"We'll meet up with you guys later for lunch," I told them. "Mal and I have plans to check out the boutiques in the city."
Two bowls of Dungess Crab chowder stared back at us as we waited for them. Dennis is never late.
And then the phone call.
"Your husband and your father-in-law have been in an accident with a train" the operator informs me.
A train?
Minutes later a police car arrives to pick us up.
He can't tell us any details. A train? I think I lost consciousness. I can't remember how we got there I only remember that when they finally told us what had happened to our husbands I was crazy by then. The doctor backed us into a room, the kind of room I imagined where they'd tell you "I'm sorry they didn't make it." Candles were lit, boxes of tissues on every table.
No, no I don't want to go in there. Please Please. I remember telling the man, pushing myself away.
That was six years ago...the rest of the story is here.
I have not written about this day in any formal way only a letter to the Docta's father when it first happened. I said something like there are many ways to react in desperate and difficult times you have taught me a life lesson in resilience, in patience, in love, in forgiveness. Although he had a bruise down his entire body the size of Texas he never complained. Although he wasn't the driver and he broke all of his ribs, punctured his lung and then some he never blamed. Although he forfeited his chance to go to any Olympic events, he never pouted. He never played the victim.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Of all the strange things that happened during this time, I think the most puzzling is that the Docta and his father never recovered their eye glasses from the wreck. At the time,we asked the recovery crew for their whereabouts. They swore that they combed the rubble and searched the car thoroughly. The Docta and I even walked the Trax line up and down hoping to find a sign, some broken out frames, or even the shattered remnants. Nothing.
Hard to believe that two men, father and son, could "walk" away from this accident and their glasses gone without a trace.
My theory is that the men who wore those glasses could never have put the same pair on again. Perspectives shifted. Relationships changed, forged took new directions and the men that stood up afterwards would never look at life the same way again.
That was six years ago...
"Happy Life Day!" It's the Docta's mama on the phone I can hardly hear her the ocean surf is muffling out her voice, even so, I can tell she is celebrating.
"Dennis and I are walking the beach today. We've been here all day," she tells me and I think What a gift. What a gift to see the surf meet the sand, to hear the distant cry of a dog barking for a frisbee, to hear your own grandchild squealing in delight as the sea spray tickles her rosy cheeks.
Happy Life Day.
