First, let me say with all my heart...I'm grateful beyond words that my Grand and her BF are only nursing minor wounds and the man who hit her only had minor injuries.
Let me also say...it's just a truck...metal and rubber...it's just a thing...beyond repair, but still an object with no feelings.
She called me first...we had no reception where we were...I didn't hear the call until this evening...crying that she was sorry...about the truck. My son finally got through to tell me first off that she was OK, but that he thought the truck was wiped. Later, when I figured she had calmed a bit (and we had driven up the dirt road where we could get reception) she kept apologizing about the truck....Papa's truck. She was sorry.
All the way down the mountain I told myself it was just a truck...metal and rubber...I was fine because she was fine...
Which was all well and truly said until we pulled into the drive.
And there she sat...twisted and broken...and then so was I.
I could not stop the tears...tears of anger at the man who caused my Grand the terror of living through a wreck...tears of joy that she was only minorly bruised...and tears of anguish that his truck...his baby...sits in a warped heap in my yard as a reminder of one more stinkin' loss.
In the end...it's a truck...another something will appear at some later date and what remains will be pictures and memories.
For the moment...it's another stab in the heart to move through...another ending.
Sometimes shit happens and life, for a moment, stinks all over again.
