous laugh, red-tinted hair, and the prettiest legs I had ever seen. She was carrying a copy of “Soul on Ice.” I hadn’t run across her in the library, and I didn’t believe that a college student could produce such a wonderful, unafraid laugh. Also, heavy reading or no heavy reading, she swore like a millworker. Her name was Tabitha Spruce. We were married in 1971. We’re still married, and she has never let me forget that the first time I met her I thought she was Eddie Marsh’s townie girlfriend. In fact, we came from similar working-class backgrounds; we both ate meat; we were both political Democrats with typical Yankee suspicions of life outside New England. And the combination has worked. Our marriage has outlasted all of the world’s leaders except Castro.

Some garbled version of the ring story comes out, probably nothing that Paul Fillebrown can actually understand, but he keeps nodding and smiling as he cuts that second, more expensive wedding ring off my swollen right hand. By the time I call Fillebrown to thank him, some two months later, I know that he probably saved my life by administering the correct on-scene medical aid and then getting me to a hospital, at a speed of roughly ninety miles an hour, over patched and bumpy back roads.

Fillebrown suggests that perhaps someone else was watching out for me. “I’ve been doing this for twenty years,” he tells me over the phone, “and when I saw the way you were lying in the ditch, plus the extent of the impact injuries, I didn’t think you’d make it to the hospital. You’re a lucky camper to still be with the program.”

The extent of the impact injuries is such that the doctors at Northern Cumberland Hospital decide they cannot treat me there. Someone summons a LifeFlight helicopter to take me to Central Maine Medical Center, in Lewiston. At this point, Tabby, my older son, and my daughter arrive. The kids are allowed a brief visit; Tabby is allowed to stay longer. The doctors have assured her that I’m banged up but I’ll make it. The lower half of my body has been covered. She isn’t allowed to see the interesting way that my lap has shifted around to the right, but she is allowed to wash the blood off my face and pick some of the glass out of my hair.

There’s a long gash in my scalp, the result of my collision with Bryan Smith’s windshield. This impact came at a point less than two inches from the steel driver’s-side support post. Had I struck that, I would have been killed or rendered permanently comatose. Instead, I was thrown over the van and fourteen feet into the air. If I had landed on the rocks jutting out of the ground beyond the shoulder of Route 5, I would also likely have been killed or permanently paralyzed, but I landed just shy of them. “You must have pivoted to the left just a little at the last second,” I am told later, by the doctor who takes over my case. “If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The LifeFlight helicopter arrives in the parking lot, and I am wheeled out to it. The clatter of the helicopter’s rotors is loud. Someone shouts into my ear, “Ever been in a helicopter before, Stephen?” The speaker sounds jolly, excited for me. I try to say yes, I’ve been in a helicopter before—twice, in fact—but I can’t. It’s suddenly very tough to breathe. They load me into the helicopter. I can see one brilliant wedge of blue sky as we lift off, not a cloud in it. There are more radio voices. This is my afternoon for hearing voices, it seems. Meanwhile, it’s getting even harder to breathe. I gesture at someone, or try to, and a face bends upside down into my field of vision.

“Feel like I’m drowning,” I whisper.

Somebody checks something, and someone else says, “His lung has collapsed.”

There’s a rattle of paper as something is unwrapped, and then the second person speaks into my ear, loudly so as to be heard over the rotors: “We’re going to put a chest tube in you, Stephen. You’ll feel some pain, a little pinch. Hold on.”

It’s been my experience that if a medical person tells you that you’re going to feel a little pinch he’s really going to hurt you. This time, it isn’t as bad as I expected, perhaps because I’m full of painkillers, perhaps because I’m on the verge of passing out again. It’s like being thumped on the right side of my chest by someone holding a short sharp object. Then there’s an alarming whistle, as if I’d sprung a leak. In fact, I suppose I have. A moment later, the soft in-out of normal respiration, which I’ve listened to my whole life (mostly without being aware of it, thank God), has been replaced by an unpleasant shloop-shloop-shloop sound. The air I’m taking in is very cold, but it’s air, at least, and I keep breathing it. I don’t want to die, and, as I lie in the helicopter looking out at the bright summer sky, I realize that I am actually lying in death’s doorway. Someone is going to pull me one way or the other pretty soon; it’s mostly out of my hands. All I can do is lie there and listen to my thin, leaky breathing: shloop-shloop-shloop .

