I am the parent of two adult children. My son is 25, my daughter 23. If you remember my last post, I talked about not sleeping well, and in part I blamed it on worrying about my children.
On Friday, right after I wrote that blog, my son sent this cryptic text:
"I'm fine but Black Betty is no more."
Black Betty is the name of his Nissan Versa. He went on to tell me that he was run off the road by weather/brake slamming all around him, and went head-on into a tree. The airbag and seatbelt did their jobs and he escaped with very minor injury (a bumped knee, some soreness from the seatbelt, and a minor burn from the airbag). He was checked out and released to work, where he went on to climb on top of the fuselage of a C-17, some 30 plus feet in the air. Is it any wonder that I worry?
My daughter, however, made my day on Friday by learning that she was offered a position with a company that had to weed through 52 applications for this one job. Her joy became mine.
Oddly enough, despite worries about my son, I got 10 decent hours of sleep on Friday night. The relief of my daughter's news, coupled with the relief that my son wasn't injured, trumped the worry.
At least for now. I'm sure I'll find something new to worry about in a day or two.
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