Almanac Life: ER reflects on the 30th anniversary of his traumatic car accident
“Experience is but a moment. Making sense of that moment is a life.” Question 7, Richard Flanagan, p45.
“In Chekhov’s stories, the only fools are those with answers.” Question 7, Richard Flanagan, p25.
Today, 21 January 2025, marks 30 years since I sat in the front passenger seat of a car that rolled at 100 kilometres per hour, around 30 km east of Threeways, Northern Territory, Australia. Thirty years since the day I suffered permanent severe brain injury. Thirty years since the day my cervical 5 vertebra fractured, and the displaced bone touched my spinal cord, classing me as an “incomplete quadriplegic.” Thirty years since my lung collapsed. I was 19.
In those thirty years I have been lucky enough to have done and achieved a lot.
I walk, I talk, I think.
I love, I hope, I dream.
I have two wonderful daughters.
There are traditional markers of a life that I could list here – but to me they are just words. Traditional markers of a life are not what I would choose to describe a life.
I don’t care for possessions nor titles.
I care for understanding and I care for listening. I care for presence.
During these thirty years I sought many times to make sense of my life through writing.
Writing was something I could do. It was something I could control.
Writing allowed me to be free.
Writing at The Footy Almanac gave me (and gives me) freedom. It taught me to trust creativity, to try, to read and to fail. At the Footy Almanac I wrote my first attempts to understand the events of 30 years ago (here and here). I was struck with the openness and feeling with which my stories were received in the comments. This says a lot about the community at The Footy Almanac.
Later, I wrote an 80,000 word manuscript about the event and its aftermath. My motivation was to write something that my daughters might read and later understand about what happened to me.
It took years to write and I found it very difficult. So very difficult.
Twice I paid for professional editors to assess my manuscript, with the aim of publishing a book. Twice I found that the job of responding to feedback was beyond me.
I was left to wonder whether perhaps the very severe brain damage I sustained in the accident and was trying to describe, might have thwarted my ambition. I put that manuscript aside.
I put that manuscript aside and I found new openings in the cracks of life. As bizarre as it sounds, I was lead to a place where I met the ghost of my uninjured self. I asked him a question and he answered.
==
Later still – just last March 2024, I published a story on Substack about the consequences of 21 January 1995 – an update to my earlier Footy Almanac stories.
I remain happy with that article. But a part or me remained (and remains) perplexed that I could not find a voice or a satisfying ending to my manuscript.
==
And then, in April 2024, I read the book Question 7 by Richard Flanagan: part novel, part imagining, part personal truth-telling.
In the peak of my Footy Almanac writing days, in 2017, I once wrote a public letter of humble thanks to a brother of Richard Flanagan – sports and people -writer extraordinaire over decades for The Age in Melbourne, Martin Flanagan. A week later he responded to my letter with a public letter of his own. That correspondence remains a highlight of my life.
==
The book Question 7 by Richard Flanagan I find utterly astounding. It is unlike any book I have read. I love it.
It was only through reading Question 7 that I understood my own struggles with writing about 21 January 1995. Here are some passages that may give you an idea.
==
“Sometimes I wonder why we keep returning to beginnings – why we seek the single thread we might pull to unravel the tapestry we call our life in the hope that behind it we will find the truth of why.
But there is no truth. There is only why. And when we look closer we see that behind that why is just another tapestry.
And behind it another, and another, until we arrive at oblivion.” Question 7, Richard Flanagan, p4.
==
“Chekhov’s question 7: Wednesday, June 17, 1881, a train had to leave station A at 3 a.m. in order to reach station B at 11 p.m.; just as the train was about to depart, however, an order came that the train had to reach station B by 7 p.m. Who loves longer, a man or a woman?”Question 7, Richard Flanagan, p24.
==
“When I died on the Franklin River at the age of twenty-one it was as I had always known it would be. Everything ever since has been an astonishing dream.” Question 7, Richard Flanagan, p98.
==
“I was struck at the death of both my mother and father how within only minutes of passing, their face was no longer them and yet it remained their face. After twenty-one I stole back my face from death but it was not my face. I saw bodies and faces that were me but which I hadn’t been allowed, rather this stranger’s body and face, like borrowed clothes at once too loose and too tight and smelling wrong. But there was nothing else to wear so we got on with it me and this ill-fitting costume that bears my name.” Question 7, Richard Flanagan, p98.