Ten minutes later, we set down on the concrete landing pad of the Central Maine Medical Center. To me, it feels as if we’re at the bottom of a concrete well. The blue sky is blotted out, and the whap-whap-whap of the helicopter rotors becomes magnified and echoey, like the clapping of giant hands.

Still breathing in great leaky gulps, I am lifted out of the helicopter. Someone bumps the stretcher, and I scream. “Sorry, sorry, you’re O.K., Stephen,” someone says—when you’re badly hurt, everyone calls you by your first name.

“Tell Tabby I love her very much,” I say as I am first lifted and then wheeled very fast down some sort of descending walkway. I suddenly feel like crying.

“You can tell her that yourself,” the someone says. We go through a door. There is air-conditioning, and lights flow past overhead. Doctors are paged over loudspeakers. It occurs to me, in a muddled sort of way, that just an hour ago I was taking a walk and planning to pick some berries in a field that overlooks Lake Kezar. I wasn’t going to pick for long, though; I’d have to be home by five-thirty because we were going to see “The General’s Daughter,” starring John Travolta. Travolta played the bad guy in the movie version of “Carrie,” my first novel, a long time ago.

“When?” I ask. “When can I tell her?”

“Soon,” the voice says, and then I pass out again. This time, it’s no splice but a great big whack taken out of the memory film; there are a few flashes, confused glimpses of faces and operating rooms and looming X-ray machinery; there are delusions and hallucinations, fed by the morphine and Dilaudid dripping into me; there are echoing voices and hands that reach down to paint my dry lips with swabs that taste of peppermint. Mostly, though, there is darkness.

Bryan Smith’s estimate of my injuries turned out to be conservative. My lower leg was broken in at least nine places. The orthopedic surgeon who put me together again, the formidable David Brown, said that the region below my right knee had been reduced to “so many marbles in a sock.” The extent of those lower-leg injuries necessitated two deep incisions—they’re called medial and lateral fasciotomies—to release the pressure caused by my exploded tibia and also to allow blood to flow back into my lower leg. If I hadn’t had the fasciotomies (or if they had been delayed), it probably would have been necessary to amputate my leg. My right knee was split almost directly down the middle, and I suffered an acetabular fracture of the right hip—a serious derailment, in other words—and an open femoral intertrochanteric fracture in the same area. My spine was chipped in eight places. Four ribs were broken. My right collarbone held, but the flesh above it had been stripped raw. The laceration in my scalp took almost thirty stitches.

Yeah, on the whole I’d say Bryan Smith was a tad conservative.

Mr. Smith’s driving behavior in this case was eventually examined by a grand jury, which indicted him on two counts: driving to endanger (pretty serious) and aggravated assault (very serious, the kind of thing that means jail time). After due consideration, the district attorney responsible for prosecuting such cases in my corner of the world allowed Smith to plead out to the lesser charge of driving to endanger. He received six months of county jail time (sentence suspended) and a year’s suspension of his right to drive. He was also placed on probation for a year, with restrictions on other motor vehicles, such as snowmobiles and A.T.V.s. Bryan Smith could conceivably be back on the road in the fall or winter of 2001.

David Brown put my leg back together in five marathon surgical procedures that left me thin, weak, and nearly at the end of my endurance. They also left me with at least a fighting chance to walk again. A large steel and carbon-fibre apparatus called an external fixator was clamped to my leg. Eight large steel pegs called Schanz pins ran through the fixator and into the bones above and below my knee. Five smaller steel rods radiated out from the knee. These looked sort of like a child’s drawing of sunrays. The knee itself was locked in place. Three times a day, nurses unwrapped the smaller pins and the much larger Schanz pins and swabbed the holes with hydrogen peroxide. I’ve never had my leg dipped in kerosene and then lit on fire, but if that ever happens I’m sure it will feel quite a bit like daily pin care.

I entered the hospital on June 19th. Around the thirtieth, I got up for the first time, staggering three steps to a commode, where I sat with my hospital johnny in my lap and my head down, trying not to weep and failing. I told myself that I had been lucky, incredibly lucky, and usually that worked, because it was true. Sometimes it didn’t work, that’s all—and then I cried.

