So I’ve not written in a while - here’s the reason:

It’s Saturday night, L.A. Daddy is off working a special gig - covering for a friend - and I’ve got Emma in bathed and in bed. I’m knitting away at a scarf and watching old movies to pass the time until Tim gets home. At some point I doze off on the couch… what a great Saturday evening!

Then the phone rings - the house phone - at 11:35pm. I bolt up to get it. It must be a wrong number - all of my family and friends call my cell after 8pm. It’s not a wrong number. It’s Tim. He’s yelling into the phone, telling me he’s had an accident and laid his motorcycle down on the freeway. I can hear the deafening traffic noise in the background - he’s yelling to me because he can’t hear anything.

I have to yell into the phone in order for him to hear me. He tells me where he is - the initial description makes no sense - he must be disoriented. No, he’s not, he’s just in an area he’s unfamiliar with. I start to recognize the exit /street names that he’s reading off the signs over his head. I’m calling 911 on my cell phone and now have both phones up to my ears. I’ve got a recorded hold message in one ear and deafening freeway noise in the other. Tim is telling me his hand and foot are hurt pretty bad and he’s bleeding. He assures me that his helmet stayed on and is only scratched. He’s certain that no bones are broken. Just then he starts yelling to a passing motorist - telling him to be careful ’cause the guy has stopped in the middle of the road to help. “Put your hazards on so the other traffic sees you!!” “Yes, I”m on the phone with my wife, she’s calling 911″, “No, the guy who ran me off the road kept going”, “I’ll be OK, really”, “Thanks, man!”

The guy drives off after handing Tim a bottle of water. A second later I hear sirens wailing and coming to a stop. The CHP is there. Deep breath. I tell Tim to go in the ambulance - have the cops call me and I’ll find him where ever they take him. He replies that he will. The next 18 hours was a lot of hurry-up and wait. For the tow truck driver, the emergency room personnel, the pharmacy, you get the idea. It’s all kind of a blur. You don’t realize just how exhausting it is until you go through something like this.

I took some time off work to help Tim with his dressings, getting to doctors appointments and such. I’m glad that I did although I’ve still not broken down over this whole thing. It’s like I’m still in ‘fight’ mode and am starting to get worried about just when I will freak out over the realization that my husband could have been killed. I’m not the kind who will forbid him from riding again. He’s got to live his life and I couldn’t restrict him like that. But I’m really starting to think maybe he shouldn’t ride after dark, or on his commute. Pleasure riding only. But then I think - what if I go out with him on some Sunday afternoon ride and WE have an accident…then L.A. Toddler would have 2 injured (or worse) parents. This whole thing has not been easy on her. She’s been curious about the owwies and bandages. And she’s been sneaking into bed with us every night so… she’s clearly affected.

And - dare I say it? - I’m a little relieved that the insurance company has ‘totaled’ his motorcycle - that buys me at least a couple of months before I really have to deal with all of this.