When I saw the fire truck pull into the park area, I thought, “Ohhh, I wonder if Adam will be excited to see the big truck?” I glanced back to where he was walking along the path with Ismael, and while he paused to look, he didn’t seem overly thrilled.
I watched the truck pull slowly through the lot. A man ran from the softball diamonds to meet the truck, gesturing frantically to the far diamond.
I know that feeling.
Waiting for the trucks. Hoping they find their way. Afraid they won’t. Afraid they will be too late. I now know what it takes to make that decision to call 911 whereas for the first 38 years of my life I never did. Now I’ve dialed it three times in 9 months.
A few minutes later. More sirens. More trucks. Finally, an ambulance.
I watched my son happily playing, chasing the ball that Ismael threw and running wildly in the summer sun.
I hope that whoever was put into that ambulance, adult or child, will be back in that same park, running in the summer sun soon.
