Hans drives to the highway, presumably listening to the engine. He travels the last quarter mile of life’s road, planned for him by God before the foundation of the world. He drives his car down the dirt driveway where he learned to walk and to run and to ride a bike.
I often wonder what he was thinking, in those last seconds before the crash, as he rolled along through the winter darkness without a clue he was taking his last breaths. I ponder these things now as I drive along this same stretch of dirt road. What was he thinking at this spot here? And here? Fifteen seconds left. Ten. Five. How many heartbeats did he have left? Was he thinking about us who love him? Was he thinking about me?