My dad called this evening to tell me that my mom had knocked a pistol off of a shelf in her closet, and it had discharged and shot her in the arm. It broke her arm in four places, and she can’t move her left hand. She’s currently in surgery at our hometown hospital, and I’m here, two hours away, wishing that I was there with my family. I plan on leaving early tomorrow morning, but there was no way I could have made it in time tonight. As horrifying as this episode is, and I certainly don’t wish it on anyone, I can’t help but feel very grateful that 1) it didn’t hit her in a more serious part of her body and 2) that no one else, specifically my little niece, was in the room with her at the time.
I’m feeling very low at the moment. Wishing I could hug my dad. My sister. My mom, of course, although I’m sure she’s extremely doped up at the moment. Today is my husband’s birthday, so I’ve spent the last three hours “whipping up” a birthday dinner for when he returns from class. I hope he enjoys it– it’s been made with lots of love, but has also been useful for keeping my mind off of things. I’m sure ready for him to get home– I could use a hug. And some of that cake and ice cream.