Crash

When get The Call, the one where you discover that something has happened to your child, nothing else matters. Not the earrings you were purchasing to match the cute outfit you just bought to wear to the first-time meeting with your boyfriend's ex-wife. Not the fact that you had to buy a size larger and therefore found yourself wandering into Lane Bryant to buy Spanx. Not the fact that your paycheck was a bit light this week, or your house is messy, or your internet is down. That shit flies out of your head, it is meaningless. Nothing, nothing else matters. Your heart stops, you drop your shopping basket, you tear out of the store, already on the way to her before you even know where you're going. You wait for the person on the other end to tell you that yes, she is ok. That nano-second of time seems endless, the one between "Lily has been in an accident" and "she's ok." Then comes "her car is totaled," but at that point you don't care. You don't want her to drive again anyway. You want to race to her, wrap her in your arms and tell her that you love her. You want to tell her that she's never again leaving your sight, that you'll drive her anywhere she wants to go, that the world is just not a safe place and you're going to protect her from it. And that's what you do. At least, some of it. You arrive on the accident scene and see her sitting on the side of the road crying, pieces of her car all over the grass, the street...and you are just ever-so-grateful that it's just the car, that she herself is in one piece. She. Is. Okay. Thank the goddess, she is ok. Even as she is ranting about lack of transportation, how it was the other guy's fault, even when the officer is telling you that Lily needs to be more careful, that it could have been so much worse. Even as the tow truck arrives and loads the truck, dumps it in your driveway, lays various pieces of it in your garage. Nothing else matters. She is ok. So you pour a glass of wine, hand your ex-husband a beer, sit on the front porch and look at the mangled mess of steel which used to be her vehicle. You weigh your options, you call the insurance company, you sigh and shake your head and put on a brave face. It's only later, when everyone's asleep, when the shock has worn off, in the wee hours of the next morning that you awaken and the reality hits. Hard. It could have so easily gone the other way. You don't want to think about it so you push those thoughts from your head...sirens and hospitals and...you stop yourself. You get up from bed, come to your computer, and you write. You get it all out, barely able to see the screen through your tears. You write while praying, while thanking God, the Universe, the Powers that Be, anyone who will listen. Thank you. Thank you for making it ok. Thank you for the fact that her feisty 17-year-old self is in her bed sleeping. That other than wounded pride and a bit of shock, she is fine. She'll wake up, she'll borrow Kali's car for a few days or weeks until we figure something out. Minor inconveniences compared to the things that could have been, that you don't want to even imagine. None of those things happened. Nothing. Else. Matters.