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His eyes are red, swollen. He looks at me and then down. "Is Dad home?" is all he will say.

I know already what has happened, but I follow him as he leads me to the car.

A smashed in bumper. A hood that is tented, dented. A girlfriend in tears. Books tossed around the back.

His first car wreck. Our first car wreck.

It is as inevitable as snow in winter, flowers in spring...a 16 year old with his license will, eventually, meet his first accident.

Today was his day.

I see his tears. I run to him, wanting to throw my arms around him, take him in. "I"m so glad you are OK." I say.

He pushes me back. He is, after all, 16 and his girlfriend IS watching. "I'm so stupid" he mumbles.

A million thoughts go through my head, a million pat answers flit through. Nothing is appropriate, nothing seems to fit. Only silence seems to be appropriate.

He's worried about his dad, about the money, about the insurance. He's worried about all the responsible things we've tried to instill in him.

But none of that matters. I see blood, broken arms, irreplaceable body parts strewn across the highway. I see what could have been. And I'm grateful he has come back to me.

I yearn to comfort him, let him know its OK. All I can say is, "you're OK! you're OK! you're OK!" Like a silly broken doll, I keep saying that, like I'm surprised.

His sobs are deeper now, he has let go. Girlfriend notwithstanding, he's broken up, shaking, tears running freely down his face. He opens his arms wide.

"Mom.." he says.

And I'm there, embracing him. "You're OK!" I say for the millioneth time. "We'll get through it. I don't care about the car...I care about YOU!"

And I realize my petty worries of my own life, the infinite times I've fumbled, stalled, run over, hit others...always worried about the responsible things when God says, "you're OK. We'll fix this..we'll work it through."

And I hug my son tightly.