On Thursday night, at my 'prayer meeting thing' we talked about some of our fears.
Guess what they were?
1. Our kids' safety.
2. And driving in the snow.
None of us like driving in the snow.
And all of us worry about this thing our sons have ... this thing that has them needing adventure.
Then, last night, after the play, four of us went for tea at Timmy's and talked about hymns, holidays, and senior's homes. At some point, we got around to talking about fears, and again, the thing with the snow came up. And how none of us like driving in it. And again, we talked about this thing our sons' have about needing adventure. And how hard it is to be a mom, cuz while our sons are out there, traveling by themselves, looking for that ultimate experience, our hearts are with them ... and we worry ... and wish they'd stay home where it's safe. Or if, nothing else, at least CALL every day so we know they're well.
I am a normal mom.
A few nights ago, when Clint told me he was going to drive by himself to Sunpeaks and then to Fernie to snowboard over the Christmas break, my heart slipped out of my chest and landed on the top of my leg, getting tangled up in the knot of nerves already bunched up there.
"Why don't you take my truck?" I suggest. "I just put new tires on it. It's a 4 by 4. It's as heavy as a tank ..."
"NO"
"Can't you drive with someone..."
"NO"
The conversation did not go well.
He worked late last night, getting home after 3 am. It had started snowing at midnight, so I started praying at 12:05 am. His pick up truck has no weight in the back end, he doesn't have winter tires, it needs a brake job and it's a 2 wheel drive.
He made it home safe but was grumpy when I asked him how his day had gone.
At 9 this morning, I heard him walking around outside my bedroom.
"What're you doing up so early?" I called out from bed.
"Going snowboarding."
My heart sunk again. Please don't go, I wanted to say. Please, stay off the roads this weekend... they're going to be bad. Please just stay home and be safe.
"Where?" I called out.
"Seymour, where else?" he replied in a snotty voice, annoyed that I was talking.
Please take my truck, I wanted to say. Please drive careful. I have a bad feeling about this, please don't go up the mountain today, I wanted to say. It'll be too busy... opening weekend is going to be nuts. Wait til Monday, I wanted to say.
"Bye," I called out as he slammed the door.
Isn't the snow pretty?
NO.
I don't like it. Not one little bit.
I really should live in Florida.
I was laying in bed, plugged into my DVD player, watching the end of the Scrubs episode I started watching last night, but fell asleep during, when the phone rang and I just knew.
I just knew it would be Clint.
And I just knew it would be about the snow. And driving in it. And that he'd had an accident.
"Mom!" he says all cheerful like.
"Yeah?"
"Hey! I'm uh, my truck is in the ditch..."
"Where?"
"On 232nd, just past the stop sign."
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Any other cars involved?"
"No, just me. I must've hit a patch of ice..."
"Have you called BCAA to tow you out?"
"No. I called you."
"What do you want me to do? Come and get you?"
"OK."
Minutes after his accident, a second one occured, 1/2 block away, involving 3 trucks. Their collisions were serious, so an emergency vehicle circus took place while we waited for a tow truck.
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