The picture says it all.
Last night we were in the ER for almost four hours with you. You fell on the ramps and got a concussion. It was SO bloody! The scariest part was that you immediately began dozing off on the way to the ER. You were such a stud! You stopped crying once we got to the hospital, and that was it for the tears. Your dad got my message and dismissed his class in LaPuente and headed to the ER. Chase was with us; Chance was with a friend. He cried and was afraid for you. The CT scan was normal—thank God! Today you look horrible. Earlier you put on a rubber glove from the ER, got it wet and said, “I’m Dr. Wetglove. I clean things and do all kinds of things with wet gloves.” You’re funny even with a radically fat lip.
I’ve been looking through Chandler’s photo album the past couple of days.
For a while I was a good mom. Each kid’s acid-free, sticker-filled, chronologically accurate photo albums were current.
Public service announcement — Don’t down a margarita while writing important dates in your album with the brightly colored permanent archival quality markers. Unless you’re OK with using your decorative zig-zag scissors to cut out a cute little shape to cover up your boo-boo with your acid-free double-sided tape.
I closed the album and opened up my journal full of Sayings, Memories & Stuff. My eye immediately fell on today’s Chandler-ism – my journal entry the day that picture was taken. His very first concussion at seven years old. Believe it or not, he wanted to smile, but his mouth wouldn’t let him.
We had the most awesome skate ramps that the boys would drag out into our cul-de-sac every day after school. Grandpa Bill was with us one Christmas when Santa brought the quarter pipe, and he helped Chip put it together. Daddy loved watching the boys have fun on those things, probably because given the chance when he was young, he would have done the same thing. Instead, he made a living balancing on sky-high 6”-wide metal beams as an iron worker.
The day Chandler crashed, the only car at the house was Aunt Cho’s Isuzu stickshift. Talk about quick recall! The last time I had driven a stick was in the 1980s.
I kept talking to Chandler all the way to the hospital, so he wouldn’t fall asleep, praying for him and for me – that my feet would hit the clutch, the brake and the gas in the right order and my hand would shift the stick to the appropriate gear.
Glen Rouse, a family friend and pastor, met us at the hospital. He wasn’t shocked. This was Chandler.
My little guy was so brave. No stitches that time, but there was a different visit to that same ER from a “wheels” accident that entailed some stitches to the chin.
As Chance wrote, “He always went head first.”