Max and Henry spent yesterday afternoon with my dad, while Liam and I went shopping with my mom. While we were gone, Dad, as he often does, decided to include the boys in what he was doing — in this case, rewiring some lights in his garage. Max declined to help, but Henry was glad to go out and get dirty. So out they went, and up to the attic of the garage. They finished the first light and were moving to the second, and just as Dad looked up and said, "Henry, don't step off that b—," HENRY STEPPED OFF THAT BOARD. And fell through the attic floor/garage ceiling.
According to my dad, it all happened really fast "just like in a movie." One second Henry was there, and the next he was gone. According to Henry, it was all "just a blur of weird shapes and then I landed." Henry called up to my dad that he was okay, but Dad was already rushing to get down from the attic — he went so fast he ripped his clothes on something along the way. And then the next thing Henry tells Dad is that his music teacher died that way (falling through his attic onto his garage floor). Which is true, and will stick in many of the kids' minds as their first real experience with death, so I'm not surprised Henry brought it up.
I know, you're waiting for the dramatic conclusion. It was a Christmas miracle: He scraped his armpit on something on the way down, but that was the only injury he sustained in the fall. We are all counting our lucky stars around here, especially when you consider where he landed. (Note: My dad's garage is ... not the cleanest or least crowded place in the world.) I would say we should buy a lottery ticket or something, but I think we won the jackpot already.
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