In an instant everything can change. It was a Friday morning this past winter; a winter that was particularly harsh on New York. I found myself in the midst of my daily morning commute, navigating through another winter storm. This time, however, it was a wintry mix of precipitation, a deviation from the repeated snow storms that had crippled the New York Metropolitan area in recent weeks.

When I left my house that morning the storm was still in full force. As I drove, my van was pummeled by the potent combination of sleet, freezing rain and snow. Often, this type of mixed precipitation can prove more treacherous than all snow. In stolid resignation, I steeled myself for another arduous drive to work. On similar mornings that winter, it took me three hours to get to work. My driving speed never rose above ten miles per hour on those mornings, and this appeared to be another such occasion.

I passed the time by thinking about the upcoming weekend and the time I would spend with my wife and kids. Thoughts of my kids were always the perfect panacea in situations that required tenacity, and on this particular morning the strategy worked like a charm. I was so absorbed in these pleasant thoughts that I did not immediately notice that the storm was subsiding and breaks began to appear in the clouds.

I was amazed when the sun appeared, and the newscaster on the radio announced that the temperature had risen above freezing. Unknown to me, the confluence of these twin optimistic occurrences were in reality creating an insidious and potentially lethal situation.

As the weather cleared and the temperature rose, the road conditions also improved. Before long, traffic flow was moving along at the speed limit. Only minutes ago I was toiling in bumper to bumper traffic, resigned to the fact that I would be at least one half hour late for work. Now, I was quite pleased that the odds were good that I would arrive at work more or less on time. With great enthusiasm I accelerated to keep up with the flow of traffic.

I was traveling in the right lane of the Long Island Expressway, about two miles before my exit. Ahead, I noticed an object in the road, directly in my path. I began to maneuver around the object, when, without warning, my van spun out of control and veered toward the concrete divider bordering the right side of the lane I was in. The road had appeared dry, but I must have hit a patch of black ice.

People in similar situations have often described how the incident occurred so fast that they didn't realize what was happening. In a sense, that was true in my situation, but, paradoxically, a few seconds seemed to last a lifetime. I remember every thought with incredible clarity.

When my car spun out, I recalled that you are supposed to steer into the skid. With a sense of dread, however, I realized that it was already too late, because my instantaneous reflex action had steered the car the other way. The result was that I avoided hitting the concrete divider, but instead careened back across three lanes of traffic.

As I struggled in vain to gain control of the van, I realized with unimaginable horror that I was spinning directly into the path of an oncoming bus traveling at high speed in the left lane. I thought to myself that there is no way I would survive such a collision. I could not believe that this was how my life was going to end. Although I had a strong sense of the inevitable, there was no quit in me, and I continued to try to steer the rampant van out of the path of the bus.

At the last moment, I was able to guide the van enough so that I avoided the path of the bus, and instead crashed into it broadside. The van bounced off the bus and spun backwards across the two lanes of traffic I had just traversed. I collided with another vehicle and braced myself for many more collisions. By now, I was facing the other direction, and I watched helplessly as a caravan of cars raced toward me. All I could think of to do, was to lean on the horn and hope there wasn't some idiot so absorbed in texting or talking on their cell phone, that they didn't hear my horn, or see the drama unfolding in front of them.

Finally, my van came to a stop. I then noticed that the cars in front of me had also stopped. I did not move for a few moments, as the most incredible wave of relief engulfed me. The driver of the second vehicle I had hit rushed over to me and asked me if I was alright. I indicated that I was, and at the same time I jumped out of my van to be sure he and his passenger had not been hurt. Much to my relief, they were not.

The driver then asked me how bad my car was damaged, and all I could say was: "I don't care. I'm alive and that's all that matters." I was euphoric over the fact that I was alive and would get to see my wife and kids again. The driver told me that he had watched the entire episode and had thought to himself that I was a goner. Later, both the insurance adjuster and auto body repairman were also incredulous that I survived the accident. Incredible as it is, I walked away unscathed.

In a strange twist to this story, the bus driver never stopped. By the time I thought to look for the bus, it was nowhere to be found. The driver of the car I hit said that it was not a city bus, but some kind of tour bus. We surmised that the driver must have had something to hide and didn't want to be questioned by the police. If that were the case, his worries were unfounded, because the police never showed up. The other driver had called 911 and we waited over an hour, before we concluded that the police were not coming.

Miraculously, my van was still drivable and I headed home. The drive was surreal, as I experienced an indescribable kaleidoscope of emotions. Needless to say, I was elated, almost giddy, in fact. On the other hand, I could not stop imagining my wife telling my three kids that their father was never coming home. The thought of how close I came to that reality was almost too much to bear. Alternating with these dueling emotions, was a vague sense of guilt that I was not worthy of this second chance.

Now, I usually don't get too caught up with the religious relevance of events, however, I did sense that there was a purpose to my survival, and perhaps divine intervention. As a result, for a while I was respectful of this second chance of mine. I was reluctant to tempt fate, so I suppressed my usual tendency toward gallows humor. With the passing of time, however, my awe over the event subsided, and I reverted back to my normal inclinations. I began to take great pleasure in prefacing any recounting of the incident by asserting that I went toe to toe with a bus and won.

This does not mean to imply that I make light of my survival. I am incredibly grateful for this second chance to see my children grow up, and I constantly thank God for sparing me. I no longer worry about whether or not I am worthy of this, but instead I just try to live life to its fullest and be the best person possible.