Too Late

            “Hurry Michael! Grab your cleats! We are going to be late!”  I urged climbing into the car.  Michael grabbed his cleats and baseball bag and hopped into the car instantly.  I began to back out of the driveway. “Wait!  Mom, I forgot a water bottle!”  Michael called from the back seat.  I pulled the car back to the top of the driveway and he jumped out to go get his water bottle.  A few minutes later Michael came running out of the house.  He was almost to the car when I heard a scream.  I looked to see Michael on the concrete.  I got out of the car and sat down next to him.  There were scrapes on both his knees, hands, and elbows.  “Michael, you’ll be okay.” I told him as I hugged him.  I went inside and found his favorite superman band-aids.  I grabbed one for his left knee and elbow.  The other scrapes weren’t bleeding anymore.  I washed up his cuts as quickly as possible and put on the two band-aids.  “You’re a tough little seven year old.”  I told him as I helped him into the car. 

Again I began down the driveway.  When we were on the road Michael began with the question he always asked before every baseball game he had, “Mom, is Dad going to be at the game today?”  And, of course, I hated this question.  I wished that I could make his father come.  He never came to anything for Michael.  He claimed he was busy with work, but when we were married, that never seemed to be the case.  He would sit on the couch and watch the television at home.  I’m sure that he worked hard when he was at his job, but he always went and came home at the same time, never anything special going on that kept him late.  After our divorce three years ago, he didn’t really want to be around Michael or me, but I made him, for Michael’s sake.  Every other Saturday we went somewhere with him; whether it be the zoo, one of our houses, or any other place.  When Michael was five, we started to get busier and now we only see him for Christmas and an occasional visit here or there.  He has been to one of Michael’s baseball games, and Michael could tell you everything about it; what positions he played that game, where each one of his hits went, everything.  Michael, being only seven doesn’t understand that I forced his father to be in his life.  He doesn’t realize that if it were his father’s choice, they would probably never see each other again.  Because of that one game, Michael has hope.  He has hope that while he is stepping up to the plate to hit, out of the corner of his eye, there his father will be, arms crossed, smiling right back at him.  But that can’t ever happen.  He would never do that.   But to respond to Michael’s question. I didn’t want to destroy his hope so I answered “I don’t know Michael.   Maybe.”  As I said this I tried to sound convincing, tried to keep his hope alive but I could tell that I had failed.  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, his face fell. 

After a couple of minutes a smile returned to Michael’s face.  “Are Drew and Uncle Brian going to be there?”  Michael asked, hopeful again.  “Probably.  Drew is on your team.”  I responded.  “Yay!” he cheered.

I was about to turn onto the highway.  Of course, I decided that I had to see his smile.  Little did I know that would be the last time.  There was screeching and squealing, joined by Michael’s now terrified scream.  I will never forget the moment that the other car actually hit us.  Michael’s terrified scream turned into one of agony and pain.  It was worse than the one earlier this morning.  I tried to turn and look at him, but the force of the car held me back.  The glass from the windshield shattered.  The other car had already hit and I could feel pain everywhere.  But there was only one thing that mattered I told myself as my head crashed into the steering wheel.  Then everything suddenly went black.

I woke up in an unfamiliar bed.  My left foot was wrapped up in what I assumed was a cast.  What had happened to me?  There were bandages everywhere.  I looked around the room as much as I could, not being able to move any body part.  I figured out nothing.  A woman walked into the room and called to someone behind her, “She’s awake.”  I slowly started to figure out that I was in a hospital bed.  It was hard to think about anything.  It hurt my head.  Then I remembered my last thought before I blacked out, there is only one thing that matters.  I finished the thought.  Him.  Michael is the only thing that matters.  “Michael?”  I asked.  Pain surged through my head.  I closed my eyes to try and comfort myself.  When I opened them again, my brother Brian was at my side along with some nurses who I ignored.  I looked at Brian, trying to communicate through my eyes.  He knew what I wanted.  He knew the answer to my question.  He knew Michael’s condition.

Brian looked at the nurses sorrowfully.  One of them nodded to him.  Brian began speaking to me, “Krista, this probably one of the hardest things I will ever have to tell you.”  He paused, sighed, and continued  “It’s about Michael.”  He took a deep breath.  “Krista,” he said touching my face lightly, “Michael died.”  Tears dripped down his face as he said the words.  “No.  This cannot be.  No!  No!” I screamed.  Tears streamed down my face like a river; a river of pain.  All of the pain I had felt before from my head was nothing compared to this.  I could hardly feel any pain in my head now.  All of my thoughts were clear.  All of my thoughts were about Michael.  I remembered the first time I’d held him.  His first steps, first day of preschool.  I remembered his cute little smile, with his tiny little perfect teeth.  I remembered everything.

“Mom, is Dad going to be at the game today?”   No.  Of course he wasn’t.  He probably doesn’t even know about Michael’s death.  I have to call him.  Sobbing, I asked Brian for the phone.  “Who are you going to call?”  He asked curiously.  “Liam.” I answered through my sobs.  “Krista, he’s already here.  Do you want me to send him in?”  I thought about it, but everything was just a big tangle in my head.  I gave in and just nodded.

“Kris?”  It was Liam.  He walked slowly and cautiously into the room and knelt at my side.  He wiped a few tears from my face and then said my name again, this time more sympathetically.  I looked at him and then the questions began to flow between my tears.  “Who called you?  Why are you here?  Don’t you know what happened?”  He lifted his hand to stop me.  “Yes, I know what happened.  I was waiting at the field for you and Michael when the hospital called Brian.  He told me briefly what had happened and we both came here as quickly as possible, leaving Drew with his mother at the game.”  He told me, a look of sorrow on his face.  “You asked me why I’m here.  I am here simply because I have to admit something to you.  I knew since the moment Brian told me about the crash and the severity of it  that I was never going to see Michael alive again.  I came here not for him, but for you.  I am here to tell you, you were right.  The last time I talked to you was at Christmas.  Before you left, Michael was sleeping on the couch.  You said to me ‘You know, you’re really going to regret not seeing him grow up.’  At the time I just shrugged my shoulders.  I didn’t completely understand your simple statement.  It was not until just a few days ago that everything seemed to click into place.  I realized that you were right, but I realized too late.”  He paused as a tear rolled down his cheek.  He shook his head as the tears kept coming.  “I’m sorry” He sobbed “for everything.”