A Moment That Changed My Perspective: The Train I Was On Was in an Accident – and subsequently I Heard a Child Weeping.

That instant I realized I was about to die occurred in my 20s, when life was really just starting out. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were headed to Blackburn to reunite with an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we talked incessantly as we journeyed by train from York.

We put our suitcases – packed with necessities such as our favorite wines and my new pair of black clogs – in the storage compartment and settled down in a comfortable double seat. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, which could not be dismissed. Someone cried out as our carriage was lifted off the tracks in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were somehow on our feet in the middle of the aisle, hugging each other. With my head lowered, eyes screwed shut, I waited for the carriage to overturn and ignite, similar to cinematic scenes. My thoughts turned to our relatives and companions getting the news. Subsequently, there was the young girl weeping.

“You’re all right,” I whispered, my tone was hoarse. “It's finished now,” I murmured, more to myself than her.

She was about seven or eight years old, and appeared to be completely on her own. Her crying shook me out of my trance; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and gave her a reassuring hug. “Avoid looking back,” Helen shouted, the warning came after the fact. I glimpsed a man with blood all over his face. A huge metal object had crashed through the window behind us. Later, we discovered a driverless construction vehicle had descended the slope and into the side of the train, causing us to derail.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Then came the noise of sirens and another traveler requested that I to give the girl to him so he could pass her through the window, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. Shortly after, Helen and I were similarly exiting of the train window and descending via a ladder on to the track.

Standing on firm land again – beside a freight warehouse in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, we later learned had been in the lavatory at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. A fellow passenger collapsed on Helen’s case, resulting in it breaking open – though luckily our wine was unharmed. Once we had waited for thirty minutes, we traveled in a complimentary taxi to Blackburn, alongside an adolescent and the woman who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, visibly shaken. She had heard there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we set the accident aside and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a notable act by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. Not a single life was lost in the incident, although several people required hospital treatment. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains from the impact of being thrown forward in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to enter Leeds station, which had been the crucial element in avoiding serious injury. The fact that nobody was badly hurt made it easier not to focus on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and calming her down shifted my focus outward and demonstrated the worth of directing attention externally in a crisis. Over the years, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and what a major event it had been for her.

Helen and I have remained friends for over 30 years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle whatever comes, so long as we are together. Her presence that fateful day created the sensation that I was protected from the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed my method of handling various difficult situations, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to age.