Wear Your Fucking Seatbelts

I originally wrote this in response to a posting (also titled WEAR YOUR FUCKING SEATBELTS) that resonated somewhere deep inside my memories. I haven't written much, if any, about this before, and given what just happened to my father, I thought a tiny bit of context might be appropriate.

1979... I was just 22

I had a wonderful dinner with my parents and then said goodbye as they were going back home. (They had been in town for a conference, but they lived four hours away, so I didn't get to see them all that often.)

I went back to work, trying to get some software to work. Around 2am the phone rang. My friend and co-worker picked up the phone and said it was for me. It was a police officer from some place I had never heard about.

He asked if I was so-and-so and checked some general information to make sure I was the right person. "There has been an accident."

Time kind of stands still at moments like that.

My parents car had hit another car head-on. Each car going at least 50km/h. Both my parents were in the ER of the local hospital.

Could I come?

I don't have a car, but I'll see if somebody can drive me.

Are my parents alive?

Your mother and father are both being treated at the moment.

What are their injuries?

Your father has broken legs.

How about my mother?

Your fathers injuries are serious.

(Uh-oh... he is avoiding the subject of my mother. Not good.)

After a series of rapid phone calls to siblings and relatives, I found an uncle who got up, fetched me, and drove me to the hospital three hours away. (Thanks Mats!)

Talking to the nurses at the ER I again got that same avoidance of the subject of my mother. Finally a surgeon told us (it did help that my uncle was an MD) that they didn't know if she was going to make it. "The next 12 hours will tell us".

They had a "guest" room at the ER for relatives. It was not an easy night, but the worst was having to call my mothers parents early in the morning and explain what had happened and that we were still waiting for word of the outcome.

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Anyway, they both made it, although it was a very long recovery. My mother was significantly better after six month and in most respects recovered. My father was able to return to work a year later, but the combination of losing a leg and some damage to his brain has accelerated his aging. While he is still alive, he is not really there any more. Still, they are both alive and have been able to see two grandchildren.

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But I will never forget that night and having to make that early morning phone call to my mothers parents...

I wish you and your father the very best of luck on the road of recovery.

And yes... WEAR YOUR FUCKING SEATBELTS

(If my parent's hadn't worn theirs, my son would never have met his grandparents.)

--j