Jack Attack!

Grammy and I were eating at Wells Steak House on Sunday, June 24 when I noticed your Dad had called me on my phone.  He never calls, so that got my attention.  Grammy checked her phone and noticed she had a message too. We were starting to get worried… something was up.

I went outside and called him back.  Voice mail.  I climbed the stairs, rejoining Grammy.and A few minutes later your Dad called saying “Where are you?”

This caught me by surprise, I wasn’t sure why he was asking this, but I knew it wasn’t good news. “We’re in Wells, at the Steak House,” I replied. “what’s wrong?”

Your Dad went on to say that you had fallen and hit your head hard.  And then the piece that got us very worried,

“They took Jack to the hospital by ambulance.”

I instantly said, “Is he okay?”  Your Dad explained that you would be okay but you had been running around the living room, chased innocently by Emma, and you had tripped and hit your head on the corner of the brick fireplace.  You lost a lot of blood due to it being a head wound, notorious for messy reactions.

We left immediately in separate cars – Grammy got to your house first, then I arrived.  I’d like to tell you we went the speed limit, but that would be stretching the truth.

After we got there, Grammy Boyle left and Grammy Beaupre took over so your Dad could join your Mom at the hospital.

Ben, Emma and Molly were very upset… they were nervous, and weren’t saying much. I put Molly to bed, but I could tell seeing you all bloody was on her mind.  Your Mom had applied pressure to the wound, but it was hard to control the blood.  She kept the pressure on as the ambulance drove away to Wentworth-Douglass Hospital a few miles away.

A few hours later, you returned home with a big bandage.  Ever the trooper and tough guy, you managed a grin for us.  Amazing.

The Madonna 1980 Tour t-shirt  I had bought for your Mom decades ago when we took her to that concert was now a bloody mess.  She had on her comfy PJ’s when the accident happened and the Madonna was now covered with your blood.  It soon found a new home in the wastebasket, a pre-adolescent memory tainted forever by a newer, even more memorable experience, that this time, was not at all fun.

It wasn’t long ago you found your way to the bottom of the stairs from the same room.Y Enough’s enough, Master Jack.  You’ve had enough adventures for one year.

Here’s a photo of what you looked like the next day as you awaited your lunch. The event that had taken years off your parents’ lives (and gave Grammy and me more gray hairs) was long forgotten.

Happy Jack was back!