But I do. My boy is hurt and even though he is finally resting, albeit restlessly, I need to be here anyway – just in case he needs me. To hold his hand when the pain is unbearable; to tell him it’s going to be all right; to empathize and sympathize; to make it possible for him to rest just a little bit easier knowing his father is just on the other side of the wall. Although I knew even before I left home that he would survive, I am acutely aware that it could have been otherwise.
I saw the wreck.
Between my home and the hospital was the carnage that used to be three automobiles. My son’s friend’s car was by far the most damaged of the three. The driver’s space was about one-third its original size. I knew that there would be injuries and severe ones at that. I wish I were wrong. Timmy has myriad superficial wounds to his face and left hand… deep gashes requiring many stitches, but still superficial. He has a concussion and he has a badly broken right arm. I believe it’s the humorous bone (it’s the larger bone, between the elbow and shoulder – sorry, no Internet… you know I’d look it up), and how bad it is won’t be known until an orthopedic specialist has evaluated him. It’s at least that bad, I guess.
All four of the occupants were transported to area hospitals. Timmy’s girlfriend has already been released from another hospital; she’s sleeping on a little couch in the trauma ICU waiting area, right next to me. She suffered contusions and lacerations requiring some sutures as well as a concussion. The other passenger is spending the night here on the fifth floor for observation – he should be fine. The driver was transported to a hospital in downtown Sacramento with his own severe injuries – among them a broken femur, we’ve been told.
I know a thing or two about broken femurs.
Although there is never a “good” time for something like this to occur, there are some times that are, well, less convenient than others. For a number of reasons, this would count as one of the least so. But it hardly matters. Right now, all bets are off. Work can wait. So can school. But that’s my stuff. This major pothole in the road of life comes right when Timmy finally found a job, one he likes and is excited about. He has worked two days, and he’s scheduled for today. He won’t make it. Hopefully he will still have a job when he has recovered sufficiently. But that will be weeks from now.
Me? Besides my usual weekly deadline at work, I just have a research paper due today… I was going to finish it last night. It looks like my last post came back to haunt me. The paper will be late. So what! It is rather insignificant and completely meaningless at the moment. I’ll take the deduction on my grade and life will go on. Should’ve done it when I had the time? Never know what’s around the corner? Save it! None of that philosophic “what-if” BS has any impact on me right now. Indeed, the importance of this whole quest for obtaining my degree has little meaning next to my childrens’ health and welfare.
Right now my eyelids are heavy. The muscles of my scalp are tense. I’m ready to tee-off on anyone who so much as looks at me, cross-eyed or otherwise. In my mouth is the acrid taste of adrenalin combined with the tightness only hours of clenched jaws can bring. And I am grateful, humbled and oh so tired. This was close and I now have a very good idea what this side of the equation feels like. I’ve been in Timmy’s shoes, now I’m trying on my parents’.
Let’s don’t do this again.
Timmy came home this afternoon. He looks pretty bad, but what a difference 24 hours makes. He will be rehabilitating for some time, but it looks like his arm will not need anything more than immobilization. Of course, all of this is subject to change, but the news is promising nonetheless. Tomorrow marks 44 years since my birth - I feel as though I've lived them all in a single minute.
Blessings duly noted, and counted.
Blessings duly noted, and counted.