Almost

Yesterday I was killing time waiting for a prescription to be filled for Lucy's ear infection. I decided as a treat I'd zip through the Dreaded Donut line for some tea for me and sugar for the Punks. Typically, it was a very crowded poorly planned parking lot. And, tossing the donuts back to the kids, I had to stick the snout of my car out around a van that was parked on the street right next to the parking lot exit.

But the exit was a little hill and so I went out a little farther than I should have. And when I did, I stared into the grill of an enormous Mack truck, and a quick glance in my mirror showed with another car on my bumper, I had no room to back up. And the truck, close and fast, was set to hit my door. And then I would die.

And while they took me to the morgue, or the hospital or wherever they would take me, I was overwhelmed with fear for my kids. Because if I was dead and Rob was away would my kids sit, scared and on an adrenaline and sugar high in the back of a patrol car for hours until they found someone to come? And could 8 comfort 6 and 3? Would they huddle together or sit in silent terror?

But by the grace of God the driver was aware and reacted and stopped just in time. The truck jerking still. And by just in time I mean that if I rolled down my window I would be able to touch the truck's grill. With ease.

And I sat with my hands tight on the wheel and my eyes stuck on the truck. With the clouds reflecting on windshield I could not see the driver's face. And we sat until I pulled out of his way, and so I could park on a side street, repeating a prayer, shaking, reassuring, and crying with fear and relief and whole hearted gratitude.

And I shook for hours.

And at night, when I tried to sleep I couldn't breathe and I dreamed I got run over by a little white car.