At the precise moment her skull shattered the Mustang's windshield her perception of time slowed to a near standstill.
In the hours it took for her to rocket beyond the shattered glass until the sudden and final impact of her body against a sturdy sequoia on the roadside, she experienced once again the very best moments of her 27 years of existence -- her mom kissing her goodnight; the applause at her first violin recital; the security of her sister's hand in hers; her first french kiss, sweet, long and salty at the ocean's edge awakening in her the first rich, swooning feelings of womanhood; her father's breath-stealing embrace; her grandmother's leathery-wizened fingers wiping away her tears; the smooth metal as her husband slipped a sparkling ring on her finger; her pudgy toddler, gazing up at her with big brown eyes as she tucked him in.
She knew she shouldn't have been driving, that swerving toward a semitrailer truck was wrong, but somehow she couldn't find a different outcome, so suddenly all she'd had was gone.
Update: After I wrote this piece, I heard these two interviews on CBC. One is a man who studies the elderly and asked them to give him life's lessons (the two most outstanding: don't give un-asked-for advice to adult children and choose to be happy despite your circumstances) and one was with Jeanette Winterson, in which she openly described her nearly successful suicide attempt -- spoiler: her cat saves her! -- and how at the moment of deciding it was truly not a decision, rather like the last line of my story, where I don't believe the woman was able to change her choice. Ms. Winterson's cheerful demeanor was not at all what I expected of her given her earlier writing so I had no choice but to give her my full attention.
I hope you have the time to enjoy both interviews, as each gave me inspiration and affirmation that life is worth living if you find your peace.