One weekend during the summer of 2009, my boyfriend told me he and his oldest son were going for a weekend ride on their motorcycles. As soon as he told me this, I got a really bad feeling. The kind of bad feeling that just wouldn't go away.
My boyfriend knows my personality really well, LOL. When something bothers me, I just have to get it out. I told him then that I didn't want him to take the bike. He asked me why and I told him I had a bad feeling about it. He gave me the speech about him being safe and all that stuff that I already knew, which didn't make me feel one bit better.
The whole week before they were to leave, this feeling kept getting worse. It was like a weight hanging over my shoulders. I couldn't shake the feeling at all. It got to the point where it was making me ill. I was nervous, my insides were in knots. Each time we talked about them going, I tried to convince him to take the truck instead of the bikes. Nothing I had to say changed his mind. It wasn't the first long ride they'd gone on, so why was it upsetting me this time?
Finally, I broke down and told him that I knew something was going to go wrong. He was going to wreck the motorcycle. I just KNEW it. I couldn't explain it, I just FELT it. He told me he would be fine. I kept trying to convince him that something bad was going to happen; he kept trying to convince me he would be fine.
The Friday afternoon they were leaving, I met him at lunchtime to tell him bye. I was in tears. I literally begged him not to go. I pleaded, tears rolling down my face while we were saying goodbye. I didn't want him to go. I just knew something bad was going to happen. He kissed me, smiled, told me he'd be okay, he loved me and would see me Sunday night. I sucked it up, smiled a teary smile and told him to please, please be careful and that I loved him and would see him Sunday night.
As he drove off, I sat in my truck trying to breathe. I was so hysterical I was at the point of hyperventilating. My hands were shaking and my heart was racing so hard I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I finally sat there long enough to calm myself so that I could safely drive back to work.
I talked to him Friday night and Saturday afternoon, so I knew everything was okay. Sunday evening when he called, I told him I'd just see him Monday. I knew he'd just gotten back and he was worn out. It was a very long ride and he was tired. I could hear it in his voice. We didn't talk but a few minutes, just enough for me to know he made it home okay.
When he called Monday morning, he told me he wrecked his bike an hour from home Sunday night. He hit loose gravel on one of the ramps and laid the bike on its side. My heart fell. I couldn't feel anything. My bones were liquid. Even though I KNEW he was going to wreck, to have him tell me it actually happened, absolutely freaked me out. Tears rolling down my face, my throat clogged, I managed to ask him how badly he was hurt. After he told me it could have been so much worse than it was, and told me where and how he was hurt, he told me the bike actually had more damage than he did. He was able to drive it home, but it definitely needed some TLC.
Now, whenever I tell him something worries me or I'm concerned, scared, whatever, he listens and takes it to heart. Maybe my fear for his safety is what kept the accident from being worse than it was. He's a very safe driver and rides the bike for pleasure not for the thrill. He said he wasn't going very fast on the ramp, and I believe him. I really don't care what kept him safe, whether he was overly cautious because of my fears, or if it was just his Angel riding close that day. Whatever the reason, I'm glad it turned out the way it did. I was afraid he wouldn't make it back home.