Since remembering death averts death at any moment there should be this remembrance. . . .
Set in the median near mile marker 251 south of Birmingham on I-65 is a metal guardrail. No vehicles can cross to the other side, where her car was, and the third car. I hope the driver of the third car is doing well. I wish I knew how her family is doing without her. I’m sure they miss her every day. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of her.
Eyes, like faces, change with age. Especially the mind’s eye. Some elements of vision, however, remain constant. I’m still near-sighted because my eyeball’s too long, I’m still looking to get my doctorate, and still focused on my kids, who endured a car accident with their father eight years ago. Brianne’s neck was broken and Reed almost lost his legs. He didn’t, and Brianne’s vertebrae fused without spinal cord damage. They’re all doing well, staying busy.
Brittany got engaged on Valentine’s Day and will receive her business degree in May. She laughs at how upset she was over the “F” word. Last month, the other two both totaled their cars in separate incidents. No other cars were damaged. Brianne suffered only minor bruises. Reed wasn’t hurt at all.
“Who totals their Jeep going seven mph?” my son asked me.
“Someone very lucky,” I said. Thank God he wasn’t going seventy.
Reed doesn’t remember our wreck at all. He doesn’t remember seeing Michaelangelo’s Pietà, either, though he still thinks I made him see way way too much art in Florence. He’s a junior this year and when he registered for classes he got to choose an elective. His choices included broadcasting, theater, weaving, photography, dance.
“What’d you pick?” I asked.
“Sculpture.”
Unexpected.
Unexpected indeed. I guess we just never know.