To say I think almost daily about how unable I would be to
handle the loss of a child would be an understatement. Social media is riddled with tear-jerking
stories of parents who have lost their children to cancer, suicide, drug
addiction and traffic accidents.
Each time I read one, before rushing off to my next business meeting
with mascara streaming down my cheek, I promise that click will be my
last. But it never is.
Unfortunately what I don’t think about nearly enough is how
my children would handle the loss of a parent, which is ironic because I lost
one as a teenager. I am a
(relatively) safe person. I don’t
smoke (anymore), binge drink (anymore) or do lots of drugs (you get the
point). I have health insurance,
car insurance, life insurance and home insurance. I (try to) drink bottled water, go to the dentist regularly,
and recycle. I do all that I can
to safeguard our future, except the one thing that would stop putting it at risk 365
days a year.
I text and drive.
I don’t do it when my children are in the car, because I would never put
their lives in danger. So why do I put my own? I won’t back out of a parking spot
without wearing a seat belt, but once I am snapped in, I turn into parenting’s most
dangerous hypocrite.
I remember when my toddler starting asking me over and over
again, “can I tell you something?” and I mentioned it to my best friend, in a tone that implied ‘where the hell
do they come up with these things’.
“Are you kidding me?” she gasped, “You say that all the time!”
I need to remind myself that although my kids look like
this:
I should think of them like this:
I certainly don’t want them texting and driving when I let
them behind the wheel at the tender age of 27, so I shouldn’t do it myself.
I want them to lead long, happy, healthy lives, and
encourage those around them to do the same. Just as important, I want to watch them do so. I want to watch them fall in love, walk
down the aisle and hold their babies for the first time.
Though for reasons completely out of his control, my father
wasn’t able to see those moments (from the ground). And his absence left a whole in my
heart, one that I refuse to knowingly risk carving out for my own children.
So today- July
19, 2013 - I am taking a vow, whether rolling solo or in a packed SUV (I don't do minivans), not to text and drive.
Will you take it with me?