==
“It was only many years after it happened that I began to understand. That what occurred is still occurring. I wrote about the story in one way a long time ago for another novel, my first. Though I tried to be honest, it was still happening and so it was dishonest. That’s what I couldn’t see then that I see now, that though it happened then it’s still happening now and it won’t ever stop happening, and that writing about it, that writing about anything, can’t be an opinion about what happened as if it had already happened when it is still happening, still unintelligible, still mysterious, and all writing is trapped in tenses when life isn’t. Life is always happening and has happened and will happen, and the only writing that can have any worth confounds time and stands outside of it, swims with it and flies with it and dives deep within it, seeking the answer to one insistent question: who loves longer?” Question 7, Richard Flanagan, p99.
==
Today marks 30 years since I tumbled down this particular rabbit hole. Many rabbit holes have come and gone since then, but all of them are offshoots from the big one.
As fate would have it, today I will spend part of the day sitting in the front passenger seat of car at 100 kilometres per hour, as my daughters each drive. Today the age of my eldest daughter is 19.
==
What does it all mean?
I don’t know. But I do know that I have not finished with my attempts to understand that car accident and its repercussions. Because yes, it is still happening and will always be happening.
These days, I know about catastrophic discontinuity in a life. I know about self-care. I know that I met the ghost of my 19-year-old uninjured self – and that he spoke to me (speaks to me, will always speak to me). I know about love, connection, listening.
It was 2019 when I met the ghost of my younger self. Over four transformative days I learnt four big lessons. First – that life is hard. Second – that I’m a bit crazy. Third – that I need to protect myself. Fourth – that I have the presence of a big old tree.
On the fifth day I wondered how I could possibly remember all that I had learned. And that’s when my ghost came to see me. He appeared. Nothing like that had ever happened before. He just appeared kind of above me. A bit off to the side. I felt incredibly moved to see him.
“Oh wow. It is SO GOOD to see you,” I said. “How am I going to remember all of these lessons from the past few days?”
The ghost of my younger self smiled and he answered me.
“Don’t worry about it!” he said. “We’ve got this.”
And then he leaped down into my body. I had the sense of my younger, uninjured self rejoining my older body. Boom. He was part of me again. I felt enormous. I felt alive. I felt very emotional and grateful. And he has been with me – laughing and dancing and playing and being – ever since.
==
As for who loves longer?
I don’t know about that.
But I do know that I hear the question.
Long may the mystery continue.
Check out more stories from ER at substack Here.
More from ER on the Footy Almanac can be read Here.
Read more stories from Almanac Music HERE
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About David Wilson
David Wilson is a hydrologist, climate reporter and writer of fiction & observational stories. He writes under the name “E.regnans” at The Footy Almanac and has stories in several books. One of his stories was judged as a finalist in the Tasmanian Writers’ Prize 2021. He shares the care of two daughters and likes to walk around feeling generally amazed. Favourite tree: Eucalyptus regnans.
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Good stuff,Mountain Ash.
You’ve certainly undergone a journey, Where you are currently, you seem to me, as a wise sage who’s looked death in the face and kept going. Yes there are scars, indeed there is pain, but there’s an understanding of the world that trauma gives those who experience that. No fun in it, I won’t trot out trite lines like it makes you a better person, but the fact you’ve achieving what you are now shows a level of resilience, and learning, to take great pride in.
On September 28 2002, Grand Final day, I was run over. I have no recollection of it. I recall crossing the road about 100 or so metres earlier: my next memory is laying on a bed, trolley, looking at lights in the ceiling, not knowing anything.
Apparently I was conscious when the ambulance arrived; news to me. 4 days in an induced coma, 10 days overall in ICU, with another 8 weeks in rehabilitation. I didn’t walk from Grand Final Day until the Wednesday of Melbourne Cup week. That was one of numerous injuries I experienced. I returned to work one day a week a few months down the track, still requiring further surgery, treatment, before getting back into the workforce properly. 22 & a bit years later I’m still going, and so are you .
Thanks for your story, your contributions to the FA over the years. Good onya.
alles Gute fur die zakunft.
Amazing story Dave and you too Glen. You have the intestinal fortitude of Keith Richards and Ozzy Osborne the pair of you! Every day must bring that something extra in terms of purpose after recovering from that. We are all the better for it. I’ve certainly enjoyed reading your stories. Cheers
Thanks for this generous and affirming piece David. Much to consider as always. Question 7 has now jumped a few places on my lengthy reading list!
Thanks all.
Wow Glen. I’m glad you have navigated your way through since 2002. You never know.
I find it’s quite common to hear of other people’s stories when I share mine. It is a humbling and very important thing. Thanks Glen. Go well.
Ian – I don’t know about bringing purpose or anything extra. It’s a strange world. These days life is wonderful for me. Something I actively do now is to “follow joy.” I started that idea in late 2021 and it is excellent fun. Thank you!
