The Accident: Part 5

Not more than two minutes later, my mom, dressed in a black corduroy jumper and a wool car coat burst through the office door.  Having my mom there felt like Christmas morning.  I was so relieved.  I don't know that I've ever felt more grateful to see my mom.  At that moment, I knew that no matter what happened, I would be okay.  My mom had never let me down, and had never let anything bad happen to me, so I knew that she would comfort me, and help me, and stand up for me.  Up until that moment, I was treated so horribly, like no person should ever be treated or made to feel, that I was worthless, an inconvenience.  My mom made me feel like I mattered, and that I was important.  She knelt down on the floor, and took my hand in hers and let me nestle my mangled face on her shoulder.  It was not until that moment that I began to cry.  These were very deep, guttural sobs that I believe were coming from the depths of my heart and soul.  It was not a sound I had ever heard before, and I hope one that I don't hear again for a long, long time.  I was physically hurt, and emotionally shattered.  I had subconsciously willed myself to hold it together, but I just couldn't hold in my pain any longer.  I felt free.

Looking back on that moment in time, I know that my mom was truly shocked at how I looked.  I know that she was being strong for me, and did not want me to know the severity of my injuries.  Later I would come to know that my mom only showed her sadness and anger behind closed doors, because she knew that it would have been worse for her daughter who worried and panicked, me, had I seen her authentic reaction.  In reality, I was crying enough for the both of us, and feeling all the emotions.  

My instinct was that this incident was my fault.  I apologized many times to my mom, who assured me that it was not my fault, and that I had done nothing wrong.  She reminded me that accidents happen, and that it was not my fault.  She tried to keep my spirits up, although I don't know that much could be done at that point.  Instead to buying Christmas presents and heading back to work, my mom was cradling her oldest baby who was hurt beyond words, and assuring her that everything would be okay.  She called my dad, per my request.  I wanted to hear his voice and tell him that I was okay.  As a little girl, I used to beg for my dad if I got soap in my eyes while taking a bath or if I saw a bug in the bathroom and needed someone to get rid of it.  He was a source of comfort, like my mom, and I needed to talk to him.  I don't remember our conversation, but I remember telling him that mom was with me, and he said that I was going to be just fine and to take deep breaths.