A day or two after those initial steps, I started physical therapy. During my first session, I managed ten steps in a downstairs corridor, lurching along with the help of a walker. One other patient was learning to walk again at the same time as me, a wispy eighty-year-old woman named Alice, who was recovering from a stroke. We cheered each other on when we had enough breath to do so. On our third day in the hall, I told Alice that her slip was showing.

“Your ass is showing, sonny boy,” she wheezed, and kept going.

By July 4th, I was able to sit up in a wheelchair long enough to go out to the loading dock behind the hospital and watch the fireworks. It was a fiercely hot night, the streets filled with people eating snacks, drinking beer and soda, watching the sky. Tabby stood next to me, holding my hand, as the sky lit up red and green, blue and yellow. She was staying in a condo apartment across the street from the hospital, and each morning she brought me poached eggs and tea. I could use the nourishment, it seemed. In 1997, I weighed two hundred and sixteen pounds. On the day that I was released from Central Maine Medical Center, I weighed a hundred and sixty-five.

I came home to Bangor on July 9th, after a hospital stay of three weeks, and began a daily-rehabilitation program that included stretching, bending, and crutch-walking. I tried to keep my courage and my spirits up. On August 4th, I went back to C.M.M.C. for another operation. When I woke up this time, the Schanz pins in my upper thigh were gone. Dr. Brown pronounced my recovery “on course” and sent me home for more rehab and physical therapy. (Those of us undergoing P.T. know that the letters actually stand for Pain and Torture.) And in the midst of all this something else happened.

On July 24th, five weeks after Bryan Smith hit me with his Dodge van, I began to write again.

I didn’t want to go back to work. I was in a lot of pain, unable to bend my right knee. I couldn’t imagine sitting behind a desk for long, even in a wheelchair. Because of my cataclysmically smashed hip, sitting was torture after forty minutes or so, impossible after an hour and a quarter. How was I supposed to write when the most pressing thing in my world was how long until the next dose of Percocet?

Yet, at the same time, I felt that I was all out of choices. I had been in terrible situations before, and writing had helped me get over them—had helped me to forget myself, at least for a little while. Perhaps it would help me again. It seemed ridiculous to think it might be so, given the level of my pain and physical incapacitation, but there was that voice in the back of my mind, patient and implacable, telling me that, in the words of the Chambers Brothers, the “time has come today.” It was possible for me to disobey that voice but very difficult not to believe it.

In the end, it was Tabby who cast the deciding vote, as she so often has at crucial moments. The former Tabitha Spruce is the person in my life who’s most likely to say that I’m working too hard, that it’s time to slow down, but she also knows that sometimes it’s the work that bails me out. For me, there have been times when the act of writing has been an act of faith, a spit in the eye of despair. Writing is not life, but I think that sometimes it can be a way back to life. When I told Tabby on that July morning that I thought I’d better go back to work, I expected a lecture. Instead, she asked me where I wanted to set up. I told her I didn’t know, hadn’t even thought about it.

For years after we were married, I had dreamed of having the sort of massive oak-slab desk that would dominate a room—no more child’s desk in a trailer closet, no more cramped kneehole in a rented house. In 1981, I had found that desk and placed it in a spacious, skylighted study in a converted stable loft at the rear of our new house. For six years, I had sat behind that desk either drunk or wrecked out of my mind, like a ship’s captain in charge of a voyage to nowhere. Then, a year or two after I sobered up, I got rid of it and put in a living-room suite where it had been. In the early nineties, before my kids had moved on to their own lives, they sometimes came up there in the evening to watch a basketball game or a movie and eat a pizza. They usually left a boxful of crusts behind, but I didn’t care. I got another desk—handmade, beautiful, and half the size of my original T. rex—and I put it at the far-west end of the office, in a corner under the eave. Now, in my wheelchair, I had no way to get to it.

Tabby thought about it for a moment and then said, “I can rig a table for you in the back hall, outside the pantry. There are plenty of outlets—you can have your Mac, the little printer, and a fan.” The fan was a must—it had been a terrifically hot summer, and on the day I went back to work the temperature outside was ninety-five. It wasn’t much cooler in the back hall.

