Saturday wasn’t a particularly eventful day. Beautiful, sunshiny; everything you could ask for (and more) on a November day. The evening, it seemed, would blow all of that loveliness out of the water. I’ll begin by saying that my stepson is smart enough to know that any bad news I have to hear should come directly from him. It’s much nicer to hear (even the worst news) from him than form any authority figure. This is something he learned early in life, as he’s always been one to jump in the water with both feet, rather than testing it first ~sigh~. So; Saturday evening I get a phone call from him (from a number I don’t recognize). He tells me that he’s totaled his car. “Are you okay?” was my first question, followed by “was anyone with you, anyone else involved”, etc. and then “where are you?” “I’m in the ambulance.” He says, much more calmly than I accepted it. “The guy says I’m okay, but he wants to talk to you.” So, I talk to the EMT, who apparently is expecting some freaked-out-mom-type (not my style). He’s less than five minutes away from home.. “I’m on my way!” “It’s okay, Ma’am, you don’t have to worry.”, he interjects. ~heh heh~ “I’m on my way.” I hang up, tell Mr. And we’re out the door like a shot and at the scene in no time. Preparedness is shot to hell when you’re worried about your child. I don’t care who you are. Nothing – repeat – nothing can prepare you to see your son’s car on its top, lit only by the flashing lights of the surrounding emergency vehicles. There is not a more horrifying scene anywhere, I’m just sure of it. The only saving grace from this horrific picture in my mind was his silhouette standing next to the wreckage. Yeah, I heard his voice on the phone, but nothing calms the soul like a face to face confirmation that he is, in fact, alright. So, a few hours spent removing his wreckage from the farmer’s freshly plowed (and planted – yikes!) field, finding a place to take his car and getting him home, safe and sound and back to some semblance of normalcy. The remainder of the night was spent putting all the pieces together. How his friends were to have gone with him out of town to his girlfriend’s house – but they decided to stay home and catch the game. How his girlfriend was going to come back into town with him, but decided not to, after all. How he managed to not wrap his car around the pole… so many pieces that, had they not all fit just right, would have made our Saturday turn out completely different. Time has been spent reflecting on mortality and the responsibility therein; the thankfulness of having each other and how quickly one can be removed. I also thought about the last words I said to him before he left. I’m most settled with the fact that though my kids may not know their blood type or how to cook a four-course meal (or even how to take a tight corner a little too fast), they know, without a doubt, by both actions and my telling them everyday; that I love them. This also reiterated the fact that, even on a seemingly boring Saturday: There's never a dull moment at our house!
