My grandson and I leave dinner early to get to his band concert. Student arrival time is thirty minutes before showtime. I love helping my daughter, so she can finish dinner in honor of her birthday. I love spending one on one time with my grandchildren.
Time is tight, so we're lightly chagrined when the car in front of us takes forever to pull out of the plaza. Finally traffic slows, so he can turn left. We turn right. I'm almost blinded by the glare of red flashing lights from police cars, from a giant fire truck parked in the middle of the busy intersection. I proceed slowly, unsure of how we're going to turn left to the high school. We creep forward and see all lanes but the far right are blocked off. A fireman in the midst of chaos, tries to direct traffic.
There has been a horrendous car accident. The entire front of a car has been sheared off. It smokes and leans to one side. Fluids leak in the street. Several other cars are pulled over. All of this in the dark. We proceed and turn around half a block away. The scene is so catastrophic it brings tears.
But we soldier on. Sebastian has a Band Bash tonight. I ask him if he likes jazz, if he knows who Louis Armstrong is. I pull to the front of the high school. I pop the trunk and he takes out his saxophone and hurries into the school.
His whole journey into adulthood passes before my eyes. This is but a moment. Needing a ride and as his grandma having the privilege of giving him one--is fleeting.
The gym is joyfully chaotic. One concert has just finished and the participants are clearing out. The next three bands file in. I see Sebastian. I follow him to the other side of the gym where I will wait for the rest of his family.
Ah, but they went to the middle school instead of the high school. My daughter in a mild panic, hurries back. I keep her updated: They're warming up. He's in the far corner. Come in through the second entrance. A whirlwind brings them in. One by one, depending on how fast they ran, they enter the gym. They made it barely in time.
But they made it. We made it. All of us safely. The obstacles were few, but they were obstacles.
I keep thinking about the broken cars. The flares. The smoke. Someone's plans were interrupted. They didn't make it home in time or they didn't make it home.
I sat in the ICU for a week, and daily, I saw the heartache of the people around me. The people who were there because of accidents. Our volunteer work in the hospital also brought us too close to the danger when people rush or make careless decisions. I can't erase the young boy who lived down the street who was texting on the freeway and lost his life.
I admit to someone in a conversation where details are no longer remembered, that I've started driving like an old lady. I check the speed limit; I follow it closely. I double check before I make a turn. I keep my hands in the 10:00 and 2:00 o'clock position on the wheel. Everyone wears their seatbelt, no one without enough weight sits in the front seat. Possibly the most important change is I no longer check the clock, watching the minutes evaporate as I get closer to my destination. I accept that I left at a certain time and I will arrive at a certain time. I will not speed up to save the two or three minutes I may have needed at the beginning of the journey. Refusing to watch the clock has caused me to plan better, to leave earlier. To minimize the dangers of rushing.
Obstacles are unavoidable, but there are skills we can develop to run the obstacle course.
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