Tabby spent a couple of hours putting things together, and that afternoon she rolled me out through the kitchen and down the newly installed wheelchair ramp into the back hall. She had made me a wonderful little nest there: laptop and printer connected side by side, table lamp, manuscript (with my notes from the month before placed neatly on top), pens, and reference materials. On the corner of the desk was a framed picture of our younger son, which she had taken earlier that summer.

“Is it all right?” she asked.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said.

She got me positioned at the table, kissed me on the temple, and then left me there to find out if I had anything left to say. It turned out I did, a little. That first session lasted an hour and forty minutes, by far the longest period I’d spent upright since being struck by Smith’s van. When it was over, I was dripping with sweat and almost too exhausted to sit up straight in my wheelchair. The pain in my hip was just short of apocalyptic. And the first five hundred words were uniquely terrifying—it was as if I’d never written anything before in my life. I stepped from one word to the next like a very old man finding his way across a stream on a zigzag line of wet stones.

Tabby brought me a Pepsi—cold and sweet and good—and as I drank it I looked around and had to laugh despite the pain. I’d written “Carrie” and “Salem’s Lot” in the laundry room of a rented trailer. The back hall of our house resembled it enough to make me feel as if I’d come full circle.

There was no miraculous breakthrough that afternoon, unless it was the ordinary miracle that comes with any attempt to create something. All I know is that the words started coming a little faster after a while, then a little faster still. My hip still hurt, my back still hurt, my leg, too, but those hurts began to seem a little farther away. I’d got going; there was that much. After that, things could only get better.

Things have continued to get better. I’ve had two more operations on my leg since that first sweltering afternoon in the back hall. I’ve also had a fairly serious bout of infection, and I still take roughly a hundred pills a day, but the external fixator is now gone and I continue to write. On some days, that writing is a pretty grim slog. On others—more and more of them, as my mind reaccustoms itself to its old routine—I feel that buzz of happiness, that sense of having found the right words and put them in a line. It’s like lifting off in an airplane: you’re on the ground, on the ground, on the ground . . . and then you’re up, riding on a cushion of air and the prince of all you survey. I still don’t have much strength—I can do a little less than half of what I used to be able to do in a day—but I have enough. Writing did not save my life, but it is doing what it has always done: it makes my life a brighter and more pleasant place. ♦

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Essay on Personal Narrative- The Fatal Car Accident

Personal Narrative: The Fatal Car Accident

It was a day like any other, or so I thought. The sun was shining brightly, casting its golden rays across the bustling streets. I was driving down the familiar road, lost in my own thoughts, when suddenly, everything changed in the blink of an eye. A deafening screech pierced the air, followed by the sickening sound of metal crunching against metal. My heart skipped a beat as I realized what had just happened - I had been involved in a fatal car accident.

Time seemed to stand still as I struggled to process the chaos unfolding around me. Smoke billowed from the wreckage, mixing with the scent of burning rubber and gasoline. Panic surged through my veins as I frantically searched for any signs of life amidst the twisted wreckage. Every moment felt like an eternity as I prayed for a miracle, hoping against hope that everyone involved would emerge unscathed.

But fate had other plans. As the dust settled and emergency sirens wailed in the distance, the harsh reality of the situation began to sink in. Lives had been lost, families shattered, and futures irreversibly altered, all in the blink of an eye. Guilt gnawed at my insides as I grappled with the knowledge that I could have done something, anything, to prevent the tragedy from occurring.

In the days and weeks that followed, I found myself consumed by a whirlwind of emotions - grief, remorse, and overwhelming disbelief. Each night, I lay awake, haunted by vivid memories of the accident, replaying the events in my mind like a broken record. The weight of responsibility hung heavy on my shoulders, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the devastating consequences of a single moment's lapse in judgment.

As time passed, I gradually began to come to terms with the events of that fateful day. While the scars - both physical and emotional - may never fully heal, I have learned to carry them with me as a solemn reminder of the preciousness of every moment. The fatal car accident served as a harsh wake-up call, forcing me to confront my own mortality and reevaluate my priorities in life. Though the road ahead may be long and arduous, I am determined to honor the memory of those we lost by striving to live each day with purpose, gratitude, and a renewed appreciation for the precious gift of life.

