I was living in Uruguay, where I was born. I was a soprano and was about to give a recital, accompanied by a quartet. About three or four days before the event, I had to take my daughter, who was then four, to the rehearsal with me. When we left the house and got to the corner, I stepped off the sidewalk to call a taxi. I didn't think any vehicles would be coming from the left, because the street was one-way in the other direction. Nevertheless, I heard someone cry, "Ma'am, watch out!" There was no time to think. I only know that I felt a strong blow, as if a wall was coming down on me. It was a truck whose driver, under the influence of alcohol, had run over me.
Even as I struggled to breathe, I trusted God.
The vehicle's universal joint had me pinned around the sternum area of my body, and this did not allow me to speak or breathe easily. Underneath the truck, the only thing I was able to think was that in God's kingdom there are no accidents.
