Reader’s Digest
108 september 2019
T
he day I died was the
perfect New England
autumn morning. It was
11 a.m. on Saturday,
8 October 2011, when
I set out on the 12-mile [19-kilo-
metre] bike ride home from work
along the Connecticut shoreline. The
sun was brilliant against the blue
sky, and the leaves were starting to
change colours.
It was an exciting time for me.
I loved my job as a programme mana-
ger at PeaceJam, an organization that
educates kids about leaders in the
peace movement. At home, my hus-
band of one year, Sean, and I were
trying to have a baby.
Sean, a mail carrier, was working,
so I’d made plans with a friend for a
long ride later that afternoon. But I
would never get to meet up with her.
As I settled into the right-hand
lane of a busy avenue, a freight truck
turned in my direction from a side
street. He slowed at the corner. We
made eye contact. Then, for reasons
I’ll never know, he accelerated.
There was nothing I could do but
scream. The giant truck knocked me
down on to my left side; my legs got
tangled up with my bicycle. I heard
snapping and grinding as his front
tyres drove over me. I felt my insides
cracking when his back tyres did
the same.
People came rushing from all direc-
tions as the truck rumbled away. “Oh
my God!” I heard. “She’s alive.”I raised my head just enough to
see something bright white and
yellow protruding from my leg: bone,
tendons and fatty cells. The skin had
peeled right off most of the lower half
of my body, along with my clothing.
There wasn’t any normal flesh to see.
My abdomen was opened up, and I
was bleeding out.
A woman with blonde hair ap-
peared and sat in the road with me,
holding my head. One man stopped
the fleeing truck. Another ran over
carrying an emergency heat blan-
ket from a kit he had in his car. HeSean slept in the hospital and took on
the role of Colleen’s advocate.photo:courtesy^ of^ colleenkelly^ alexander