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• Relationship Narrative: Personal Narrative Essay

Personal Essay On Being Weird-Personal Narrative

Growing up, I always felt like I never quite fit in. I was the kid who would rather spend time in the library than on the playground, and I had a passion for topics that most of my peers found odd. At first, I struggled with feeling like an outsider, but as I got older, I realized that being "weird" was actually a gift. Embracing my quirks and unique interests has allowed me to see the world in a different light and has shaped me into the person I am today. One of the earliest memories I have of feeling different was in elementary school. While most kids were trading Pokémon cards and playing video games, I was engrossed in books about ancient history and mythology. I remember feeling a sense of isolation, as if I was the only one who found these topics fascinating. However, as I grew older, I met others who shared my passions, and it was then that I realized that being different was not a weakness, but rather a strength. My interests set me apart in a positive way, allowing me to bring a unique perspective to conversations and friendships. As I entered high school, I began to embrace my "weirdness" even more. I joined clubs and extracurricular activities that aligned with my passions, and I found a group of friends who appreciated me for who I was. While some people may have viewed my interests as strange, I saw them as an integral part of my identity. I found joy in learning about the things that fascinated me, and I no longer felt the need to conform to societal norms. Embracing my weirdness allowed me to cultivate a strong sense of self-acceptance and confidence. Now, as an adult, I am grateful for the experiences that being "weird" has brought into my life. My unique perspective has allowed me to approach challenges in creative ways, and it has opened doors to new opportunities that I may not have encountered otherwise. I have come to realize that being different is not something to be ashamed of, but rather something to be celebrated. It has given me the courage to pursue my passions unapologetically and to live life authentically. In conclusion, my journey of embracing my "weirdness" has been transformative. What once felt like a burden has become a source of strength and joy. I have learned that being true to myself and my interests is far more important than trying to fit into a mold that society deems "normal." Embracing my quirks has allowed me to form meaningful connections, pursue my passions, and live a life that is uniquely my own. I am proud to be "weird," and I wouldn't have it any other way....

Personal Narrative : Short Story : Personal Essay '

As a child, I was captivated by the enchanting world of books. Each story became a portal to adventure, a journey into realms both real and fantastical. However, amidst the pages of beloved tales, there was one story waiting to be written — my own. Crafting a personal narrative became a transformative experience, weaving threads of memory, emotion, and introspection into the fabric of my existence. My journey into personal narrative began with a simple realization — the power of storytelling to shape identity. Growing up in a bustling city, I often felt like a small cog in a vast machine, lost in the cacophony of urban life. Yet, through the act of writing, I discovered the profound significance of my own experiences, no matter how seemingly ordinary. Each anecdote, each moment of joy or sorrow, became a brushstroke in the portrait of my life, painting a picture of resilience and growth. One pivotal moment in my personal narrative journey occurred during a family vacation to the countryside. Surrounded by rolling hills and endless skies, I found myself immersed in a world untouched by the chaos of modernity. It was here, amidst the whispers of nature, that I experienced a profound sense of connection to something greater than myself. As I penned my reflections in a weathered journal, I realized that the essence of storytelling lies not only in the words themselves but in the spaces between them — the silent pauses where meaning resides. However, the true beauty of personal narrative lies not in the destination, but in the journey itself. Along the way, I encountered moments of doubt and uncertainty, grappling with the complexities of self-expression. Yet, with each word written and each story shared, I discovered the transformative power of authenticity. Personal narrative became more than just a literary exercise; it became a mirror reflecting the depths of my soul, illuminating hidden truths and untold dreams. In conclusion, the art of crafting a personal narrative is a journey of self-discovery and expression. Through the act of storytelling, we bridge the gap between past and present, weaving together the tapestry of our lives with threads of memory and emotion. It is through the sharing of our stories that we find connection, understanding, and ultimately, the courage to embrace our truest selves. In the end, our personal narratives are not just stories — they are testaments to the beauty of the human experience, written one word at a time....

