So you plod along, living your life. You go to work, you hang out with your kids. Maybe you’re irritated that the power has gone off, or that you couldn’t find any cream in the shops.
And then you hear from your dad that your good friend has been shot. At close range by an AK47. In the shoulder and in the head. He tells you that he has been medicaved to Johannesburg but is stable. That he is in an induced coma but they do not yet know the extent of his head injury.
And your world spins away from you.
And your ex tells you “He was shot in the side of the head and has a shattered eye socket and no ear. But he will pull through. If you remember he was shot in the leg with shotgun SSG 10 years ago. Mark just put his fingers in the holes in his thigh and was taken to his father's house to be sewed up, so this is just another scratch!”
And you think, “Are you sure?” Because you are scared to hope.
And you try to keep positive. You try not to think about it too hard; not to let your imagination run riot. But then it catches you off guard when you’re chopping ginger and you find yourself sobbing on the kitchen floor.
And your husband says “One step at a time. That he was found on the side of the road in time before he bled too much. That he was able to be medicaved. That he is stable. Now we wait to see the rest. One thing at a time.” And he hugs me. And the baby laughs, thinking my sobs are laughs. And I hug them tight.
And what else can you do? But live your life. Try to plod a little less and live a little more. Because really, you never know what’s around that bend in the road.
Picture window? It's dark, I'm writing this in bed. Next time.