Everything can change in a New York minute. That's what Don Henley always says. And boy is he right.
Johnny Carson defines a New York minute as the interval between a Manhattan traffic light turning green and the guy behind you honking his horn.
In other words, an instant.
A split second.
A lickety split second.
A fraction of a hair of a lickety split second.
If I were an Olympic silver medalist in swimming I would describe it as a fingernail.
One stinkin' fingernail! That's all it would take to go from being a Boho Momo shabby chic soccer mom and purposeful giver of life to becoming an accidental taker of life.
Did you just feel shivers run down your spine?
Thankfully, it's my oldest son's birthday today so the Universe gave me a pass on tragedy, graciously preventing me from accidentally taking a life on my 15th anniversary of purposefully giving a life.
THANK YOU, UNIVERSE!
But now I am sitting in the dark, sucking my thumb and rocking back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Replaying over and over in my head what could. have. been. if I had been going a split second faster or a split second slower on my way down Center Street in Provo, to drop my kids and their friends off at Seven Peaks.
A car was parked on the side of the street. A mom was balancing a piece of luggage on the trunk, trying to keep it from falling. She had opened the back seat car door towards the road and small toddler jumped from the car and suddenly raced towards oncoming traffic--namely me, since I was first in line.
Everyone else in the car saw the little girl rushing towards us, causing a collective inhalation that could have sucked the air out of George W. Bush.
But I didn't see her.
Thank goodness I didn't see her.
If I had seen her I would have slammed on my brakes and run right over her.
If I had been driving a fraction of a second slower I would have plowed right into her. If I had been driving a fraction of a second faster she would have plowed right into me.
If she had been a few feet taller, my side view mirror would have given her a nasty concussion.
That's. how. close. we. came.
But because I didn't see her I continued onward at the exact, perfect, precise speed to breeze past her by a fraction of a hair. And she continued onward at the exact perfect precise speed to breeze past me by a fraction of a hair.
How did I not see her?