a letter to the snowmobiler who hit me

January 2015... The view of the mountains in BC, where we chose to come for our second anniversary, is breathtaking. A girl at the ski rental asked me if I was ready for skiing today. “No” I said, “Only my husband is going to ski. I’m still recovering from some injuries.”  “ Well maybe next time”, she said cheerfully. “Yeah” I smiled back at her, “hopefully next year”.  I noticed snowmobiles at the foot of the mountain. “Do they have their own trail?”  She reassured me they do, so I don’t need to worry. I tried to relax the tightness in my chest that I always feel at the sight of a snowmobile. Every time I see one, I think of you.  So I decided to write you a letter hoping you will come across it.  I’d like to hear back, though I doubt it will ever happen. But I will write anyway…

Do you think of me when you see people cross country skiing or a girl in a wheel chair? Do you remember that night two years ago when you and your buddies went for a joy ride on your snowmobiles across Lac Morency?  Did you even feel that you hit somebody with your souped up machine that night? Did you think for a moment of stopping to check what it was? Did you hear what happened to me after you stormed through our lives? I assume you did because it made the news all the way to Calgary  “A 29 y.o. female was hit by a snowmobile on her honeymoon in a hit-and-run accident in Quebec”. 

January 27, 2013... My husband and I had enjoyed cross country skiing through St. Hippolyte earlier that day, day 8 of our honeymoon. We were on the way to our auberge crossing the lake in the full moon light reflected on the fresh snow when the still night was pierced by the roar of your snowmobiles. We stopped, not sure which way you’d go around us… The first snowmobile came so close to me, it hit my pole. I grabbed my husband’s arm and looked behind my shoulder (it was much due to that pose that my back wasn’t injured). “Do you think they see us?” I asked as we watched your snowmobile storming through the lake dangerously fast. “I’m sure they do”, said my husband, his words covered by my screaming as I realized you were coming straight at me…  My husband found me ten meters away from my skis, lying on the snow. I opened my eyes and it felt that, like in a game of Tetris when the blocks fall on each other uncontrollably, the game was over for me. “They broke me honey, I am dying…”  The pain was so intense, my mind was exploding in agony. As my husband did a first aid assessment for bleeding, he prayed fervently, calling on the name of Jesus to save my life. I thought, if he’s fighting for me I should at least try to wiggle my toes… for you see, I feared that my back was broken…but my toes moved! That moment of hope stuck with me through the following months of pain and disappointment.  My husband did try to call you to stop to come help us. But you never stopped. And you never came back. So we were all alone in the quietness of that beautiful night on the lake, no cell phone, no people around, we were far enough from the resort that it wasn’t possible for my husband to go get help, fearing to leave me lying alone on the lake. He was afraid another snowmobile might come (and it did… was it you checking what happened?) and I was afraid that I’d die alone while he was away.  It was -20 C or even colder, so I was quickly getting hypothermic. My husband tried to carry me but the pain was more than I could bear. After a few meters he had to place me back on the snow.  For the second time that night I wondered if I was going to die. 

Yet I know we were not alone. We prayed together and I started saying goodbye to my husband of eight days. After about half an hour an older couple came to the edge of the lake. They heard his cries for help and reported to the resort… (We never got your names, and if you’re reading this, please know that we constantly thank God for you, we know He sent you to our aid).

I never lost consciousness through it all, but as the ambulance was about to leave for the hospital, I felt that I was about to lose it. So with the remaining strength I told my husband that I loved him and that “I forgive them, whoever they are, I forgive them.” I felt deep urgency in my heart to love him and to forgive you, I still didn’t know what was going to happen, I remember thinking that I wanted to leave him with that if I was going to die. I believe that that forgiveness was pressed on my heart by the Lord, it protected us from bitterness in the months to come.  "Forgive each other as the Lord has forgiven you... Love your enemies... Pray for those who hurt you..." All of a sudden the words of my Saviour took on a much deeper meaning.