• Life Experiences
• Emotions & Feelings
• Character Traits

Personal Narrative: Cultural Perspective Essay

Personal Narrative Cultural Perspective Growing up in a multicultural household has shaped my perspective on the world in profound ways. My mother is from Japan, and my father is from the United States, so I have always been exposed to a blend of Eastern and Western traditions, customs, and values. This unique cultural background has given me a deep appreciation for diversity and a nuanced understanding of different ways of life. One of the most significant aspects of my cultural perspective is the importance of family and community. In Japanese culture, there is a strong emphasis on respect for elders, loyalty to one's family, and a sense of duty to the community. These values have been instilled in me from a young age, and I have come to see the interconnectedness of all people and the importance of supporting one another. Another key element of my cultural perspective is the concept of harmony and balance. In Japanese culture, there is a belief in finding equilibrium in all aspects of life, whether it be in relationships, work, or personal well-being. This emphasis on balance has taught me the importance of mindfulness, self-care, and maintaining a sense of peace and tranquility in a fast-paced world. Additionally, my multicultural background has given me a broader understanding of global issues and a greater sense of empathy for people from different walks of life. I have learned to appreciate the beauty in cultural differences and to approach new experiences with an open mind and a willingness to learn. This perspective has enriched my life in countless ways and has allowed me to connect with people from diverse backgrounds on a deeper level. In conclusion, my personal narrative cultural perspective has shaped me into a more compassionate, understanding, and open-minded individual. I am grateful for the lessons I have learned from both my Japanese and American heritage, and I strive to carry these values with me as I navigate the complexities of the world. Embracing diversity, seeking harmony, and valuing community are all essential components of my cultural perspective, and I am proud to carry on these traditions in my own life....

• Cultural Heritage and Preservation
• Language and Dialects

Personal Narrative Essay: Watching A Piece Of Dance

Personal Narrative Essay Watching A Piece Of Art As I walked into the art gallery, I was immediately struck by the vibrant colors and intricate details of the paintings on display. Each piece seemed to tell a story, drawing me in and inviting me to explore its depths. I found myself drawn to a particular painting, a stunning landscape that seemed to come alive before my eyes. The painting depicted a serene meadow, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. The colors were so vivid, it felt as though I could reach out and touch the flowers swaying in the gentle breeze. I was captivated by the way the artist had captured the play of light and shadow, creating a sense of depth and movement that drew me into the scene. As I stood before the painting, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. The beauty of the artwork was so overwhelming, it was as though all my worries and cares melted away. I found myself lost in the moment, completely absorbed in the world the artist had created. I spent what felt like hours studying every brushstroke, every detail of the painting. It was as though I could see the artist's hand at work, feel their passion and creativity flowing through the canvas. I was struck by the power of art to evoke such strong emotions, to transport the viewer to another time and place. Leaving the gallery, I felt inspired and uplifted. The experience of watching that piece of art had left a lasting impression on me, reminding me of the beauty and wonder that exists in the world. It was a moment of pure joy and connection, a reminder of the power of art to touch the soul and stir the imagination. I knew that I would carry the memory of that painting with me always, a source of inspiration and comfort in the days to come....

