I shouldn’t have asked my son to do me a favor.
Sitting next to him in his hospital bed makes me think a lot about that morning. I don’t know how many times the images from that pivotal morning have flashed before my eyes, or how many wrinkles have appeared on my face since then.Everything now seems irrelevant except the harm that I caused my son. My dear son, who started playing football a few years ago and became a great player. His coach was really glad to have him on the team. No words can express how proud I was of him.
That morning, I was just too busy with other stuff. He was ready to go to the football club, dressed in his sports clothes. “Grab the letter for our neighbors if you want us to leave early,” I said when he asked for the thousandth time when we were going to leave.
I should have predicted it. I should have remembered that for the past couple of days, people on our street had been complaining about fast cars that didn’t pay attention to road signs at all. I should have seen that my son was too energetic that morning and that he had a dangerous habit of not looking both ways before crossing the road sometimes.
He did deliver what I asked. I saw him turning back and starting to run to our side of the street. It happened while I was locking the door. For the first few seconds, I didn’t understand what that sound was, or why he wasn't by my side already.
Then my heart started beating like a trapped animal. I turned around. That image will haunt me for the rest of my days. How can you forget your child lying on the road with closed eyes, covered in blood?
“We expect that his brain will fully recover, but he won’t be able to play football anymore. The fracture is too serious. We strongly advise him to quit football.” The hardest part was that I had to somehow tell this to my son.
I squeezed his hand as the memories flooded back. Him being unconscious. His sports clothes covered in blood.
It’s completely my fault, and no one else’s.
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