Archives for July 2013
1. This is your view for the better part of what should have been Day One:
2. That evening you’re home again and what should have been Day Two, you have these posted on your fridge:
3. Your van is in an impound in Canada and looks like this:
Short story: we had an accident early Saturday morning outside London, Ontario on our way out east and spent the day in the E.R. Christopher and Lydia were bruised and shaken; Eden got stitches in her forehead and hand—it’s driving her crazy they didn’t tell her how many because it was A LOT—Paul’s left forearm is hamburger—it scraped along the high way when we were on our side before the van flipped over entirely and came to a stop—and his legs have some impressive cuts.
I have a sprained ankle, a torn up elbow and, according to the doctor, my days as a forehead model are over. Of course I have a couple natural remedies up my sleeve, so we’ll see about that.
The crash itself was so incredibly terrible and then we were all separated in the E.R. I’ve never had all my children in a medical emergency. Being in one of my own, and not able to be there for any of them was beyond horrible. But they were all amazing, as any of you who know them can imagine. Lydia was discharged first and she tracked down Eden, never leaving her side until Paul was discharged. Their nurses came to meet me to, in their words, “gush” about how wonderful they were.
Christopher lost his processor in the accident so he went quiet. When he saw the van at the impound he began to weep, “I just can’t believe we survived,” he said.
None of us could. Mainly we’re thankful. “I’m just so grateful,” Eden said to Paul as he tucked her in last night, “I’m just so glad we’re all here and alive.”
I’ll be honest, I also feel a little sheepish. I don’t want to be those people who run after chaos and though I know this was an accident, still. When the house was burning I thought, “You have GOT to be kidding me.” because we had already been through so much. Sitting by the side of the 402 with a pillow clasped to my forehead to staunch the blood I couldn’t believe we were in this jam, but I was in too much pain to analyze it.
Later, at the impound, as Paul and I quickly and easily sorted through what could be salvaged and what should be trashed because—you know—we’re experienced, I told him “We have GOT to stop doing this.” And he agreed, so there’s that.