near death

Today my mother told me about the day I was inches away from death.  My mom, her then boyfriend, Ron, my two older brothers and I were going swimming on a hot summer day 1986. I was seven years old. We had to park across a large highway from our swimming hole. We all hopped out of the van excited to swim.  I, being seven, was anxious to get there.  Without looking both ways before crossing the street, like my mother had always taught me, I stepped out into the highway.  My mother saw my action and also saw the oncoming semi truck.  As I stepped out into the oncoming traffic, she reached out and grabbed my pony-tailed hair.  While she pulled be back toward her and before I was even clear of the highway, the massive truck sped past us, missing me by mere inches.  I am sure that we continued on to the swimming hole.  I am certain I was oblivious to the real danger that I had narrowly missed.  I have no memory of this day or the events that occurred in it.  For many years after, this image of me stepping into harms way, haunted my mother's dreams.  A true mother's nightmare.

Seconds. Inches. These are the fragments of time and space that stood between me and death before the age of accountability.  Since Mother told me this story earlier today, I have had images flashing in my mind.  Not only images of grieving parents who have lost their only daughter, but images of things that would have never come to pass if that summer day had become fatal.  Two childhood best friends would never have become sisters.  A certain blind date would never have led to love.  Three beautiful spirits would have been born to someone else.

But seconds and inches are all that is needed to preserve life.  And because of the quick actions of a mother's instincts, I am here living a beautiful life.  Today I count my blessings a little more sincerely, because all it takes is seconds and inches to take them all away.