Several people in the hospital apologized to us for what had happened as if it was their fault, they said the whole community felt sorry and it was “a shame to the sport of snowmobiling”… I hope there is no more threat to the safety of that beautiful community caused by anyone’s careless driving.

Do you feel relieved that you escaped legal and financial responsibilities? Did you know that in Quebec a snowmobile is not considered a motorized vehicle, and we wouldn't even be able to take you to court.... Either way, I'd much rather talk to you face to face over coffee than at the court. Accidents do happen. And even those we love the most, we hurt. Yet it is our choice to be honest and courageous in stepping up to own up to the wrong we did.

My insurance company "Seven Corners" denied our claim on the basis that we were “participating in a hazardous sport”, so it took months to sort our growing medical debt, after a  long ordeal with too many details to mention here, we got things covered by my husband's automobile insurance. (My medical bill has reached over $100 000 by now. So feel free to donate funds to a children’s charity in my name if your conscience ever bothers you, for that is my field of work and my heart).  Do you continue to snowmobile?.. Does that night ever come back to you in a nightmare? I have seen you once in a dream. I have never seen you but I saw your face clearly.  I saw your mother talking to you... She challenged you, she knew it was you who had done it... I woke up in sweat and started praying for you.   I have been praying for you all this time, that you would find a forgiveness and peace that no one can take away from you.  I have so many questions and sometimes I talk to you in my head imagining you sitting across a table as we drink coffee and share our stories of life after the accident…

the lake.. the x-rays... the walks... 

In the hospital they said we were lucky. I had sustained over a dozen breaks in both legs. My femur was broken in three places, it was a miracle that a floating piece hadn’t pierced my femoral artery -- people die in four minutes of internal bleeding in that area. I know I wasn’t “lucky”, I was blessed. The Lord watched over us, preserving our lives. I asked the doctor if I’d walk again. He said I would. I asked if I could have children. He said I could. There was hope. I just didn’t know how long and painful the journey would be.  Yet as we walked through the valley of tears we discovered streams of life in it. 

It took me a year to stat walking without any walking devices. Before my most recent surgery in October 2014 I was able to bike and started to jog five minutes at a time. I am regaining my strength and continue working on my mobility. Sometimes I feel tired and discouraged when it feels that it's been so long and there seem to be no improvement in my energy or strength level. Then I remember how far I've already come, with tender support of my hero of a husband, great medical team, prayers and care of so many family and friends and the healing touch of my Father God. I did my first Terry Fox Run in 2013 using a walker and a wheelchair. We did it in memory of my husband’s dad and my grandpa, we had lost them both to cancer within two months of the accident.  

I’ve kept my burned gaiters, the broken pieces of my ski poles and bindings. 
I turned them into a collage on the snow last year 

as the grief overwhelmed me on the first anniversary of the accident

I'm telling you my story because I have no other way of reaching you. I’d rather tell it to you in person. I’d like to hear your story. I’m guessing I’ll never have a chance to… Please know that you have my forgiveness. And that God’s forgiveness is also yours to receive.

I pray that you will come across this letter 

and hear that I forgive you. 

My husband and I want to express our deep gratitude to the owner and staff of the Auberge du Lac Morency and the “good snowmobilers” who came to our rescue, to the amazing firefighters and the paramedics who provided first aid, to the police officer and his team. Our deepest thank you to my superb surgeon and his team, and the wonderful, wonderful nurses of Hotel-Dieu St. Jerome who cared for us with their hearts. I am thankful for my brilliant surgeons and the big team of amazing medical professionals who followed up with me as we moved on and who have been supporting us through this journey. We pray for God’s peace and strength over all of you.

PS. We found courage to revisit St. Hippolyte and Lac Morency 21 months after the accident. As we canoed to the place where we believe the accident had stopped us, I floated flowers on the water and praised my God for being there with me, every step of the way. I felt peace and I knew I would come back. When I am able to ski again, I hope to gather friends and finish crossing the lake. You are welcome to join us anonymously when you hear of the big shindig of a celebration of Life on Lac Morency.  

ididforgiveyou@gmail.com