• Art Movements
• Famous Artists
• Visual Arts

Essay about Causes of Car Accidents

Car accidents are a prevalent and often tragic occurrence on roads worldwide, causing significant loss of life and property damage each year. Understanding the causes behind these accidents is essential for devising effective preventive measures and promoting safer driving practices. Several factors contribute to car accidents, ranging from human error to environmental conditions and vehicle malfunctions. One of the primary causes of car accidents is distracted driving, which involves any activity that diverts the driver's attention away from the task of driving. This includes texting, talking on the phone, eating, adjusting the radio, or even interacting with passengers. When drivers engage in distractions, their reaction times are impaired, increasing the risk of collisions with other vehicles or pedestrians. Educating drivers about the dangers of distracted driving and implementing laws to discourage these behaviors can help reduce the incidence of accidents caused by distraction. Another significant factor in car accidents is speeding. Exceeding the posted speed limit or driving too fast for road conditions significantly increases the likelihood of losing control of the vehicle and causing a collision. Speeding reduces the driver's ability to react to hazards on the road and increases the severity of injuries in the event of an accident. Enforcing speed limits through traffic laws, speed cameras, and public awareness campaigns can help deter speeding and promote safer driving habits among motorists. Impaired driving, whether due to alcohol, drugs, or fatigue, is a major contributor to car accidents worldwide. Alcohol impairs judgment, coordination, and reaction time, making it a leading cause of fatal crashes. Similarly, driving under the influence of drugs or driving while fatigued can impair cognitive function and compromise driving ability. Strict enforcement of laws against driving under the influence, along with public education campaigns promoting responsible alcohol consumption and the importance of adequate rest before driving, are essential strategies for combating impaired driving and reducing accidents. Environmental factors such as adverse weather conditions and poor road conditions also play a role in car accidents. Rain, snow, ice, fog, and reduced visibility can make driving more challenging and increase the risk of accidents. Likewise, poorly maintained roads, inadequate signage, and construction zones can create hazards for drivers. Implementing road maintenance programs, improving infrastructure, and providing drivers with information about road conditions can help mitigate the impact of environmental factors on road safety. In conclusion, car accidents result from a complex interplay of factors, including human error, environmental conditions, and vehicle-related issues. By addressing these causes through a combination of education, enforcement, and infrastructure improvements, societies can work towards reducing the incidence of car accidents and making roads safer for all motorists and pedestrians. Preventive measures such as promoting attentive driving, obeying speed limits, avoiding impaired driving, and addressing environmental hazards are crucial steps in preventing car accidents and saving lives on the road....

• Cybersecurity and National Security
• Environmental Protection
• Economic Issues

My Neighborhood-Personal Narrative Essay

My Neighborhood Personal Narrative Growing up in my neighborhood was a unique experience that has shaped who I am today. Nestled in a quiet suburb, our street was lined with tall trees and well-manicured lawns. The sense of community was strong, with neighbors looking out for one another and children playing together in the cul-de-sac. It was a safe and welcoming environment that provided a sense of belonging and security. One of my fondest memories of my neighborhood was the annual block party that we would have every summer. It was a time for everyone to come together, share food and stories, and enjoy each other's company. The sound of laughter and music filled the air as children ran around playing games and adults caught up on the latest news. It was a time when the neighborhood truly felt like a big family, united in our shared experiences and values. As I grew older, I began to appreciate the beauty of my neighborhood even more. The tree-lined streets provided a sense of tranquility and peace, a welcome escape from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. I would often take long walks in the evenings, admiring the architecture of the houses and the colorful gardens that lined the sidewalks. It was a place where I could clear my mind and find solace in the simple pleasures of nature. Despite the passage of time and the changes that have occurred, my neighborhood will always hold a special place in my heart. It was a place where I learned the value of community, friendship, and connection. The memories I have of growing up there will always bring a smile to my face, reminding me of the bonds that were formed and the experiences that were shared. My neighborhood will forever be a part of who I am, a place that will always feel like home....

• Literature and Oral Traditions

Personal Narrative Essay : Moving To Scotland

Personal Narrative Essay: Moving To Scotland Moving to Scotland was a defining moment in my life, marking the beginning of a new chapter filled with excitement, challenges, and personal growth. It was a decision fueled by a desire for adventure and a thirst for new experiences, yet it came with its own set of uncertainties and adjustments. Leaving behind familiar surroundings and cherished memories was undoubtedly bittersweet. The prospect of starting afresh in a foreign land was both exhilarating and daunting. However, as I stepped off the plane and set foot on Scottish soil, I was greeted by a sense of anticipation and curiosity that overshadowed any apprehensions. The vibrant culture and rich history of Scotland immediately captivated my imagination. From the majestic landscapes of the Highlands to the bustling streets of Edinburgh, every corner seemed to hold a story waiting to be discovered. Embracing the Scottish way of life became a journey of exploration, as I immersed myself in local traditions, sampled traditional cuisine, and learned about the country's storied past. One of the most rewarding aspects of my time in Scotland was the opportunity to connect with people from diverse backgrounds. Whether sharing a pint at the pub or attending a ceilidh, I found warmth and hospitality in the Scottish community. These interactions not only enriched my cultural understanding but also fostered lasting friendships that transcended geographical boundaries. Adjusting to life in Scotland presented its share of challenges, from navigating the intricacies of the Scottish accent to adapting to the unpredictable weather. Yet, with each obstacle encountered, I found resilience and resourcefulness within myself. Every setback became a lesson in resilience, teaching me to embrace uncertainty and persevere in the face of adversity. In retrospect, moving to Scotland was more than just a change of scenery—it was a transformative experience that shaped my identity and worldview. It taught me the value of stepping outside my comfort zone, embracing new opportunities, and embracing the unknown. As I look back on my time in Scotland, I am filled with gratitude for the memories made, the lessons learned, and the friendships forged along the way. Moving to Scotland was not just a geographical relocation, but a journey of self-discovery and personal growth that will forever remain etched in my heart....

