I am still quite disturbed by the small bike accident on our way to the nursery this morning. T and I departed earlier than usual today, and I was quite pleased with the prospect that we would manage to arrive at the nursery on time.


At the moment when we took a right turn to the main road, another bike on the main road hit us. The bike crashed into the side of the seat of T, which is located in front of me. Neither of us fell; the seat was intact; T looked well in his helmet and beneath the dome covering him, and no exterior injury was seen. The other cyclist, young and polite, was a university student hurrying to the first period in the nearby university. I stopped to check on T, and removed him from the seat, and that was the time when he started to cry. Though physically untouched, he was shocked by the hit, I think.

The young cyclist stopped to check on us. I did not make any clear response to his queries and started to call K to come on the phone. I was worried that whatever I said would become disadvantageous to us if anything comes up later, but I felt sorry for my own suspicion about the young man, and sorry for not being able to express more delicately what I thought in a language that I can only speak poorly. I told him perhaps the child was only shocked and that my husband would come in a minute, but I could not make any further comments.

In the end, we left phone numbers to each other and agreed to contact if anything turns up.

I am very perturbed by the accident at many levels, and many things in the past have all been summoned up.

Why would the accident have happened in the first place? Whose fault was it? Selfishly, I am remorsefully in agony about the blemish in my efforts to be a perfect (but never) mother. T's previous major injury on his face about 7 months ago was the beginning of my anxiety and fear about motherhood. I was told by friends that it is natural for children, especially little boys, to contract all kinds of unfortunate and naughty injury, but the fact that they happened when I was with him could never set me at rest. Somehow my focus is not on whose fault it is but my own share in having let such things happen in the first place. No matter what cause it was, it was all my fault and my remorse in the end.

I also remember that last time the accident happened a week before my conference trip, and this time, too. I have to attend a colleague's paper tomorrow on the other side of island. I have been under much stress in the relationships with the colleague in the project, and the stress might have deranged my thoughts. Or, is it an evil omen? Especially, the stress in fact came from the difficulties in maintaining both of the roles as a mother and a researcher, a suspicion with which my colleague once confronted me.

I also recall that how helplessly useless in the fact of accidents like this despite the fact that I might appear professional in another aspect of my life.

I recall a word that I recently picked from a novel, ineffectual, and my own failures in many things.

I know that I am relieved to know that T is well, but I also know that this blemish of motherhood will remain fresh and stinging for a life-long time.