The Accident AtoZ blog challenge

Letter A    The Accident

Accidents are pretty much a part of childhood.  Cuts, scrapes, stitches, even broken bones seem to be a rite of passage, especially for boys.  Some even see their scars, their casts, and their stitches as badges of honour, proof of how tough they are.   But sometimes a child has an accident that has lifelong consequences.  Injuries too severe to recover from or that leave lasting damage can impact the course of a child’s life and that of his family in unimaginable ways.   When he was 9 years old, my brother Joe had such an accident.   It was a defining moment in all of our lives and changed our family forever. 

It happened on one of those warm early spring days that make people shed their winter clothes and venture outside to bask in the welcome warmth. People were out working on their yards, washing their cars, kids were playing hopscotch, jump rope, or riding their bikes.   I had spent the night at my best friend Christine’s house and we decided to see what was going on at mine.  We came up the driveway to find my mother washing the car and the sound of laughter coming from the garage.   Curious, we went inside.  My brother and his friends were playing in the loft above our garage.  It had always been strictly off limits and we had no idea what was up there.   I guess my mother was full of spring fever and figured it would be okay since she would be near by.  

Christine ran ahead and was up the ladder before I could say anything.  My sweaty palms and pounding heart kept me safely on the ground.  But peer pressure is a strong motivation and I swallowed my terror and headed up the ladder.   There were a lot of kids up there and I was immediately uneasy because they were boys and they were being rowdy.   There was nothing of interest to two adolescent girls and Christine headed back down the ladder.  I walked to the ladder and froze.

Going up is always easier. You can pretend it’s not that high by focusing on  your destination and not looking down.  It’s not great, but it’s better than going down.   I looked down.  No way.  Christine encouraged me and walked over to hold the ladder for me.   But this time the terror was too great.   I knew I couldn’t stay up there forever and I fervently wished I had stayed on the ground.    I thought briefly of jumping down because I knew I was going to fall anyway, but common sense prevailed and I started to climb on the ladder.   

I had just gotten my feet on the top of the ladder when I heard a shout and a sickening thud.   I turned to look down and saw my brother lying motionless on the cement floor.  Fear forgotten, I yelled for my mom and headed down the ladder.   She ran and picked up my brother and headed into the house.  The boys scattered.  Christine and I followed my mom into the house.  Laying Joe down on the couch she went upstairs.  I kneeled beside him and noticed he had blood coming from his ear.   He was so still and I remember thinking he was dead.  Eventually he stirred and I spoke to him asking if he was okay.   He passed out again and I ran upstairs to see what my mom was doing.   I was horrified to see her in the bathroom putting on her makeup!  My brother was on the couch seriously injured.   Even at 11 years old I knew that she should be rushing him to the hospital not worrying about how she looked.   Incredulous, I asked what she was doing.  I don’t remember her response and I have no memory of her taking Joe out of the house to the hospital.

I do remember the agony of waiting to hear from her.  I was certain Joe was going to die.   Christine and I talked about it.  I cried and she comforted me. The hours ticked by.   I remember imagining my life without my brother.  

It wasn’t the first time I had done this.  He had almost drowned three years before. As I watched my father and his friends turn him upside down and half the lake pour out of him, I thought then how my life would be without him in it.   We were not close.   We never had been.  

Everyone in my family loved and doted on Joe and I was bitterly jealous of him.  I thought he was a mamma’s boy and a big baby.  My father teased him mercilessly about not being a “man” and he treated me like a son.   Looking back, I think a lot of my feelings for Joe were fed by my father’s attitude toward him.  I was very much my daddy’s girl.  

Now here he was, lying in the hospital seriously injured and I was imagining that life again.   I felt ashamed and yet somehow hopeful.  I can own that now.  I could see my life as being better just my mom and me.   Maybe it’s a normal thing for a child to imagine the demise of a sibling, I don’t know.  I didn’t have the maturity and life experience to see beyond the immediate benefit of being the only, pampered child.

Eventually the phone rang and it was my mother telling me Joe had a fractured skull but he would be okay.  A bone from his left ear had flown up into the crack, saving his life.  He would be deaf in that ear, but it could have been so much worse. There would be no brain damage, no paralysis, no death.

I hung up the phone and told Christine my brother had broken his head.  And I started to laugh hysterically and she joined me.   A broken head was the funniest thing we had ever heard.  I know now my laughter was a release of the fear I had been feeling waiting to hear about his condition.   It was the adrenalin and the lessening of the shock. And there was relief.  Because in spite of my feelings about a future without Joe, deep down I loved him and didn’t want anything to happen to him. 

I have no memory of the rest of that day or the days that followed.  I don’t remember how much time my mother spent at the hospital or how much time I spent alone.  I know she worked full time to support us.  And she probably went to the hospital after work.  I don’t know how long he was in the hospital but I do remember the day he came home. 

My mother had put his mattress down on the floor to keep him safe.  I remember getting down beside him and hugging him and then such a surge of feeling came up inside me I pounded him on the head.   Why?? I will never know and I immediately begged him not to tell my mother because she would surely kill me.  As far as I know he never did.   I didn’t hurt him.   We often thumped each other in exuberance or anger, not knowing a better way to express strong emotions.  But it was a colossally stupid thing to do. 

Joe had several surgeries over the years to try and repair his ear but to no avail.   His accident changed him. Already small for his age and with very bad eyesight, his loss of hearing made him the target of bullies. He struggled in school.  There weren’t the resources that there are now, teachers weren’t as equipped to deal with special needs. Because his disability was invisible and because he was a quiet child he slipped under the radar.  I will write more about Joe in a later post. 

Although I don’t remember a lot about that day, I have never forgotten how my mother handled it.  I had learned things about her that I didn’t really like.  My mother is a quiet, serious person, who seems to be really good in a crisis.  She stays calm and handles things.   No freaking out and screaming in panic. 

Looking back over the years, certain things stand out.  Why she didn’t put him in the car and rush to the hospital immediately.   Why she took time to put on make up and change her clothes while her son lay unconscious on the couch.   When she talked about that day later, she talked about how embarrassed she was because he was so filthy from the garage floor and the first thing he did when she walked through the doors of the ER was throw up.  I don’t remember her ever talking to me or anyone about that day and how she almost lost him.   It was the first time I saw my mother as a human being and not the all powerful, perfect mother who could do no wrong. It changed how I felt about her for a long time. I was angry at her and felt she didn’t care.  I gathered evidence of this for many years after.

In hindsight, I see things differently.  Now that I am older and have been a parent and had my share of crises to handle, I can appreciate what it was like for her and maybe see her in a kinder light.  Maybe she was panicking inside, or maybe she was numb.  I know about numbing.  How you shut down when emotions are too strong.  It’s a defence mechanism. Maybe her putting him on the couch instead of in the car was an act of panic.  Maybe putting on her makeup was a result of numbing, or something she needed to do to get control of her emotions.  I’ll never know, but I am now able to give her the benefit of the doubt.