The shore line is jagged and the water level lower than I expect. The boat, with no visible damage to my untrained eye, is now docked nearby. The kids are quieter than normal, all six of them, piping up with an occasional joke, but their voices and body language, clearly subdued.
The lake is very still and not as wide as I thought it would be. The surface is the color of a gemstone, something between emerald and lapis.
* * *
The day begins like any other, in routine: I am up early as usual, opening my laptop, beginning my writing as the coffee is brewing; the house is silent. My elder son has returned to college, and my younger – away for two nights – is with friends at their lake house in the mountains.
Cue the French Roast. Cue the keyboard. Cue the words flowing to a familiar rhythm, and the pleasure of this (rare) time to myself – to think, to proceed down my day’s checklist, to get things done.
And then the text message – from a friend of my younger son. Something about a boating accident, everyone okay, and the hospital.
I fumble with my phone and fire off a few texts. While apparently the kids are more or less alright, the circumstances are unclear, and my son and his friend appear to have sustained minor injuries. Possible concussion. Something about a shoulder.
I move through my rooms mechanically, gathering what I will need for a drive to the mountains.
* * *
We have no second home, no planned vacations, no time out of town to relax – the three of us. But we have a good life. We love each other, we cut each other slack. We laugh, we talk, we fight.
We are a family.
But I’m grateful when either of my sons is invited to join friends here or there. These are opportunities I cannot afford, and like most teenagers, my boys are vital and curious. With any adventure they will learn new skills, enjoy themselves. They are creating memories and bonds they will own forever.
* * *
More text messages, then phone calls. I hear his voice. I hear her voice.
This is a group of smart and responsible kids – but something went wrong.
Boats and teenagers?
Anything can happen.
I reach the other mother in question; within an hour we’re on the road – she’s at the wheel and I’m holding my phone, tapping out texts and reading back responses, calling and listening, tracking her daughter and my son as they make their way from the ER to the hospital parking lot, and eventually back to the lake house.
We’re alternately worried and relieved. We navigate the country roads. We chat to keep ourselves preoccupied. We know they’re fine, but we want to see them. To understand what has happened.
* * *
The details are sketchy. Something goes wrong and I still don’t comprehend how the accident occurs except they’re tossed around and sinking, my son’s head striking a railing, his arms wrenched, and the friend cut behind her ear.
But they keep their wits about them and help each other.
Strangers arrive and assist. They make it to shore.
The officer at the hospital quickly determines there is “nothing special” in the incident.
Nothing special.
* * *
My son is annoyed that I’m hovering, irritated that I’m handing him a heating pad for his collar bone and an ice pack for a newly discovered area of bruising and swelling, on the back of his leg.
But his silence tells me he’s working through fear, working through discomfort, working through whatever actually took place out there when he and his friend were thrown from one end of the boat to the other, finding themselves dazed and in the water.
* * *
There is a late night run to the pharmacy for pain medication, for his shoulder that is red and marked, for his arm in a sling.
There is my own inability to sleep, so I wander the Internet, read mindlessly, write comments, try to hold the inevitable images at bay.
I ask my son to leave his bedroom door ajar. He balks and then acquiesces.
I peek in at an early hour; he is thrashing restlessly.
* * *
I marvel that the kids stayed focused enough to account for each other, to help each other, to make good decisions in the aftermath. Notifying parents. Heading to the hospital.
But none of them was wearing a life jacket. And the life jackets were in the boat – one for each of them – and in the calm of the waters and the beauty of an August morning, they did not bother to put them on.
Had my son or any of the others been knocked out?
I can’t bear to think of it.
* * *
There are missing details, but for now I don’t press. These are hard lessons in life’s fragility – a first for my son, and all too familiar for me.
He is sleeping, calmly now.
I picture the jagged shoreline, the blue green color of the lake, its placid surface, the pleasure of a sunny morning; the day begins like any other, in routine.
Your fear is palpable. Haven’t been there, thank the Lord. Enough that I got a 10:30pm call from my new young driver saying, “Mom, we have a big-ass problem!” Extracting details: 1) no one hurt, except the car. 2) “I’m on a bridge but I don’t know which one. I can see your office from here.” (that eliminates one of five bridges in the area). 3) “yes, I’m pulled out of traffic.”
I threw my second son in the car with me and off we went in search of. He’d hit a high curb on the ramp and blew out both passenger tires. On a bridge. Over a river. Yeah, I stopped thinking there, stopped, stopped my mother’s imagination from the “what ifs.” No life jackets in the car.
