Tuesday, June 4, 2013
As I sat at the hairdresser's on Saturday morning, hair being ...ahem ... returned to its *natural* colour ... ahem, a bunch of 3rd grade science papers I was in the process of marking in my lap, I hear that unmistakeable screech of tyres on bitumen then BAM! right outside the front of the building.
"Its a car accident" one of the ladies said. Next thing, I found myself halfway down the street, caped and with half a haircut and repeatedly asking "is everyone OK? Is anyone hurt?"
I checked them all, feeling like I needed to stay and help SOMEONE even though it was apparent that the worst that had happened was that one lady (the one who pulled out in front of someone) was stuck in her car, her door wouldn't budge. She was fine, a little shaken and feeling foolish, but not hurt.
Eventually, a man (whose utility she had run in to) told me that there was nothing I could do and he was waiting with the woman until they could figure out how to get her out of the car.
So I returned to the salon, shocked, but I felt OK.
My friend finished cutting my hair, I paid and I left the shop.
Then, just as I was hopping into my car, having looked across at the lady, still stuck in her car, I heard it.
The sound which always makes me panic just a little bit.
It got louder and louder and then a fire engine appeared.
It was about then that I lost it.
Logically, I *knew* they had come to help cut the door open just as I knew the lady was OK inside the car.
But my thoughts went to wondering if the fire engine was the first on the scene of Greg's accident, or was it the police? the ambulance? the coroner's van?
...and I sobbed my way down the hill, into the open air of the park where I could breathe deeply before driving back to my Mum's to pick up the kids.
I guess this is all part and parcel of PTSD. ......