Rest in Peace
CW/TW: death, motorcycle crash/car accidents, BLM, witnesses
For those in the know, I witnessed a bad motorcycle crash last Thursday. Monday of this week I found out that the person did in fact die. I drive past the location as I do everyday on my commute, and the closest column has become an altar. Surrounded by candles, flowers, notes, balloons and ‘Rest in Peace’ signs; it’s obvious that this man passed.
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Last Thursday, I had been looking in my rearview mirror while a siren approached. As I checked to my right in case I needed to pull over there was an explosion of metal in front of me. I knew what had happened instantly as I had clocked a motorcycle approaching the intersection. In a panic and gasping, I looked around at the cars beside me and at what people were doing. One man was out of his car and approaching the site. I don’t know why, but I remembered the concept of bystander syndrome, took a quick look to see if anyone else had their phone out and as I couldn’t see anyone who did, I turned my car off and scrambled to find my own. My fingers were already shaking as I reached my phone and got out of my car. I walked around the intersection trying to get the 911 operators the status and location information they needed. I spoke to operators from two separate divisions before they confirmed with each other that they had the location and a report in and I was unceremoniously disconnected. It wasn’t until later that I realized how much I wanted to know the fate of the man. Also that I’d never actually called 911 before. For the thirty years I’ve been taught the number and never called it.
It wasn’t until much later that I realized I hadn’t put my mask on before I got out of my car. I wasn’t in the open for long, nor did I speak directly with another person, but I know I was potentially exposed.
This poorly edited mess of thoughts that you’re reading right now is why I can’t witness moments like this. I take very active measures to ensure the images I come into contact with are not personally disturbing. Being a visual person I know I’ll have the images of this crash in my mind for the rest of my life; images I would never want to have as a family member. And being my empathetic self, I will think about this and all networks of thought surrounding it for a very long time.
I cannot imagine this family’s pain right now. I’ve been warned about motorcycles for years from every variety of my social circles and I know this was someone in this man’s life’s worst nightmare. And it happened; someone received that call.
I’m thinking about the driver of the car as well. While I didn’t see the moment of impact and I cannot speak to exactly how it happened, what was a moment of some degree of carelessness, caused this person to end a man’s life. I don’t know what you do with yourself after something like that. I personally don’t think I could handle my internal judgment. Because it’s THIS. This exact instance is what my anxiety-riddled brain imagines is possible when I step out of the door; that by no real fault of my own other than human error, I could cause such devastating and intense lifelong pain for others.
Because I think of the Black people in our country being murdered. I often wonder about the witnesses of the acts that shake the country, in real life. We saw precisely the sequence of events with Darnella Frazier and the trauma she experienced. If I am this distraught with witnessing a violent act without malice, I do not know how the Black members of our community stay sane with the constant, intentional violence enacted on their friends and family. And even that seems cruel to bring up within the context of this death because as a white woman, I think a lot about how the public reacted to the death of Justine Damond. She was a white woman, killed by a Black police officer and he was charged in her death, the polar opposite of what has historically happened when a cop murders a Black person. Even her death received a degree of white privilege because it was held accountable. But that’s also where I take issue; yes Damond existed and benefited from systemic white privilege, but her death equally doesn’t amount to less because it wasn’t racially motivated. I can see so easily where if a similar public reaction happened to a viral tragedy in my white family, it might indenture an animosity towards #BLM. All I guess I’ve realized is that death is just as individually precious as life.
I just keep thinking about in the grand scheme, what a cruel thing to happen. With all of the other pain and hardship that feels so heightened in the world right now. It seems like life should be cutting people some slack; no accidents, no major diagnoses, etc. But no, and it never ceases to amaze me what humans are able to reckon with.
Know that I feel incredibly strange and shameful with any centering of myself when I know a human being lost their life. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about death though in recent years, and I honestly don’t know how else you process a death that you witnessed, but is in no other way connected to you. Because before today, the only way I knew this man was by witnessing his death. And we hear about deadly accidents every single day, especially in Los Angeles. I wonder how often we think about the victims of those accidents as opposed to ourselves as ‘victims’ of the traffic caused by those accidents. People die in our city everyday, and all we know of them is the delay they cause to our schedules… but know there is more.
I know that this man’s name was Gabriel Valenzuela. I know that he was a Lakers fan. I know that he liked Dos Equis beer. And now I know that he was a son, brother and a father that people loved. That he had a network of people who will miss him dearly.
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If you are able, please help lessen the funeral expenses of his family:
https://www.gofundme.com/f/funeral-expenses-for-gabriel-valenzuela-the-3rd
