But it Didn't

Directly in front of me as I write is a house that burned almost to the ground some time ago, but let me back up.  Since my husband's motorcycle accident in November of 2020 (see Crash Into Me), he finally had corrective surgery on his shoulder a few weeks ago.  As a result, I am now tasked with driving him to each of his construction job sites.  As a Superintendent for a construction restoration company, he has to travel to multiple projects throughout the day, an impossible feat when the operating surgeon has medically forbid him to get behind the wheel.  We're now in our third week of me serving as chauffer, and I can tell you this - nothing tests the heart and soul and love of a marriage more than driving your spouse to and fro five days a week.  Adultery? Deception? Poor money management?  Shoooooot. Those valleys seem like potholes right now as Alex's passenger seat driving voice rings in my ears.  I woke up at 3 a.m. today to the sound of "turn left," "stop speeding," "watch out, you almost hit that trash can!" and "honey, what are you doing, the light was red?"  I rubbed my eyes in a haze of wonder, looked to my right, and saw him sleeping peacefully in the bed next to me.  It was a dream. Whew.  I rubbed my head and lay back down, wondering if Jesus would be disappointed in me if I kicked him as an act of catharsis.  He was asleep after all.   I could always just say I was tossing and turning and accidently threw my leg into his.  Nah....I snuggled up next to him instead and breathed in the gratitude of having him by my side.  The driving I now do while he heals from his injuries is the result of a terrible accident that could have taken his life.  Could have robbed me of the deepest love I've ever known with a man.  Could have destroyed my world in a matter of seconds. Could have...  but it didn't.  

Crash Into Me

 In November of 2020, I drove at moderate speed on a nearby highway as I followed behind my husband back to our home. He weaved in and out of traffic ahead of me on his motorcycle, and I smiled as I drove behind in our car.  I've never liked his door-less seat with wheels, but the passion he has for it won me over and I opted to be supportive of his heart for it.  I knew as I trailed behind him that afternoon that he was enjoying the wind against his body and the thrill of the open road, so his pleasure was also, by extension, mine.  Plus, with me following close behind, I somehow felt he was protected - like I was keeping him safe in a way through the gaze of my eyes.  But then it happened.  In an instant, I went from quietly grinning as I drove to fearfully yelling the name "Jesus" as I watched him slide off his motorcycle and onto the pavement in front of me.  All at once I took in the visual horror of oncoming traffic, the car in front of him that had stopped suddenly, his motorcycle flying across the road, and his body rolling across the blacktop before me.  Without stopping to think, I slammed on my brakes, swerved to the right of the yellow line, and jumped out of the car to run to his side.  My eyes hot with tears that I forbid to fall, I knelt down next to him with an unspoken, but visible, desperation to see signs of motion and life. The world around me became blurry as I knelt on the road that afternoon.   In a matter of seconds, the crash in front of me became the crash into me.