Eight Seconds

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Simon is standing. I'm behind him cutting the back of his hair. He's talking. We're laughing. "Mom?" he asks, and leans forward. Mmm, I say, holding my scissors back. The lean becomes a fall. His face hits the door frame. His head rebounds off the sink. His body crumples to the floor, eyes are open, staring upward. I'm screaming. He won't talk. I won't leave him. I have to help him. I don't know what to do; I don't know what to do.

Then: He talks. He's fine. Why is Mom asking me my name? It's not a second son with diabetes; he just fainted. After his bike ride. That's all. Just an eight-second reminder to love the ones you're with.

Comments

  1. Ferree Bowman HardyOctober 10, 2010 at 11:16 PM

    I'm clutching my heart. Thank God everyone's fine!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Amy PhillipsOctober 11, 2010 at 8:44 AM

    Yes! But I'm having trouble unclutching mine, that's for sure.

    ReplyDelete

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