An hour later, sitting in my car waiting for the tow truck, I looked in the rear view and saw all three of them— my sons, their friend— sound asleep. I let out a long breath that was filled with gratitude.
As they say, I feel you, D.A.
Glad your son and his friend are okay. They seemed to handle it quite well. Life jackets now that is another area to explore when he feels better.
What a scary situation. I hope the recovery process isn’t too tough for your son. Will he need physical therapy or is his arm/shoulder expected to heal on its own?
Don’t know. And much physical activity was scheduled for the next weeks, prior to the “big college move.” I guess we’ll see. Kids heal quickly though – physically, anyway.
No life jackets? Some higher being was on their side that day. So glad he’s okay.
Exactly what kept me up most of the night, Kitch. And counting my blessings.
Are writers more prone to sabotage than other people? One reason I never had kids … there’s enough self-sabotage in my world. I’d be worried sick about my children. Implant tracking devices. Hire ex-CIA bodyguards. Move to Iceland so they couldn’t get very far if they ran away from home …
Excellent, Pj! All good ideas, but then we mothers fall prey to the accusations of “helicoptering” or at the very least, overprotecting. And yes, of course we worry about them – constantly – and also learn to let some of it go. We have to, or we’d lose our minds. Especially those of us doing this more or less solo. Then again, we are reminded of how precious the simpler things are – in part by virtue of our children at each and every stage. Even when they go out into the world without us, and we can only hope they’ve absorbed good lessons, and that fortune will smile on them.
Fortune certainly smiled on my son and his friends yesterday. It could have been a tragedy. And it wasn’t.
I didn’t know what vulnerability was until I became a parent. Glad this scary situation ended with just bruises.
Very glad to hear that everything seems to be coming along ok. Looks like they handled it well (except for the life jackets).
Wow. I’m so glad your son and his friends are okay.
They’re doing okay. They were very lucky!
Oh wow! So glad they are okay and doing good. I can only imagine the emotions you all went through. Take Care! Bleu 🙂
So so glad to hear your son and his friends, for the most part, are okay and in tact!
Wow! Your story gave me goosebumps. The hardest lesson I’m learning, and there’s no way in hell I’ve mastered it, is believing the world will be good to my kids. I’ve stopped myself from imagining the worse…Kelly walking by herself from closing at the restaurant and being attacked. Molly leaving a club in downtown and her getting in an accident. Jack going to summer camp and being abducted. It’s the letting go. The lesson that I cannot control the world, my kids’ world, and that I have to believe that the world will be kind in the chaos.
I’m relieved that they’ll both be okay.
Oh Wolf. So glad he and his friends are breathing, walking, talking and alive. So relieved for you and him and your family. xoxo
This post sent a chill through my spine. Esp the part about the life jackets as I could *so* imagine my son doing exactly the same thing. Thanks for the blow by blow description; I felt like I was right there with you.
Delia Lloyd
http://www.realdelia.com
oh good lord – we are sorry to hear this – your poor heart must have skipped too many beats…..scary stuff.
sending much love.
btw, we love the way you settled down for some “me-time”:
“Cue the French Roast. Cue the keyboard.”
that was really niiiiiice.
team gloria xx
SCARY! Also scary because I think deep down we know we all have one of these in our lives. *shudder* Glad he’s ok.
wow! I was out of town. Scary times for you. I cannot imagine the images in your head that night. So glad to hear it was not worse.
Boys will test us wont they?
Yes, they will, NAS. There but for the grace of God…
Miss my favorite blogs for a couple of days and look what happens! My heart sank as I read this because we’ve all been there. The fear of the unknown grips all sense as we try and sort out details. Almost on autopilot, we function until it’s over…then it really hits us. Forget the French Roast; cue the harder stuff after the fact.
OMG that is so scary (and really great writing, btw) but wow. Every time I hear of something like this for my kids I’m terribly freaked out myself. Even when I’m able to maintain control in their presence I’ll break down later. It’s the fear of them getting hurt that makes it so hard to let go. And of course, as a teen they feel invincible but they’re not and we, as parents, know that.
So true, Soccer Mom. As teens, they feel invincible. (We did, remember?)
Haven’t had my “break down” yet. Can’t. Too much going on. I think I’ll feel better when I do. (And I find myself wondering / worried about how he is processing this. He’s not talking about it much, but I think he may have with one of his friends.)
I somehow missed this post in my most recent catch-up here. I’m so glad your son and the other young woman who was injured are going to be all right.
Processing things like this — we all have such different time scales for working through them. I hope yours and your son’s fall somewhat in sync, to return you both to a new (sort of) peace of mind together.