A loud crash. The sound of some tin can being crushed violently. Followed by the earth trembling and a load roaring echoing around. I opened my eyes and had a clear view on the house and lawn of my neighbors. From my bedroom. From my bed. A part of my home was gone. Reorganized in unrecognizable unsightly heaps. My brain refused to acknowledge what just transpired. My eyes were drawn to the half-hidden remains of a truck, dispersed between the rubble. On autopilot, I reached under my pillow for my cellphone and called the emergency number.

A few days later they released me from the hospital. I was fine. I had no visual injuries. I was allow back into society. Society... I now had some important business with a cornerstone of  modern society. I had a meeting with an expert from the insurance company. 

Together we were standing in front of the ruins. Damage assessments, recordings of the current state, a view on the possible future... In short, a warm conversation with tons of hope. I talked my head off about the renovations I was doing that are pointless now. At night, I fell asleep in my hotel room with a relaxed smile. I still had two weeks to recover from the shock before I had to return to my normal work rat-race. The days flew by filled with trees, walks, birds, telephone calls and lists to repair my home-sweet-home. Contractors were found and prepared and everyone stood ready at the starting block, waiting for the starting shot from the insurance.

I cannot erase the memory of that Friday morning. I was awoken by the ping of an incoming email. The report of the insurance expert had arrived. It didn't make sense! The damage to the house was mostly my fault? The truck was only a minor detail accelerating what was bound to happen? Only 30% of the damages will be covered by the insurance company? But only when the repairs were done by contractors sent by them?

The new windows, the isolated front walls, the floor heating ... it had all contributed to structurally weakening the house leading to the collapse? There was an old report in attachment of water damage by a storm, that lead to some wet walls. This formed the core and the proof of my willfully negligence en my guilt. I would not have repaired the walls. I had only replaced the plastering.

Of course I only replaced the plastering! The bricks were still in excellent condition. After drying, I drilled a hole on three places to see if the stone was still solid on the inside. And it was! I also tested with a hammer to see if I couldn't puncture the wall with low effort. After the repairs back then, there was no forming of mold or other signs of moisture problems. And how can isolated front walls weaken a house? Or floor heating? Or new windows? That's complete ridiculous!

This time it wasn't my home, but my life that came crashing down. Desperately I investigated my finances. I called multiple banks. A social worker passed by to help me, on advice of some nameless shrink, accompanied by a box of pills. Together we tried to make  a plan.

First problem was my housing. A hotel room was unaffordable. There were no houses free for rent nearby and the closest viable one was 40 km from work place. Did I mention already that my car assumed a much more flat form at the collapse? No, probably not. I was without transportation. I rented a new place to stay, solving my immediate cash-flow problem, but expertly handing me a new one. Getting to work, turned out to be a daily hardship.

Things went downhill fast since then. Droves of people passed. An appeal was lodged, and forfeited when the procedure turned out too costly. Arguing experts with fat bills ate my lunch. I lost my job. I wasn't strong enough to keep myself mentally together while trying to save my house and performing excellent at work. Especially not with a daily trip of 5 hours of my bike.

Eventually, the 'salvation' came along. I was behind with the payments and the bank offered my partially repaired home for sale. The contractors of the insurance company had removed some of the debris, had reconstructed some walls and a partial roof. The rest was up to me. As was repairing the 'minor' mistakes they made. One wall was put on the wrong place, making two rooms virtually unusable. The front door was missing. More precisely, there was no front door any more, no hole for it either. The sliding window in the kitchen had found its way to the storage room and was now the only entry way into the house. The kitchen had a fixed window. And the toilet a window to the ground... All kinda mayhem to correct but out of my hands now. My home was gone. My work was gone. My money was gone.

Sometimes I still try to remember the past. Sometimes I even long for my lost dreams. Luckily I have my pills. I no longer need to feel anything. Fortunately, the insurance company keeps providing my daily portion forgetfulness through their in-house, still nameless, shrink. The years unremarkably passed. After the fog settled for good, only my couch and loneliness remained.

Before I disolved in silence, I saw an interview with my former insurance expert. He successfully climbed up to head of the claims department. He pleaded for more 'humanity' in the sector, more warmth for the people and real solutions. Enabling the unfortunate to reduce their accident to a minor detail in their life.

He was true to his word. My accident was turned into a detail in my life.