Around 3:30 p.m., Colter decided he could have died today.
He curled up on my lap and remembered back a few hours, to when he and Gary were on their way to school and an older woman rear-ended their car.
Colter remembered the moment of impact -- the car lifting and bouncing down.
He remembered yelling and crying and saying his head and neck hurt.
He decided that he would have been hurt worse if he hadn't been:
- wearing his seat belt
- sitting in the middle of the back seat
- playing his Game Boy
When he looks back on today, he will remember the EMTs who checked him out and the ambulance Gary called then decided wasn't necessary.
He'll remember the female police officer with the 11-year-old daughter who was so helpful when the cop fell this morning that she thinks her girl will become a nurse.
He'll remember the emergency room, buying Skittles while we waited, wearing a hospital gown for the first time, being given a red bracelet with his allergy noted (Penicillin), getting X-rays, watching Tom and Jerry cartoons.
And he'll remember that we were there, holding him, hugging him, making him laugh.
He'll remember the love. And he'll feel thankful.