Came back from work and there’s the wife playing soccer with N in the back yard. Stone tiled, and it’s wet, and as he jumps over the ball he damn near steps on it instead. And just then the horrible image comes to me, of him falling down, and breaking the back of his skull against the stone. That’s a horrible risk of brain injury, even possible fatal. The image stayed with me through the evening, even night.
It’s such a brittle life. There’s always the scare of having had kids, only to loose them to some irregular fatal incident. It’s a fear that’s been with me throughout, and likely will until the end of my life. I so hope that I’ll die first, no parent should survive his children. I know my life would go on, but it would never be the same. I also know it’s not possible to isolate them, nor life in this constant fear. So I refer it to the back of my mind, from whence it sometimes – as above – creeps forward.
There really is just luck, and hope, in this fragile world. And we live off it every day, every heartbeat.