Guts on the Ground
I was unpacking vegetables from our vegetable share on Monday night when Mary burst in the front door to tell me that Frank had been hit by a truck.
My organic tomatoes were carefully packaged in a plastic box inside a cardboard box with bubble wrap on the sides.
Every parent knows what I mean when I say that I wish my kids could go through the world in a plastic box inside bubble wrap.
I threw the tomatoes on the counter and ran out the front door without shoes. I realized as I pushed the front door open that I did not know where he was. It became clear to me as soon as I got outside. Traffic was stopped in the corner intersection. A small crowd was gathered. I hesitated for just a second. My stomach leaped up and I immediately thought he was dead. Or at least splattered guts. In half a second I prepared myself for that and knew that I just needed to be with him no matter what. I did not know what I would find when I pushed through the crowd of people. What I saw - the only thing I saw - was my son's face. I crouched over him in the street and he put his arms around my neck and said, "Mom?" I knew then that his brain was ok. I forced myself to look at his legs. They looked twisted and bloody. He was pinned beneath his bike which was pinned beneath the truck. I lay over him and held him without moving him and talked to him.
I heard the siren coming and got in the ambulance with him. I could see my husband and my kids and my neighbor. I could not tell you what the driver looked like. I could not see him. Bill brought me my shoes and my purse. Frank and I went to the hospital for xrays and tests. We watched the White Sox beat the Indians. And they bandaged him and sent him home. The police officer helped me piece together what happened. Frank and Mary were on their way home and riding on the right side of the road. A driver turned right and did not see Frank and ran right into him.
No dead boy. No broken bones. No concussion. Some serious road rash. That's it.
Frank's recovery continues to amaze me. He is sore and hobbling, but he is really and truly ok. I think I have post traumatic stress, though. I mean, somehow in this accident Frank came out ok, but my guts were out of my body and on the ground. I am slowly shoving them back in where they belong. I have not been sleeping well. I keep getting up to check on him and make sure that he is breathing. His heavy, codeine-assisted deep sleep breathing is unmistakable. I feel relief and go lay down until I awake suddenly again and have to check on him.
My guts are still on the ground. Eventually I will shove them back in. Until it happens again.
My organic tomatoes were carefully packaged in a plastic box inside a cardboard box with bubble wrap on the sides.
Every parent knows what I mean when I say that I wish my kids could go through the world in a plastic box inside bubble wrap.
I threw the tomatoes on the counter and ran out the front door without shoes. I realized as I pushed the front door open that I did not know where he was. It became clear to me as soon as I got outside. Traffic was stopped in the corner intersection. A small crowd was gathered. I hesitated for just a second. My stomach leaped up and I immediately thought he was dead. Or at least splattered guts. In half a second I prepared myself for that and knew that I just needed to be with him no matter what. I did not know what I would find when I pushed through the crowd of people. What I saw - the only thing I saw - was my son's face. I crouched over him in the street and he put his arms around my neck and said, "Mom?" I knew then that his brain was ok. I forced myself to look at his legs. They looked twisted and bloody. He was pinned beneath his bike which was pinned beneath the truck. I lay over him and held him without moving him and talked to him.
I heard the siren coming and got in the ambulance with him. I could see my husband and my kids and my neighbor. I could not tell you what the driver looked like. I could not see him. Bill brought me my shoes and my purse. Frank and I went to the hospital for xrays and tests. We watched the White Sox beat the Indians. And they bandaged him and sent him home. The police officer helped me piece together what happened. Frank and Mary were on their way home and riding on the right side of the road. A driver turned right and did not see Frank and ran right into him.
No dead boy. No broken bones. No concussion. Some serious road rash. That's it.
Frank's recovery continues to amaze me. He is sore and hobbling, but he is really and truly ok. I think I have post traumatic stress, though. I mean, somehow in this accident Frank came out ok, but my guts were out of my body and on the ground. I am slowly shoving them back in where they belong. I have not been sleeping well. I keep getting up to check on him and make sure that he is breathing. His heavy, codeine-assisted deep sleep breathing is unmistakable. I feel relief and go lay down until I awake suddenly again and have to check on him.
My guts are still on the ground. Eventually I will shove them back in. Until it happens again.
posted by Lea at 5:32 PM
1 Comments:
Aw, everything that I want to say is just some gutteral sound that can't be spelled. I think that you know what it all means, that I understand what you're saying here, frighteningly so. <3
Post a Comment
<< Home