One of our sons phoned home today. His car had been broken into - a nasty surprise as he was setting out for work, especially since his car is the only treasure he's allowed himself.
In the first call I could hear and share his horror at how the car seemed spoiled; broken glass; the middle of the dashboard ripped out; everything left wide open, even the trunk, and contents strewn. But he took deep breaths, many and slow, called the insurance and began to feel like life would go on. Broken glass; missing radio; phone charger and other details that would need to be replaced. He could cope with that.
Then came the third call when he'd looked again, to make sure the glass and radio would be easy to fix. They wouldn't though - the glass had been pried from the frame which was bent, scratched and torn; the radio had been carelessly yanked leaving cracks and shredded wires. So the emotional roller coaster goes on; insurance, body shop, estimate, shock, insurance, body shop, etc.
Meanwhile "Chicken Soup"s looking for stories about parenting moments - could I say that this was one? I'll have to ask our son if I can write about it. Grown up, left home with a life of his own, but beloved and always our child. I hope the car gets fixed soon.