What we saw on Route 84

Brett Freeman

On Feb. 21, I was driving eastbound on Route 84 with my wife, our son, our daughter and one of her friends. We were headed to the movies — Riverview Cinemas in Southbury, Conn.

I almost hesitate to share this hidden gem with our thousands of readers. Clean. Affordable. Perfectly located next to a great Italian restaurant and a one-minute drive from Barnes & Noble. The seats recline and are heated. Half the time I go there, the movie turns into a luxurious nap.

It was supposed to be a simple family night.

About a half mile west of Exit 13, traffic came to an abrupt stop.

Cars and a truck were angled awkwardly. Doors were open. People were running — not away from something, but toward it.

We called 911. They were already aware.

The scene was so fresh that the first police cruiser had just arrived as we approached. Ordinary citizens were surrounding a young man on the pavement, frantically performing CPR. His car was completely totaled against the median.

With a pre-teen and two teenagers in my car, I didn’t know what to do. I haven’t taken CPR in decades and would have only gotten in the way. Emergency vehicles needed space.

My family fell silent.

As we slowly passed, my wife said a prayer for the young man receiving CPR. Later news reports identified him as a 16-year-old from Wallingford who suffered life-threatening injuries. He was apparently the passenger. As I write this, we still do not know his condition.

In that moment, the fragility of life unfolded in front of our eyes. It’s strange how quickly an ordinary night becomes something else.

In the days since, I haven’t stopped thinking about what we saw — and about my own 16-year-old.

This year, on her birthday, Jenna proudly earned her driver’s permit.

We’ve practiced in empty parking lots and on quiet side roads. The lessons have been emotional. She wasn’t the easiest student. I certainly wasn’t the best teacher. What began as a rush to get her license has slowed. She hasn’t scheduled her formal in-car lessons. I haven’t pushed her.

When I was 16, I rushed the process. My parents bought me a used Plymouth Reliant. I considered myself confident. In reality, I was inexperienced and lucky — a scraped pole while parking, a minor fender bender where I was at fault.

My daughter is more cautious than I was.

And I am more afraid than my parents probably were.

Close friends of ours lost their 5-year-old daughter, Gabrielle, in a car accident in 2015. My friend Jim was driving. The other motorist was at fault. They carry that grief every single day. When you love your children more than life itself, there are no words for that kind of loss.

So when I see reckless driving — the weaving between lanes, the speeding, the casual assumption that nothing bad will happen — I don’t just see a traffic violation.

I see families shattered.

Authorities say the crash we witnessed may have begun when one vehicle cut off another before losing control. The other driver reportedly fled and was later located.

That night, we saw the worst of humanity.

But we also saw the best — strangers who stopped their cars and ran toward danger, trying to save a life.

I am terrified of the day my daughter drives alone.

So I plead with everyone who gets behind the wheel: slow down. Leave earlier. Put the phone away. The few minutes you think you’re saving are not worth a lifetime of regret.

Because on Route 84, in a matter of seconds, an ordinary night turned fragile.

And every time I think about handing my daughter the keys, I will remember that.