Life thrust into perspective
If you have read the latest journal entries posted at my y!gallery or dA pages, you needn't read this one; it's the same one. It's for those few who know me only through LiveJournal.
I've had a jolt of reality this week. I nearly lost my husband in a car accident. I received a call just as I was getting up to get my son off to school, letting me know that he was in a collision, but that he was all right. He was at the ER of one of our local hospitals where I could come and pick him up at any time.
But first I had to stop shaking.
I don't know of anyone has ever received a phone call like that. I clearly remember the one my mother received when I was in elementary school apprising her of a head-on collision involving my dad. I'll never forget her face, and now I can honestly say I know how she felt. A part of you becomes disconnected while the rest of you continues with your routine. I gave Connor his breakfast, helped him wash his face and brush his teeth, packed his lunch, dressed him, and drove him to school. I watched my hand open the cupboard and grab his favorite cereal; felt the chill of the cold water when he splashed me in the bathroom; listened to a morning radio show while driving to town, but at the same time I didn't see or feel or hear anything.
The moment my son was out of the car, the tears wanted to come, but I didn't let them. I couldn't. People were depending on me. My husband. My boy. I didn't have the luxury of breaking down...at least not yet. Besides, driving in rush hour traffic is difficult enough without having tears blurring your vision. When I saw him waiting for me outside the ER, my expression must have been priceless because he smiled. I think he would have laughed if it wouldn't have caused him pain. His face had dried blood on it and he had a huge gouge in his bottom lip from biting down on impact. He moved very slowly and favored his left side. All I wanted to do was embrace him like there was no tomorrow, but I couldn't. I could only stand there and tell him I was so happy he wasn't seriously hurt. It felt so cliche, but it was the first thing that came to mind. And it was the truth.
It's been a day now, and I've had time to sit for awhile and truly process what has happened. We went to the towing yard to retrieve our personal effects from what's left of our car ('92 Honda Civic). There is a trunk, 2 back tires, and 2 back doors, but the rest is buckled inward. A guy driving a 4x4 pick-up truck ran a red light and Kevin t-boned him at 50 mph (80 kmh). Even wearing his seat belt, the cops at the scene cannot believe he walked away. Neither can I.
I am not a religious woman. I have struggled with faith my entire adult life, but I feel like I need to thank someone, something for not taking away the one person who brings out the best in me and loves me, faults (which there are many) and all.
Events like these tend to make even the most mundane individuals philosophical, but I will spare you that. I'm afraid...no, I know I would come across preachy and, in many ways, hostile, and I don't want to do that. This is not my first brush with death. Like most I have had relatives die from old age. I have lost friends to suicide and have watched relatives and friends alike taken too soon by cancer, heart attacks, and AIDS. I have mourned for all of them and evaluated my life with each of their passings, but this time...was...different. I wish I could explain. Perhaps someday I will, either through a journal, or maybe a story.
Thank you to everybody (anybody) who takes the time to read these. I appreciate it more than you know.
I've had a jolt of reality this week. I nearly lost my husband in a car accident. I received a call just as I was getting up to get my son off to school, letting me know that he was in a collision, but that he was all right. He was at the ER of one of our local hospitals where I could come and pick him up at any time.
But first I had to stop shaking.
I don't know of anyone has ever received a phone call like that. I clearly remember the one my mother received when I was in elementary school apprising her of a head-on collision involving my dad. I'll never forget her face, and now I can honestly say I know how she felt. A part of you becomes disconnected while the rest of you continues with your routine. I gave Connor his breakfast, helped him wash his face and brush his teeth, packed his lunch, dressed him, and drove him to school. I watched my hand open the cupboard and grab his favorite cereal; felt the chill of the cold water when he splashed me in the bathroom; listened to a morning radio show while driving to town, but at the same time I didn't see or feel or hear anything.
The moment my son was out of the car, the tears wanted to come, but I didn't let them. I couldn't. People were depending on me. My husband. My boy. I didn't have the luxury of breaking down...at least not yet. Besides, driving in rush hour traffic is difficult enough without having tears blurring your vision. When I saw him waiting for me outside the ER, my expression must have been priceless because he smiled. I think he would have laughed if it wouldn't have caused him pain. His face had dried blood on it and he had a huge gouge in his bottom lip from biting down on impact. He moved very slowly and favored his left side. All I wanted to do was embrace him like there was no tomorrow, but I couldn't. I could only stand there and tell him I was so happy he wasn't seriously hurt. It felt so cliche, but it was the first thing that came to mind. And it was the truth.
It's been a day now, and I've had time to sit for awhile and truly process what has happened. We went to the towing yard to retrieve our personal effects from what's left of our car ('92 Honda Civic). There is a trunk, 2 back tires, and 2 back doors, but the rest is buckled inward. A guy driving a 4x4 pick-up truck ran a red light and Kevin t-boned him at 50 mph (80 kmh). Even wearing his seat belt, the cops at the scene cannot believe he walked away. Neither can I.
I am not a religious woman. I have struggled with faith my entire adult life, but I feel like I need to thank someone, something for not taking away the one person who brings out the best in me and loves me, faults (which there are many) and all.
Events like these tend to make even the most mundane individuals philosophical, but I will spare you that. I'm afraid...no, I know I would come across preachy and, in many ways, hostile, and I don't want to do that. This is not my first brush with death. Like most I have had relatives die from old age. I have lost friends to suicide and have watched relatives and friends alike taken too soon by cancer, heart attacks, and AIDS. I have mourned for all of them and evaluated my life with each of their passings, but this time...was...different. I wish I could explain. Perhaps someday I will, either through a journal, or maybe a story.
Thank you to everybody (anybody) who takes the time to read these. I appreciate it more than you know.