traumatized

The jaguars had their first game of the season this weekend.
In the post flash flood sticky heat.

Those poor boys who never seem to run out of energy,
Looked like they were going to melt out there. Most of us sat on the sidelines under umbrellas downing Gatorades and sweating through our clothes just watching.

Owen has decided that he now likes soccer.
Even games.
And he is still the littlest and least decorated ( they get a patch everytime they score a goal). I am happy to get to keep my seat on the sideline. And even happier to not have to bribe him with a nickel for everytime he touches the ball.
He may not be scoring any goals, but I’d be out at least a few bucks these days if we still resorted to the bribing.

After the game which was lost in heartbreaking last second fashion, the jaguars quickly forgot their misery as they got snacks and high fives.
We were packing up our chair and cooler when someone else’s lawn chair flipped.
Another player’s grandfather sprawled on the sideline.
A few people started to laugh and help him up when they realized he wasn’t moving.
Or even conscious.

And then things started to move in slow motion.
There were shouts to call 911.
And all I could do was repeat it. Rather than actually do it.
A circle of people started to gather around the man laying motionless on the sidelines.
My son and his teammate stood in the circle around his granddad.
I tried to pull them back and distract them. This was not something I wanted my son to see. These were not questions I was ready to answer. And even more so for the kid whose granddad it was. I decided the best thing I could do was get them out of there before the ambulance came.

The man started to come to a little.
And I told the other boy’s mom that I had her son.
I didn’t know her cell phone number and could hardly tell you her first name.
But I could see the fear and panic in her eyes as she agreed and I rushed her son out.

I threw Owen in Tess’s car seat despite much opposition and pulled out of the parking lot as the ambulance and fire trucks pulled in.
I tried to distract them with promises of candy or ice cream or slurpees from a nearby gas station.

This little boy had just witnessed his grand daddy collapse on a soccer field.
A bunch of grown ups panic.
I was worried about how I would answer his questions and quell his fears.
What would I tell him about what happened?
Should I tell him that his granddaddy would be ok, even though I really didn’t know.
What if he started crying? What if I started crying?
I started to panic about what to do and say when the questions and comments started coming.

Instead, he told me politely that his mom didn’t let him have candy and that maybe we should go to McDonalds instead.
And that my car was really messy.
Really, really, messy. He repeated. Just in case I didn’t hear him the first time.

His granddaddy had heat exertion, recovered well and was released from the hospital the next day.
The kid got a happy meal and doesn’t seem to be permanantly scarred from the ordeal.

My car on the other hand is still an absolute wreck. And apparently of a lot scarier to witness than a heat stroke.

(if you need some proof I posted pictures once)