So I got home from a morning run to find that both of my boys and their bikes were gone on a biking/bagels expedition. A high-spirited phone call from Jim confirmed this (though the call ended abruptly as a dog was sighted, and Charlie got off his bike). Jim called once more to check about what kind of bagel I wanted (garlic) and I went about the morning weekend rounds of laundry, scrubbing the kitchen floor, making coffee, finally sorting through the unruly pile of socks in Charlie's room.
I was sitting down to read the news when the phone rang: Jim.
Charlie had stopped suddenly on his bike to look at something, think something through, something. Jim had no time to stop and—as we noted on and off to Charlie for the rest of Saturday—they had an accident. Jim went flying, but his main concern was Charlie. When Charlie was much younger, if he stubbed a toe or tripped, he'd sometimes hit his head (as if to confirm that he'd injured some part of his body? to make something else hurt besides the body part that was)? He's much more coordinated now so falls and the like are rare and we've learned how to ease him through his anxiety bouts. But injured dad and upset Charlie with bikes on the ground added up to one challenging situation.
I had asked Jim if I should drive over to meet them but Jim told me to wait so I hovered on the sidewalk, nervously. It took too long for two black bicycles and their riders to appear, but finally, there they were. Charlie rode up fast, got off his bike, handed me his helmet, and hurried inside.
Charlie often has a lag: He'll seem calm and unaffected by some (jarring) event (a bike accident and certainly a "three-man protective hold"). He might seem "fine" but it takes him an extended period of time to process an event and (from Jim's and my experience and observations) especially one that involves anything physical. Sometimes Jim and I have been able to trace a tough "tantrum/meltdown" to some earlier event, as if it takes some time for Charlie (a boy of many feelings) to work through all the fear, puzzlement, embarrassment, shame, hurt that he felt and does not speak about.
So we sat by Charlie the rest of the day and gave him the space he requested (by telling us "bye"). He curled up on our bed for a nap surrounded by a collection of blankets. Later, he started talking about "Barney, dog, book" and looking tense: Those are things he used to have when he was younger, and does no more, and he misses them?—that's my guess. Seeking to assuage his worried face, I repeated each word, said those were things he used to have, said it was good to remember them. After a few rounds of this sort of "conversation," Charlie smiled.
Jim and I were still watchful for the rest of the day. Charlie was glad of course to go to a Jersey City diner and couldn't make up his mind about a walk in nearby Hoboken. So we compromised and drove there and Jim talked to the staff at a book store where his book is on sale, and the day came to a quiet end with Charlie betaking himself to bed early.
The "lag" can carry over to the next day for Charlie and it's raining (no kayaking today, alas) so we'll need still to keep watch. Each day comes with its demands.
(One of which will be sorting out the socks, t-shirts, and miscellanea in Jim's and my dresser drawers)