Late night musings.
I live a lucky life. There are big pieces of luck - I was born into a very close and loving family with enough money and education to set me on a relatively easy path with a wonderful support system that has sustained me through times of (relative) challenge. But what astonishes me even more, and often, is the small bits of luck that seem to pervade my life. I almost always find parking spaces when I need them. The couple of times my wallet has been stolen, the contents were recovered and returned within days. Once when I was about 14, I was playing with a favorite ring while leaning out the open third story window of my bedroom, and dropped the ring into the deep Boston snowdrifts below. Several months later when it melted, my family formed a line spanning the street, walked up and down, and within 10 minutes had found my ring.
And this weekend, that lucky star saved my and my kids' lives, or at least our health and future.
On Saturday, I took my boys (5 and 7) to synagogue alone, my husband had a cold and wanted to sleep it off at home. We had a lovely time, saw lots of friends, and then headed home for lunch with him. The weather was glorious in our city, everything was lush, and it was a beautiful walk. I remember thinking in particular how good everyone looked - I've lost about 20 lbs lately and was feeling good about myself, and my boys were in their matching navy blazers and looking dapper.
We walked down a one lane, one way street that has very long blocks, and as we've done almost every week for 10 years, decided to cross over in the middle of the block towards the shade. I took my boys' hands, we waited for the one car coming up the street to pass, walked into the road... and suddenly it backed up, quickly, from only 10-15 feet away, and plowed into all three of us, knocking us down.
It's kind of a blur, I'm not sure how I got to the sidewalk, but I remember my boys crying, the driver (a mid-20s kid, his mom and either sister or girlfriend) apologizing over and over, and an older lady with a heavy accent leaning over us, handing me my hat and the boys' backpack, telling me pain might not kick in until tomorrow. I remember trying to memorize the driver's license plate as he got in to move the car to the side (I thought he was about to drive away), a useless exercise since I can't even remember the car's color, let alone the license plate. Someone asked if we needed 911 and I remember saying "just let me think."
My boys both said their bottoms hurt. (This isn't surprising; the 5 year old imitates everything his brother says). I checked, saw not even a scrape. Had them bend over and touch their toes, then stretch side to side. By now they were laughing, even as my little one said "mommy, please wipe away my tears." Someone said "what about you?" I did a quick scan - I was shaking but felt fine. One toe hurt a bit and I noticed my nail polish was scraped off. I remember thinking how upset the driver must be, so I turned to him and shook my finger laughing saying "I can't believe it, you ruined my brand new pedicure!!!"
The crowd dispersed, I got the guy's phone number (I haven't checked if he gave me a fake), told him I could only imagine how upset he must be, and the boys and I walked another mile home. They asked if we should tell their dad and I said of course, but let's start with "everything's fine."
And everything is fine. Except - how can it be? How can three people escape being hit by a car from almost no distance away, with no more damage than some nail polish (and my back's a bit tight, but nothing that a couple of days of bath and heat won't cure)?
I went in to see my older son sleep that night and all I could think was "by rights, this bed should be empty right now, with him either gone or injured in the hospital." I can't stop thinking about what could have been - both big and small: I'm switching banks and operating out of two checkbooks right now, would my husband figure it out and pay the bills correctly if something happened to me? Would he remember to post to my Facebook account if I couldn't? How would my younger son manage if something happened to his adored older brother? We live in a row house, it's all stairs - if one of us had ended up paralyzed or in a wheelchair, how would we cope? I know someone who ended up in a wheelchair after being run over by a car backing up when she was six, it feels very real.
It's a matter of inches. Inches. My life could have changed, or been ended, or I could have become someone who lost a child - is there a greater tragedy?
I don't know if I helped get us through this unscathed. My older son says he fell on top of me, and I think I remember pulling him - did that keep him from going under the car too far? Did my instincts kick in? I know I didn't scream, I felt frozen. I want to think I did the right mama bear thing, but I'll never know. I know that I was foolish not to have the guy write down his license plate number, and not even to call the police. My dad has gently chided me for my instincts as a lawyer's daughter not being in evidence.
We never know what's about to happen. I'll never know why we're all ok. I do know that I feel very grateful, and very scared at the same time. Time will pass and the immediate emotion will pass. When I was 21 I was paralyzed and hospitalized for 3 months with an illness, and when I recovered I swore that I would always hold on to that experience and appreciate the big things, not let the little things get to me. 24 years later, I can state with complete honesty that life happens again and yeah, I still let little things get to me. So I know that soon I'll yell at my kids again when I should keep my temper, might glance at an email on my phone despite my kids yelling "Safety Patrol" from the back seat, and will get impatient at my husband for forgetting to take in the garbage.
But tonight, I sit in my quiet house, look at my sleeping children, and feel intensely grateful and lucky.