Sirens

9:38 p.m.  text from Darrell - "I'm leaving(work)."

I read the text and continue watching dvr of the Super Bowl.  I had paused the game while putting the kids to bed.

9:58 p.m.  Familiar sound of sirens traveling down 56th St. toward the boulevard. Look out the window to see it's an ambulance.  I check the time on the family wall clock, check the time of the text.  I calculate the distance, time, how long until he should be here.  Buffer in time for him going down the elevator of his building, putting on a jacket, traffic lights.  Send a quick text back - "I love you.  Travel safely."

10:00 p.m.  Start the shrimp and mushroom dinner I've been waiting to cook until he was on his way.  It tastes better fresh and I like to eat with him, discussing the events of the day.  I look out the kitchen window every thirty seconds or so.  Do I see his bike lights coming up the hill?  Do I hear someone?

10:10 p.m.  Rattling of door keys.  Sigh.  A big kiss on a cold cheek and I tell him, "It's so nice to see you."  

I hear sirens often.  The only time they bother me is between the text, "I'm on my way," and the comforting sounds of the back door being unlocked. 

Before you start thinking I'm a paranoid person, here's a bit of back story.  A year and a half ago, I received a phone call.  It went something like this.  "Hello?  Is this Mrs. O'Quinn?"  No one EVER calls me that.  "I'm here with your husband.  He's been in an accident."  I stop breathing.  "He's okay, but ....."  My mind is racing.  If you ever doubt the speed of the human brain, try getting a call like this and see how many scenarios you can go through in the space of the caller taking a breath.  Is anything broken?  Can he walk?  Is he bleeding?  Is he conscious?  Is he in pain?  Will he need surgery?  Why can't he talk to me?  Why didn't he call me?  All of these "Are you Mrs. ....." calls start with a sugar-coated "There's been an accident."

I gathered, as best I could, the location of the accident, told the kids we needed to go pick up Daddy because he had fallen off his bike, then proceeded to lose my mind as I drove in circles in the vicinity of where I thought he was.  When I finally arrived (after trying to call back the anonymous helper and getting a wrong number) I felt like I would collapse.  He was calmly sitting on the curb, drinking some water.  I could have broken his ribs, as hard as I hugged him.  I guess he could see how distraught I was and reassured me over and over, "I'm okay.  Really, I'm fine."   He had a gash under his chin, marks on his head from where his helmet had saved him, and a bike shoe buckle smashed to his foot so that we had to rip it off.  The guy who hit him had been out late, turned left in front of Darrell from a no-turn lane and didn't even see him until he was catapulted completely over the hood of the car.

Luckily, some glue and and a negative CAT scan were all he needed to get out of the E.R.  

Darrell choosing to commute by bike and ride recreationally on the weekends is a risk we take.  The benefits are multi-fold.  He's in the best physical and mental shape of his life.  He's saving money on gas, car, car maintenance and parking.  He's doing his part for cleaner air.  He's happy.

But....... whenever I hear a siren, I always check the last text..... and check the clock...... and watch the door.