Aftermath

We saw the remains, the aftermath, of an accident on the way home. We’d seen the ambulance go rushing past. A firehall rescue rig was blocking off part of an intersection, where two firefighters stood guard over a smashed-up wreck of a vespa style scooter. One of them came over to us as I explained to Cameron as best as I could what had happened, and he offered stickers. Cameron asked where the “motorcycle driver” was, and was reassured that she was at the hospital by now, and she’d be fine. Just bumps and bruises. She’d been wearing a good helmet. Cameron took a good look at the vespa, and we talked about why it was smashed to bits, and re-affirmed that the rider would be okay. She was wearing a helmet.

Our own aftermath this evening was a little bit messier. Cameron was seriously overtired, and so was I. Our relationship felt as scattered and smashed as that vespa. He pushed some boundaries, and I didn’t budge. He cheered up a little as I stuck around while he was in the tub, chatting and feeding him blueberries and ice cream. Cameron wanted to put the bowls on his head – helmets! Our emotional bumps and bruises will heal. But I sure wish they made helmets for the kind of crash we had last night.

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Time to finish putting Betty’s bed together. She should be at Vancouver air port by now. And time for me to get ready for bed.

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