On an icy night

The other night, M and I had to work (I help him with his business). The weather here has been cold but clear, but this particular night, there had been freak snow squalls thst brought the visibility down to near zero and caused several pileups. I was driving home on a desolate, barely lit stretch of the highway. The snow had passed through, but the road was soaked, and the temperature was in single digits. I could see ice all around. And I began to pray as I drove 40 miles an hour in the right lane:

Dear Lord, please keep me safe so I can get home to my son and husband. I want to see my son grow up. I know I've been depressed at times and death has crossed my mind, but I didn't mean it. I want to live a long life and be there for the people who love me. Please, God.

I was shaking as I drove, my head filled with visions of splattering all over the highway. My heart felt heavy as I thought about the Boo growing up without a mother.

And then I was at my mother-in-law's to pick up Boo. I hadn't slipped once. I collected my son, hugging him tightly and kissing his precious face, and carefully got him into the car. Then I drove home like one of the old ladies I'm always beeping and swearing at. Because now I understand: Every day is an icy night to them.

And I also understand something else, in vivid Technicolor: My life is good. My husband and son are my most precious assets. And in one second, one slip of the tires, all those things can change.