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| An ironic casualty |
One of our boys was in a car crash recently, eventually arriving not at his intended spring break destination but back here, in the bedroom he grew up in. He returned to us stitched and stapled together, covered in blood and scrapes, dazed and exhausted. Every parent's second-worst nightmare.
How to process this harrowing experience? My immediate feelings are a strange mix of relief, anger, fear, and, periodically throughout the day, an overwhelming desire to blank it all out with sleep. Contemplation resurrects deep memories of a time I terrified a parent and, reflecting on that, I determine not to add psychic damage to my child's wounds by showing my own. Between visitors and our bandaging regime there's plenty of distraction in any case, and, as it happens, life has gone on these past couple of weeks with even more intensity than usual. The victim recovers steadily and after a while we send him away again, hoping he doesn't show too many scars, even while left with our own.
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