The blink of an eye

That's all it takes to turn your day topsy turvy–the quiet afternoon you had planned, the dinner waiting to be cooked, the chores slated for finishing.  To be fair, for us it was longer than a blink, since I was reading my book during our usual afternoon quiet time when that moment occurred which sent us on a journey we knew awaited us one day but always hoped to avoid–that trip to the emergency room.  Thankfully our trip ended in nothing worse than 5 stitches (which you can't even see since they are in the fold of his nose) and that surrealistic feel brought on by spending eight hours in small rooms and long hallways with fluorescent lights only to emerge after darkness has fallen.  I'm sure all parents house in their minds flashbulb memories they regret, and it will take years, if not a lifetime, to erase this afternoon from my mind.  Individually it's not the copious amount of blood that bothered me, or the drawn out hours in the hospital room; It's not the heart wrenching time he spent doped up on Ketamine, and it's not as if our lives will be different beyond the week of wound care; what stays with me is that moment–that blink of an eye–when you hear the immediate cry of pain and know, in your gut, that this time it's not all right.  Although there is nothing I could have done, short of holding his hand as he walked to the bookcase to keep him from tripping and slamming his face into the nearby chest, I will always wish I could will it away.