I grew up in a family void of the proverbial Irish Luck.
That void was pretty self evident this past weekend.
Saturday I got up early and was working in my flower beds.
I was trying to make them look somewhat decent, because neither do I have a green thumb.
After finishing one side of my porch, and before starting on the other, I thought I would take a lunch break.
I went into the house with a nice rivulet of sweat running down the side of my face, with such a smell as would have kept anyone miles away from me.
Before I started lunch, I thought I would check my phone messages.
I noticed that my mother had called.
She marked her call urgent.
In times before I have had to have a talk with her, because she always marks her calls urgent. She thinks I will call her back faster if it says urgent. Not the case, it just annoys me.
I lazily listened to her message, expecting an "Amy, it's your mom. Call me when you get a chance." Instead I heard a half frantic "Amy, call me as soon as you get this message!"
My heart began racing. I knew something was wrong. Her voice doesn't lie. My mind rushed through all the worst case scenarios as I dialed and waited for her to pick up the phone.
I worried about my sister in law who is expecting a baby and was moving last weekend. I thought of both my grandparents, worrying about their health, but I never expected it to be my dad.
"Amy, your dad had an accident. We are in the emergency room."
"What happened?" I choked out as my eyes began stinging.
"He was riding his bike and hit a truck."
"Okay, I will be right there."
I rushed to find Jeffrey and let him know I was going to be gone for a while, and he needed to take care of Keith when he woke from his nap. I got in the car and sped off to the hospital.
I prayed the whole way there. I mean, let's be honest, my dad is far too young to have anything happen to him. He is a tough cookie. Ever since he was 18 he has exercised 6 days of the week. He gets up at 4:30 in the morning so he can go swimming before work, and there he swims a mile, sometimes two. He goes running, and he just discovered a passion cycling.
Evidently that is what did him in. He went out for a 40 mile bike ride, and got a flat. He fixed it and kept going. He got another flat so had to call my mother to pick him up, they took the bike home, and fixed the flat before he set out again. He was riding through a town not too far away, and was looking down so the wind wasn't in his eyes as bad. He looked up and saw the back of a parked mail truck (he was going about 35 mph). Well, he and that mail truck are now on intimate terms. My mother was called, and she drove him to the ER.
He is fine now. After several hours of worry, we were told there are no broken bones and no internal bleeding, he just has a severe fat lip and sore neck. He was relieved. He has a triatholon he is planning on competeing in that is scheduled in three weeks.
Then today I was talking with my mother and she told me that they had been in a car accident yesterday. Someone rear-ended them and it completly curled up the back of the truck. They got a good jolt from it, and so my father is a little more tender in the neck area. The poor guy.
If only we had some Irish in us, we would be fairing a lot better. But then again, no one was seriously injured, so I guess all that good English and Scandinavian blood is doing something.
P.S. Thank you everyone who wished Jeffrey a happy birthday. It was a lot of fun for him, and he is happy to join the ranks of the late 20's. My camera is now broken as well as the computer picture downloading thingy, so it may be a while before I get pictures again.