My girl was set to come home last Friday.

It rained all day.

I was worried.

I was worried, but I put it away, because that is what you are supposed to do. How you are supposed to suddenly be only interested in passing at the comings and goings of your child after decades of details down to lunch vouchers and snot.

‘Cause, really. Let’s be honest.

Parenting is fucking granular.

So, I was already worried when the phone rang.

Her voice was unsteady but steady.

Rattled but recovered.

She hydroplaned in the rain across two, maybe three lanes and a very dippy median. She could’ve flipped the car, collided with oncoming traffic. All manner of terrible, awful, very bad things. Evil, vile-smelling places my mind has gone more than once since it happened.

But this is what happened, instead.

She made the leap, accidentally.

She got her car to a safe place.

She called us.

We went and met her and drove with her home, a three-hour tour.

Between the deer on the way to Destin and this, I feel we are running short on both vehicles and adrenaline.

However, being faced with losing 100% of our family to accidents in two weeks has me on the ropes with you, Fate.

I kinda think I owe ya.

We think we are in charge.

We think we have it.

I see that deer, rolling, rolling, and therefore, by God’s grace, go I.