Wide awake in Every Day Life, Chapter 1, Part 2

+ Show full styles

Helena became, for me, the personal yardstick for this issue.
Not because it is acceptable to exploit her fate.
But because her fate highlights what road safety is really about.
It’s not about figures.
It’s not about abstract debates.
It’s not just about technology, the law or planning.
It’s about the simple question:
Do people get home safely – or not?
Meeting Helena years after the accident has deepened this realisation even further. Her memories, her life going on after the loss of her parents and her sister, her daily struggle with the emotional consequences – all of this shows that survival is not simply a happy ending.
Often, it is the start of a long, difficult journey.
And that is precisely what is easily overlooked.
An accident doesn’t end with the recovery vehicle.
Not when the emergency response is over.
Not with a file.
And not with a figure in the statistics.
Its impact lingers.
In people.
In families.
In memories.
Sometimes for a lifetime.
But shock alone doesn’t change anything.
It can be a wake-up call.
It can make you sad.
It can make you angry.
It can spur us on.
But if nothing comes of it, everything stays the same.
That is why that shock had to turn into something else:
Awareness.
Prevention.
Responsibility.
And a different perspective on safety.
Because prevention doesn’t just begin on the motorway.
It begins earlier.
When under time pressure.
When planning a route.
At the loading bay.
In the tone of voice.
During breaks.
When you’re overtired.
When you’re distracted.
When alcohol is involved.
When it comes to respect.
And in the structures that influence behaviour.
If you focus solely on the driver, you’re missing the point.
If you rely solely on technology, so too.
If we take safety seriously, we must look at the whole system – and the people within it.
And so a terrible accident became a long-term mission.
Helena remained the guiding principle.
Since 12 February 2018, her life has been divided into a ‘before’ and an ‘after’. Her fate serves as a reminder that, ultimately, any discussion of road safety must be measured against a single question:
Does it prevent suffering?
Does it save lives?
Does it help ensure that people make it home?
That is why this book begins with this accident.
Because everything converges here:
the brutality of a single moment,
the powerlessness of those involved,
the vulnerability of human beings,
the limits of professional detachment,
and the moment when shock turns into responsibility.
12 February 2018 gave way to grief.
Grief turned into perseverance.
Perseverance turned into prevention work.
And right at the heart of it all, to this day, stands Helena.
As a survivor.
As a silent witness.
And as a person whose story compels us to take road safety literally once again.

3160/7500

They are also those who survive and must carry on living with pain, memories, fear and loss. They are relatives whose lives are shattered from one second to the next. They are emergency services personnel who take images home with them for which there are often no simple words. And they are people who do not really feature in any statistics, even though the accident lives on within them. Helena became, for me, the personal yardstick for this issue. Not because it is acceptable to exploit her fate. But because her fate highlights what road safety is really about. It’s not about figures. It’s not about abstract debates. It’s not just about technology, the law or planning. It’s about the simple question: Do people get home safely – or not? Meeting Helena years after the accident has deepened this realisation even further. Her memories, her life going on after the loss of her parents and her sister, her daily struggle with the emotional consequences – all of this shows that survival is not simply a happy ending. Often, it is the start of a long, difficult journey. And that is precisely what is easily overlooked. An accident doesn’t end with the recovery vehicle. Not when the emergency response is over. Not with a file. And not with a figure in the statistics. Its impact lingers. In people. In families. In memories. Sometimes for a lifetime. But shock alone doesn’t change anything. It can be a wake-up call. It can make you sad. It can make you angry. It can spur us on. But if nothing comes of it, everything stays the same. That is why that shock had to turn into something else: Awareness. Prevention. Responsibility. And a different perspective on safety. Because prevention doesn’t just begin on the motorway. It begins earlier. When under time pressure. When planning a route. At the loading bay. In the tone of voice. During breaks. When you’re overtired. When you’re distracted. When alcohol is involved. When it comes to respect. And in the structures that influence behaviour. If you focus solely on the driver, you’re missing the point. If you rely solely on technology, so too. If we take safety seriously, we must look at the whole system – and the people within it. And so a terrible accident became a long-term mission. Helena remained the guiding principle. Since 12 February 2018, her life has been divided into a ‘before’ and an ‘after’. Her fate serves as a reminder that, ultimately, any discussion of road safety must be measured against a single question: Does it prevent suffering? Does it save lives? Does it help ensure that people make it home? That is why this book begins with this accident. Because everything converges here: the brutality of a single moment, the powerlessness of those involved, the vulnerability of human beings, the limits of professional detachment, and the moment when shock turns into responsibility. 12 February 2018 gave way to grief. Grief turned into perseverance. Perseverance turned into prevention work. And right at the heart of it all, to this day, stands Helena. As a survivor. As a silent witness. And as a person whose story compels us to take road safety literally once again.

0/500