Less than one hour ago, this rock totally shattered the rear, passenger side window of our car. Bits of glass are scattered over the back seat and the floor. Larger pieces sit in chunks in the car seat…the seat that T had been in, sipping juice, only 10 minutes before.
I was only a few minutes from work when it happened. I had just driven past a school’s field when I heard the glass break. The sound was like a loud pop! or burst!, as though pressure was being released. For a second, I couldn’t quite process what was going on. I turned to look behind me and saw that the window was gone. Almost in that same instance, I looked through and out the gaping hole and saw a kid standing at the edge of the field, about a hundred feet (if that) from the edge of the road. I pulled over to the curb, swearing up a storm the whole time, knowing that he’d be gone by the time I got out of the car. And he was.
My heart pumped in overdrive, especially when I got a look at the damage. I thought, T could’ve been sitting right there. In one of those weird thought-leaps (relevant yet distracting) that I’m sure we all have , I suddenly recalled the dream I posted about some time last year. I tried to shut out the could-have-been images, had T been in that seat. Thankfully, he was not.
So I called the police, got a police report and arrived at work safe and sound, if not a little shaken up. And angry. And disappointment. And suspicious. And a whole range of other emotions about people, this city, kids, parenting, loss and, in general…life.
The rock is only about 2 inches square, but it had quite an impact.