This morning my son, who is in his forties, was hit head-on by a dump truck that missed a curve on Foster. For a just a short time, I did not have any idea the extent of his injuries. Nor did his sister, who worried for two hours after hearing of the accident, before calling me, because she could not find the phone number for the hospital. There is no describing that feeling, but despite the terror, I felt--irrationally but absolutely--certain that he would be all right. As it turns out, he is very battered--sore from the inflated airbag in his shredded Mazda, missing some teeth, and sporting as many stitches in his head, apparently, as Frankenstein. The worst injury was to a pinky, (left, right, who knows?) which was what he first noticed when the car stopped spinning--the bone sticking out, the tendon torn. But when I talked to him nearly six hours later he was upbeat and sounded strong--and thank god completely clear-headed.
That conviction I had that he would be OK--is that common?--simple denial?
4 comments:
oh, patty! I'm so glad he's okay. Well, you know, relatively okay.
as for your conviction, I don't know. But I'm so glad you were right!
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