Mickey – yes Question 7 came highly recommended to me. And I’m very happy to recommend it equally highly right here.
It could be a masterpiece. Thanks Mickey.
Mountain Ash, (I love that name)
Wow, This has made me want to read more of your stuff. Question 7 has also been on my ‘to read” list for too long.
What is life? What will be my legacy? Do I even need to a legacy?
I guess that manuscript will be published when it’s ready!
Thanks
Wonderful ER. Very thought provoking and moving.
Maybe our connection with our younger self (I think I understand that?) is maturity? Or maybe courage ? The courage to look back without damaging ourselves? Or beating ourselves up? Or wondering g why?
It just is
If something (the big thing) didn’t happen then something else (another big thing) would have and you would be reflecting on that.
Cheers.
Love your attitude ER. It’s been fantastic to read your words on the Almanac for a long time now and share the odd beer along the way. Long may it all continue!!
Long may the mystery continue.
Indeed, e.r. Indeed.
Thanks ER, what a heartfelt, honest story. Even though, through the FA stories you have written and many conversations we have had, I feel I have some understanding of your journey, this story has been revealing in a new and intense way. When you talk about yourself, it does feel like you are opening doors to my “unknowns” for me as the reader. Along with many other observations, this really moved me:
The ghost of my younger self smiled and he answered me.
“Don’t worry about it!” he said. “We’ve got this.”
As Dips notes, blending our younger selves with who we are (or think we are) today is a settling process that for this 62-year-old I trust will allow me to enjoy the 4th quarter, knowing my short-comings are part of my strengths.
Onya
Oh, and if you aint already familiar with the Iris DeMent song, Let the Mystery Be, do yerself a Molly.
Remarkable.
I do hope that manuscripts sees the light of day. ‘Long may the mystery continue.’ ‘Let the mystery be.’ Maybe that is the ending.
A golf buddy told me a similar story about a truck driving accident 6 years ago before I knew him. He said “my wife tells me I’ve changed, but I dunno.” Like you he has made a good physical recovery. Both your stories had me wondering about how those dramatic events change us. How much is physical, and how much a perspective shift – something akin to PTSD where seemingly ordinary things trigger us? Probably both.
What I do know is both of you are “different cats” and I value how your brains fragment the light into different colours.
“You never know what worse luck your bad luck saves your from.”
Thanks Stan. I love that Earl O’Neill around here calls me Swampy – after one of the Tassie names for the Eucalyptus regnans: Swamp Gum!
I like your reading of it, Dips. I can’t say what the connection with younger self is. What I do know is that I had the very real sense of SEEING my younger self – white t-shirt, goofy grin – float just above me. He was uninjured, and I felt him re-inhabit my body. I remember the moment in March 2019. I know how that sounds.
Cheers Luke. I think we were in the same Almanac draft year. Same goes for your writing and perspective.
Thanks Smokie. Love it.
That’s a beauty, Rick. The whole thing is a mystery, as far as I can see. I saw a quote once (I forget where) that said something like: life is not a problem to be solved. It is a mystery to be lived.
Thanks DBalassone. That is probably the only true ending.
Very interesting (and heartening) Peter_B. I don’t know about physical v. mental v. psychological factors – but I guess for the 25 odd years that I lived inside the Dave1/Dave2 paradigm, that was what I needed to do. I don’t need that anymore – since some profound healing in March 2019. Regardless, I’ve found Tim Winton’s Fish Lamb character one of the best things in pop culture for representing brain damage. Also Pink Floyd’s song “Brain Damage” from Dark Side of the Moon (especially the line “there’s someone in my head but it’s not me”). There is no question that I am not who I was before the accident. And there is no question that luck spared me a much more difficult life. Still there are difficulties. AND I know I’m extremely lucky.
Thanks all.
OBP massively thought provoking- impossible to contemplate unless the person has experienced something similar imo – thanks for being you !
Thanks ER. Reminds me of a Borges story called The Other. But you did it for real. Congratulations on your anniversary. All the best.
David
Too damn good, that piece. Took me places, I cried.
17 years since my brain injury, mugged in Redfern, an inch from death. Madness for a long time. Walking up the road, thinking “Wow, they repainted the pub overnight, impressive”
The visual associations part of my brain was short-circuiting. Another brain part dimly recognised that and tho I wondered what Exile or Funhouse might look like, I didn’t dare check.
Bones and ligaments from knees down gave out on me for next couple years. I made some silly choices. I was born lucky, whenever I trip over, I land in clover.
Redfern to Goolwa, another universe. Perspective? Dunno yet.
Many thanx for writing. I’d like to read your manuscript.
All best to you and yours
Earl