The lady behind the counter at the dry cleaner compliments Oskar on his name and we have a little conversation about how so many old time names seem to be making a comeback. Henry, Hazel, Mabel . . . the list goes on. Oskar tells her how he’s going to be a big brother and I find myself telling yet another stranger about my October due date. The lady offers him a candy from the bowl on the counter, and I’m reminded how much I love businesses that offer these little incentives, making mom’s boring errands a little easier for a four-year-old to stomach.
I carry the newly cleaned, cat fur free drapes out of the shop and help Oskar get into his booster seat. I step around the back of my car and just before stepping out into the street to get to the driver’s side door, a car speeds by so fast and so close to the parked cars lining the street that I’m fairly certain I narrowly avoided grave injury or death by a mere second. I’m parked near an intersection and all I can figure is some asshole in a hurry zipped past a car turning left with very little regard for anyone but himself. As I sit behind the wheel and catch my breath, I find myself lecturing Oskar on safe driving and reflecting upon my own recklessness behind the wheel. I’ve kind of been known to be a bit of a hot head myself and have never been very patient behind the wheel. Oskar and I go on with our day, running errands, going to the park and I quickly forget about my brush with death.
Later that night, as I’m trying to fall asleep, I it creeps back into my thoughts. Next, my mind moves on to the day before, when Oskar was running around outside before his soccer practice and came dangerously close to getting hit in the head with a swinging baseball bat. Two older kids were hanging around outside the community building and one was practicing his swing as Oskar haphazardly ran around in circles like a typical four-year-old. Whoosh, he ran by the older kid just as he was swinging his bat and it came within inches of his blonde little head.
A matter of inches, a matter of seconds. An instant is all it takes for your life to change forever. Of course, these are not the kind of things you should be thinking about if you want to peacefully fall asleep at night, but it seems this is when they most often circulate in my brain. As I try to sleep, I realize the nature of my fear of death has changed since having Oskar. In the past, I simply feared the unknown, the idea of not existing, the all-around permanence of death. Now, when I can’t sleep and think too much about the inevitable end, I’m most sad about leaving Oskar without a mommy. I want to be in his life as long as humanly possible — to guide him, to love him, to watch him grow up. In a way, this change makes me happy. It makes me feel like maybe there’s a bit more meaning in my life.
Of course, we can’t live life in constant fear of dangers lurking around every corner. As much as I’d love to be able to protect Oskar from every kind of physical harm and from every mean word or action of a friend, it’s impossible. Part of what makes our lives interesting, what makes us grow and learn, are all the bumps and bruises we collect through the years. I find I’m grateful for all the everyday minutiae that exists - the trips to the dry cleaners, grocery store, cleaning the bathroom. I don’t have time to worry about everything that can go wrong in life. It’s very easy to take our good fortune for granted, that’s just human nature. Maybe close-calls exist for a reason. They make us pause for a second and take a moment to be grateful for what we have, even if it’s only for a short time. They make us appreciate the time we have with the ones we love.
Lately, Oskar has been on a big hugging and love kick. He often gives me a big hug and says, “Mommy, I love you and everything you do for me.” I’m not sure where he picked this up — maybe preschool brought up appreciating those you love, maybe he came up with it on his own. I’ll admit that I enjoy hearing these words from him. However, he’s also been saying, “Thanks for nothing,” quite often. I love the dichotomy of these two sentiments. It gets to the heart of the dilemma of not wanting to take everything for granted, yet being unable to constantly be grateful for your good fortune.
I love you, thanks for nothing, amen!
