Don’t break my heart

I was a grumpy mom this morning. Boring details aside, little things were getting to me. A speed-bump in my writing. Home appliance headaches resulting in big plumbing bills. “You’re mean!” — when I wouldn’t let my 8 or 5 y/o bring their Kindles to school. And, of course, the nauseating political stuff.

The boys had an hour delay. My vision of a leisurely breakfast and game of Candy Land never came to fruition. Unhinged from our routines, the hour was spent mostly waiting. The boys had never been so eager to get to the bus stop.

Lunches packed, I helped them into their coats and backpacks. My second-grader, as he likes to do, took off on his own. I allow this sliver of independence after ensuring he would always do it safely. Staying on the side of the road, not only looking for cars but being aware of them — always. We don’t live on a super busy street. And he likes to slide on a frozen puddle (the last of its kind this winter) near the bus stop. Why not let him have a few minutes of outside play?

My Kindergartener always waits for me. (Or, I’m usually the one waiting for him.) We walk hand in hand down the street, together. Every day.

Today, he surprised me. As I scrambled into my coat, he was off — following his big brother. He was gone before I had a chance to register what he was doing. Still, I wasn’t worried. Until I spotted him down the street — in the middle of the street — running in that carefree way kids do, thinking they’re invincible.

“Get to the side!” I called, zipping my coat as I went out.

A car was stopped in front of my house. The driver rolled down his window. “He came barreling down, right into the street. I had to slam on my breaks.”

Two sentences. Everything turned on its head.

I blinked at him. My jaw dropped. I had no idea.

“Oh, no. Sorry,” I blurted, embarrassed and horrified — processing his words.

I ran to the corner, took my little guy aside and tried to tell him. Tried explaining how serious it could’ve been. I only had a minute, tops. Can this lesson be taught in less than a minute?

“Don’t break my heart.” I said, as the bus chugged around the corner. “If anything ever happened to you, I would cry forever. I would *never* stop crying.”

Did he hear me? Did he get it? I can only hope . . .

Tears filled as I waved goodbye. We said our “love yous” and the bus pulled away. I held it together until I got back to the house, where I sobbed into my hands — “what if” scenarios crowding my mind.

All that shit from before. All those worries that made me grumpy this morning? That’s nothing. I don’t give a crap about writer’s block or padded plumbing bills or stupid things an eight-year-old might say to his mother. Bozo the Clown could be the next GOP nominee, for all I care.

My world came crashing into focus. What’s important front and center:

My boys.

5 comments

  1. Excellent as usual. Remembering what’s truly important is a dam good thing. Give those boys a hug from their auntie Amy in Thailand. And tell them I ride elephants. That oughta impress ’em.

  2. My tears flow with yours. I understand so well. You have expressed a mother’s love so perfectly, and a grandmother’s too.

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