Unabashed

I almost didn’t post this because it’s too gloomy, but then I thought I’d add this note to the top of the post and say that for the most part it’s been a great, productive day. Our vacation plans are made for late July on the beach in Destin, Florida, and I got a new gadget today: a folding keyboard for my Palm T|X, which I did get to tinker with a bit. Plus, I got a lot of work done on my day job, including putting the finishing touches on procedural document that’s sure to bring me the acclaim of all my many bosses. But there was gloom today, and the description of that gloom begins now:

This morning I walked into the bathroom after my wife had left for work and saw a perfect imprint of her bare foot on the rug by the sink. Just a little footprint impression, no big deal, right? Except that image has stuck with me all day long, and I don’t even want to share the dark and depressing reasoning behind this. Suffice it to say that the thought passed through my mind that if anything was to happen to my wife today, love of my life that she is, and if for some reason I never saw her again, that I would never step on that rug again. And that I would dwell on that imprint, that I would wreck myself with grief staring at it, wishing that little foot would fit it again.

Deep, huh? Sorry if I’m bringing you down, but there’s another notch to descend on this ladder of fate…

Tonight my three-year-old son Lucas began screaming, all of a sudden. I ran and picked him up and hugged him close, trying to be soothing. Then I realized I was wet. Then I realized his head was pouring blood like a sieve. It stopped bleeding almost as soon as Suzy touched it with a cold compress, but by then both of us had blood all over us.

When he stopped crying, Suzy called the pediatrician’s after-hours number and they told us to just watch him tonight and tomorrow. Make sure he doesn’t lose any function or start forgetting how to talk or identify familiar things. I think he’s fine, but I’m pretty sure he cracked his head on the hearth (which Suzy keeps covered with a nice cushy blanket, but still), the thought of which literally sends chills down my spine and makes me feel a little sick to the stomach. So we have to wake him up in four hours to make sure he can still walk.

So: was the footprint impression an omen of an impending accident? Even though it was my son and not my wife who had the accident, and everything seems to be okay now, there were still those moments of barely-controlled panic, when I thought something terrible might have just happened. Those feelings aren’t benefitted by the doom residue that had stuck around since this morning.

Well if I’ve brought you down I’m sorry, but you were warned. G’night.

written by Matt Mitchell \\ tags: blues, grief, omens, portend