I learned something new today about my oldest son; his wrestling teammates call him "Stewie". This delights me. I had a nearly existential moment, realizing while he was wrestling that the crowd was calling his name, encouraging him. I had heard his teammates, that made sense, but it was a new thing to see adults, men and women my age and older, other team-parents, calling out to him, cheering him on.
Two weeks ago, I was late leaving with him for an early appointment. We hurried up the road. Coming around a corner, nearly half-way there, I swerved slightly (well, I thought it was slightly), whereupon the car fishtailed off of the road and hit a telephone pole.
It happened very quickly, so I am sure there are details that I missed, but there are certain memories that are bright and clear in my mind. My son's grunt of "Oh!" when the car leaped into the air after hitting a slight bump as we left the road.
The slow sliding across the grass towards the telephone pole. I thought we were going to miss it, go by it, but . . .
Nope.
The smoky chemical smell of the airbag detonation (which I didn't "see"; I wonder if the noise made me blink instinctively).
In the two weeks since, I keep having these moments of terrifying clarity. Images of my son, hurt in the accident. We weren't hurt, really; I skinned my shin pretty good on the dashboard. My son was sore, but thinks it was from the wrestling match the night previous. My nose hurt, I presume from the airbag pushing on my glasses.
My Dad came and got us. I've had car wrecks before, but before this one, I was always alone. This one has been much harder to shake off.
Since then, I find myself caught up short. Gasping nearly. You know, when you wake up from a horrible nightmare, and just draw a sharp breath? Like that.
Visions of how my son could have been hurt. While he is wrestling, the lurid image of how harm from the accident might have forced him to forfeit the rest of the season. When he got his A.C.T. scores back (34 composite), I feel the faint echo of worrying wonder, "What if we had spent that morning in the hospital instead?"
My life didn't flash before my eyes, but his has been...
The following Monday morning, we were running late to seminary, thus putting me at risk for missing my train. As we gathered for our mini-family prayer, I told the boys to stop rushing.
"Saturday, I almost killed us racing to be somewhere. I'm done racing, I'll just catch the later train."
He turns 17 in two weeks. Hearing the going-on-his-mission-in-a-month speaker today in church made my mind flash forward to my son, in two years. I am so glad I didn't hurt him in that stupid accident, feel so guilty for almost harming him. Be careful with your loved ones this week. They are our treasures.
