Mother day gift made by child

Five years ago I killed someone. I was not a coldhearted drug dealer or knife-wielding spurned lover. I was like most 20-year-old college students, but the magnitude of what I did changed me forever.

I was living in Washington, D.C., studying journalism. It was Sunday, and three friends from out of town had spent the weekend. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. We woke up that morning and got dressed. Their bus left at noon, and we were running late. We wolfed down some leftover lasagna and headed for the bus station. That morning was the last time I would get behind the wheel of a car without fear, my only thought being reaching my destination.

My friends and I chattered aimlessly--about men, clothes, soap operas and old times. We arrived at the station just in time to hug and promise to keep in touch. I waved good-bye and watched them pull away. If only I had left immediately, maybe things would have turned out differently. But who am I now to question circumstances?

When I think back on that day, I remember how beautiful it was--not a cloud in the sky. But my memory will forever be dimmed by the hours that followed; they are so painful to revisit. I turned the corner of a busy intersection and collided with death. I can still see it in slow motion, like a scene on a camcorder that keeps rewinding itself in my mind. I relive that moment when I least expect to remember it.

I didn't see the child until he was directly in front of my car, his eyes frozen in terror. Perhaps he understood in that second that this would be his last conscious moment. I slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. His tiny head bumped against the hood of the car and then drooped. I heard the thump of what I imagine must have been his body being crashed by my tires.

I stopped the car. My first instinct was to drive away. I now understand the overwhelming fear that makes a hit-and-run driver leave the scene of a crime. I was scared, confused and very close to running away--not because I was negligent or didn't care but because I was terrified. Somehow I managed to get out of my car, but my legs were trembling so much I could hardly move. Then I ran across the street to a barbershop to call an ambulance. In the meantime, a crowd had gathered around the child, who was sprawled limply in the middle of the street.

I was in a daze as I stumbled into a woman's arms. I don't know who she was, but she was my guardian angel that day. She hugged me and said everything would be fine. We heard sirens. And then screams. I peered over the woman's shoulder and saw the child's mother standing over his frail body. My guardian angel left me to go to the mother's side. She put her arms around her and spoke comforting words.

The police and the ambulance came, and the emergency-medical-services workers lifted the child into an ambulance. The mother climbed in behind them, and they sped off to the hospital hoping to save the boy's life. I was taken to the police station and questioned. Witnesses' stories corroborated mine, and I was found completely not at fault.

The boy died at 4:24 that afternoon. He was 4 years old. I know his mother mourns him every day, because I do, too. This tiny stranger changed my life forever. I know I did nothing wrong, but I now have an appreciation of life that goes far beyond guys and friends and pretty clothes.

Whenever I drive, I think about that little boy. I often wonder what his life would have been like had he lived. Would he be in fourth grade now, a straight-A student with a bright future? On the day our lives collided, God made the decision that only one of us would survive. I've often wondered why a 4-year-old boy was taken before he could experience even a little of what I, at 20, had already lived. But then I remember that life is guided by chance--no one knows what it will bring or how long it will last.

I am still shaken by that day, and I know I always will be. But I learned a valuable lesson: My life, too, can be snuffed out at any moment, and there are many goals I want to reach before I die. I will never again waste a single moment of this precious gift called life.

Tamara E. Holmes is assistant technology editor at USA Today Online.