| General Non-Fiction posted April 21, 2024 |
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My worst fear came true
The Last Day
by prettybluebirds
It's strange how I can recall every moment of the most terrible day of my life. It was the last day of November 1985. My son, Roy, and I got up early to help with the milking, as we did every day. Roy, who was sixteen, fed the cows silage while I milked.
On that particular day, Roy kept teasing me as we worked: "Ma, Ma," Roy kept calling until, a little irritated, I would yell back, "What?"
"I love you," Roy would reply, laughing as he continued to feed the cows.
He persevered all morning, refusing to quit calling until I answered. I can't honestly say I didn't enjoy it. It's a good feeling to know your child loves you. Unlike some teenagers, Roy never hesitated to tell me how much he cared.
Later that same morning, one of Roy's friends called and asked him to go deer hunting. It was Roy's first year as a licensed hunter, and he was eager to go. I knew the other two boys and Roy had taken gun safety courses, so I felt he should be fine. The three boys had been hunting earlier with no problems. Roy donned his hunting gear, hugged me, and hurried outside to join his friends. It was the last time I saw him alive.
It was an exceptionally lovely day for the end of November, so I washed my truck and cleaned it well. It was overdue. I still recall that beautiful day with soft, fluffy clouds and the occasional flock of geese passing overhead. The sun was warm, and a soft breeze caressed my face. I felt wonderful. Life was good.
I had just finished washing the truck when our hired man, Dave, drove into the yard so fast he slid sideways, scattering gravel. I wondered what possessed him to drive like a crazy person. I soon found out.
"Roy's been shot," Dave screamed.
"What? Where is he? Is he Okay?" I cried.
"I don't know," Dave said. "An ambulance took him to the hospital. Get in the truck, and I will take you there."
That trip to the hospital was the longest ride of my life. Dave filled me in on the details. He told me Roy's friend, Tom, had been unloading his rifle when it accidentally discharged. The bullet struck my son, and then the other two boys loaded Roy into their truck and took him to the nearest residence to call for help. There were no cell phones in those days.
With each turn of the wheels, I prayed that I would find Roy alive. I knew for sure he would be badly hurt. Deer rifles are powerful, and without a doubt, a person could suffer grievous injury. I only hoped it was something Roy could recover from. I refused to entertain the idea that my son, my life, was gone. I couldn't imagine such a thing; it would be my worst nightmare realized.
When Dave and I arrived at the hospital, a doctor immediately took us to a private room to deliver the sad news. My son was dead. The bullet shattered Roy's heart, and he died instantly. How could my beautiful boy, who only that morning was teasing and laughing while we worked, be gone? His life snuffed out like a candle, and his laughter stilled forever. The doctor assured me that Roy had felt no pain. I prayed it was true.
After the loss of my other two sons in infancy, I was proud to have such a handsome and loving child. Roy was one of those individuals who loved everyone, and those who knew him loved him in return.
Losing Roy wasn't something I thought about often back then, but If I did, a chill would run down my spine, and I would dismiss it as ridiculous. I often wonder, even after all these years, if deep inside, I had always carried the fear of losing my last precious child.
Sometimes, our worst fears do come true.
My Worst Fear Writing Contest contest entry
It's strange how I can recall every moment of the most terrible day of my life. It was the last day of November 1985. My son, Roy, and I got up early to help with the milking, as we did every day. Roy, who was sixteen, fed the cows silage while I milked.
On that particular day, Roy kept teasing me as we worked: "Ma, Ma," Roy kept calling until, a little irritated, I would yell back, "What?"
"I love you," Roy would reply, laughing as he continued to feed the cows.
He persevered all morning, refusing to quit calling until I answered. I can't honestly say I didn't enjoy it. It's a good feeling to know your child loves you. Unlike some teenagers, Roy never hesitated to tell me how much he cared.
Later that same morning, one of Roy's friends called and asked him to go deer hunting. It was Roy's first year as a licensed hunter, and he was eager to go. I knew the other two boys and Roy had taken gun safety courses, so I felt he should be fine. The three boys had been hunting earlier with no problems. Roy donned his hunting gear, hugged me, and hurried outside to join his friends. It was the last time I saw him alive.
It was an exceptionally lovely day for the end of November, so I washed my truck and cleaned it well. It was overdue. I still recall that beautiful day with soft, fluffy clouds and the occasional flock of geese passing overhead. The sun was warm, and a soft breeze caressed my face. I felt wonderful. Life was good.
I had just finished washing the truck when our hired man, Dave, drove into the yard so fast he slid sideways, scattering gravel. I wondered what possessed him to drive like a crazy person. I soon found out.
"Roy's been shot," Dave screamed.
"What? Where is he? Is he Okay?" I cried.
"I don't know," Dave said. "An ambulance took him to the hospital. Get in the truck, and I will take you there."
That trip to the hospital was the longest ride of my life. Dave filled me in on the details. He told me Roy's friend, Tom, had been unloading his rifle when it accidentally discharged. The bullet struck my son, and then the other two boys loaded Roy into their truck and took him to the nearest residence to call for help. There were no cell phones in those days.
With each turn of the wheels, I prayed that I would find Roy alive. I knew for sure he would be badly hurt. Deer rifles are powerful, and without a doubt, a person could suffer grievous injury. I only hoped it was something Roy could recover from. I refused to entertain the idea that my son, my life, was gone. I couldn't imagine such a thing; it would be my worst nightmare realized.
When Dave and I arrived at the hospital, a doctor immediately took us to a private room to deliver the sad news. My son was dead. The bullet shattered Roy's heart, and he died instantly. How could my beautiful boy, who only that morning was teasing and laughing while we worked, be gone? His life snuffed out like a candle, and his laughter stilled forever. The doctor assured me that Roy had felt no pain. I prayed it was true.
After the loss of my other two sons in infancy, I was proud to have such a handsome and loving child. Roy was one of those individuals who loved everyone, and those who knew him loved him in return.
Losing Roy wasn't something I thought about often back then, but If I did, a chill would run down my spine, and I would dismiss it as ridiculous. I often wonder, even after all these years, if deep inside, I had always carried the fear of losing my last precious child.
Sometimes, our worst fears do come true.
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#7 April 2024 |
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