At Least the Parachute Opened...

Last week, I saw a bumper sticker that read, "If at first you don't succeed, maybe skydiving isn't for you."

Fortunately, Sammie's parachute opened. Unfortunately, he threw up on the jump master on the way down and then sprained his ankle while landing.

But the parachute opened!

And I learned exactly how long 30 seconds can feel: as I see a small speck that I know is my husband falling or jumping or whatever out of a plane 10,000 feet above my head and wait for the parachute to open. That 30 seconds may have been the longest of my life and the shortest of Sammie's as he fell through the air with a jump master and parachute (that opened!) strapped to his back.

Once the parachute opened (and it did open!) Sammie got sick to his stomach. The instructor turned the chute so he could throw up. He said it just kind of dissipated into the air. (My mom later commented that she wasn't very comforted thinking about people flying above our heads, throwing up on us.) When he landed, he twisted his ankle and has been hobbling around ever since. Actually, he thinks it's the perfect injury because he needs to stay off it and keep it elevated. That translates to no dishes, no walking the dog, no cleaning. He needs to sit in the arm chair with his feet elevated, watching sports, while I supply him with bottles of IBC Root Beer.

At least the parachute opened.

Fortunately, our brother in law Ben had thrown up on his jump master and our other brother in law Luke had provided us with an appropriate line for the awkward situation of having your throw up all over a stranger's clothes. "Well, at least the parachute opened!"



Sammie's note: Watch closely as I jump out of the plane and you'll know why I was throwing up 30 seconds later!
Melba's addendum: It's a testament to Sammie's wonderfulness that, even with his sore ankle, I came home from orchestra rehearsal last Monday to find the dishes done, the garbage emptied, and the dog walked. Sammie knew I'd reached my stress limit and sacrificed his ankle for my happiness. When I came home, I was touched and emotional:

M: Sammie, I feel really bad. You didn't have to do that!
S: I'm sorry you feel bad. I won't ever do it again.
M: I know you won't.

At least the para... you get the idea.