• Cultural Exchange Programs
• Global Health Challenges
• Social Networks and Community Building

Personal Narrative Essay : What I Did This Summer

Personal Narrative Essay: What I Did This Summer This summer, I had the opportunity to travel to Europe with my family. It was a trip that I had been looking forward to for months, and it did not disappoint. We visited several countries, including France, Italy, and Spain, and each destination offered a unique and unforgettable experience. In France, we spent time exploring the beautiful city of Paris. We visited iconic landmarks such as the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre Museum, and Notre Dame Cathedral. We also enjoyed strolling along the Seine River and indulging in delicious French cuisine. One of the highlights of our time in France was a day trip to the Palace of Versailles, where we marveled at the opulent architecture and stunning gardens. Next, we traveled to Italy, where we immersed ourselves in the rich history and culture of Rome. We toured ancient ruins such as the Colosseum and the Roman Forum, and we threw coins into the Trevi Fountain for good luck. We also sampled authentic Italian gelato and pizza, which were a highlight of the trip for me. In addition to Rome, we visited the picturesque cities of Florence and Venice, where we admired the art and architecture of the Renaissance period. Our final stop was in Spain, where we explored the vibrant city of Barcelona. We visited the famous Sagrada Familia cathedral, designed by architect Antoni Gaudi, and we spent time relaxing on the beautiful beaches of the Mediterranean coast. We also sampled traditional Spanish dishes such as paella and tapas, and we enjoyed the lively atmosphere of the city's bustling streets. Overall, my summer trip to Europe was an incredible experience that I will never forget. I had the opportunity to explore new cultures, try new foods, and create lasting memories with my family. It was a trip that broadened my horizons and gave me a new appreciation for the beauty and diversity of the world. I am grateful for the opportunity to have had such an amazing adventure, and I look forward to future travels that will allow me to continue exploring and learning about different parts of the world....

• Tourist Attractions

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Coco Gauff wins U.S. Open women’s final, defeating Aryna Sabalenka 6-2

Coco Gauff won the U.S. Open women’s final, becoming the latest Black American woman to leave a history-making mark on the most sacred grounds of U.S. tennis

Gauff bested  Aryna Sabalenka  of Belarus on Saturday 6-2 in the final set.

Gauff’s upset win at Arthur Ashe Stadium in Flushing Meadows, New York City, etches her name into the history books alongside other Black American women’s tennis icons like Serena Williams, Venus Williams and Althea Gibson.

Gibson won the U.S. National   Championship  women’s singles titles in 1957 and 1958, a forerunner of the U.S. Open. Venus, the older Williams sister, won the U.S. Open in 2001 and 2002 while Serena took the championships of 1999, 2002, 2008, 2012, 2013 and 2014.

Those six U.S. Open singles titles by  Serena Williams are only matched by Chris Evert’s  half-dozen championships in the tournament’s modern era, 1975-78 and 1980 and 1982.

Coming into Saturday, Gauff, 19, of Florida, has  won five singles titles  but was still chasing a title in one of the world’s four major tournaments (the U.S., French and Australian Opens and Wimbledon).

She’s come close before as the  French Open runner-up in 2022  and when she reached the quarterfinals in Flushing Meadows last year.

It was in the low 80s when the first ball was served at about 4:15 p.m. EDT in Queens and the roof of Arthur Ashe Stadium was closed to mitigate some of the heat.

The temperature was better Saturday than the withering conditions — mid- to high-90s — that have plagued this tournament.

This story originally appeared on NBCNews.com.

David K. Li is a breaking news reporter for NBC News.

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