The Log Splitter Incident

The guttural scream pierced the silence of a Fall day. As I ran back to the house. I watched as our son paced, hoping his quickened strides would produce enough adrenaline to quash the intense pain emanating from his mangled hand, the target of a misguided log splitter sitting nearby. The blood, splurting down his raised hand, camouflaged the mangled fingers which had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, a few seconds earlier. He paced as any man would when excruciating pain came calling.

He watched his dad start the truck for the trip. He jumped in and away they went. This brand new log splitter machine had caught his eye. (and hand as it turned out!). New machinery or tools were things of beauty to him. Today his admiration had turned to agony. The distraction hurt much too much.

I would not call his wife. What could I tell her? I was not a witness nor could anything I say help her in any way.The truth would come soon enough. Dad called to explain the event. Soon her husband would be home. He'd asked his dad to go home. No sense waiting in the emergency room. The wait could be lengthy. Go home. He would call. Dad left. Then the comedy tour began.

Dad assured his 'daughter' that her husband was fine. Soon, the call came from the hospital. The patient was ready to leave, sooner than expected, by everyone involved. Everything that could be done had been done. “Pick me up, now”, John advised. Before dad could leave their house, however, the cell phone rang again. “Pick me up at the dairy.” John had walked to this famous local landmark, a brisk walk away from the hospital, but closer to home. “O.K”. responded dad. “Was he buying ice cream for himself?”his wife wondered. As dad was about to leave, again, the phone rang. 'John' was waiting at the Home Hardware store, hoping to shorten the trip further. Now what? “Was he buying a new tool, his wife remarked, incredulously”?

His love of  Dewalt power tools was well known. As a young boy, he and his younger brothers, adored Lego and the assorted wooden blocks - the toys of future architects, engineers, mathematicians, scientists, builders, and creative thinkers - that needed to be assembled in the living room. ...  As a young man, his interests grew. He replaced toilets, laid ceramic tiles in a new bathroom, refurbished our kitchen with a brand new tiled back splash and built a tall wood box, near the fireplace, beautifully finished for mom to replace several large cardboard boxes that had been used over the years. 

To encourage this most sought after skill set, we encouraged our oldest to fix, replace or repair anything he deemed important. He needed the practice. We needed the repairs. He was paid. Everyone was happy. I was overjoyed. Who would do such tiny projects, anyway? These jobs were too small for most companies but not for our son. He was learning on the job, a skill that would yield dividends in the future for him and us thankfully. But really, “Why was he at the hardware store”?, both his wife and dad wondered out loud.

More calls to his dad indicated he was still walking. He was now near the animal clinic, then the cellular phone company on the corner across from the main plaza. He'd completed this self-imposed journey on foot while his dad wondered if he was on his way north to the town of Sharon. He'd cut the mileage down by 4 kilometers, so far, moving to reduce mileage and be productive. Eventually his dad's vehicle caught up to him. walking north.

His mangled sutured fingers, now held rigidly in place by splints, seemed soothed by this walking routine. Healing must be in progress, he imagined. An injured left-hand in a right-handed world. Tough road to follow for now. But he was in a hurry. His wife and two-year old son were waiting. Walking helped him ignore his medical condition. Things could always be worse, anyway.

He'd always been a fighter - even as a preemie - when he entered the world 3 months too soon in early 1979 with no hope of survival. Few babies survived. Even fewer males. Preemie mother's milk, a unique 'formula' provided him with unheard of health benefits. He was our 'jumping bean' at birth, a whirling dervish throughout his childhood and an amazing talented funny man now. Voice impersonations, too, kept us laughing. Nothing could hold him down for long, not even a log splitter

Today, he would take a break. He had no choice. He had to listen. His doctor said so; his father-in-law, too. He needed to heal, do his exercises, take his medication and behave himself. For now, the log splitter would have to wait. The Fall season had just begun. The next round would be much safer and fun, too. Another lesson learned.