Her grocery bag caught on the lip of a bumper. The jerk knocked her off balance.
We all get knocked off balance, but when you are older, your reactions slow, hindering the split-second response necessary to prevent a fall. Anyone who lives long enough will be there.
Like all accidents, it was a cascade of small events that compounded into a bigger event. Her car was in the shop, so she couldn't go during the day. When a loaner vehicle arrived, it was night and the dog had no food, so she was searching for a strange car at night.
Of course, it had to be a Friday night. Saturday morning, my mom was in a lot of pain and Dr. Emmerich, armed with Internet advice, decided her arm might be broken.
Dr. Mark Meek confirmed this diagnosis and told us to head down to the UMC emergency room, where they were having a light day - until the two cars collided just before we arrived, that is.
There is nothing quite like spending a few hours in an emergency room to put your life in perspective.
To get an X-ray, we had to see a doctor. To see a doctor, we had to be in a bed. The simplest way to be in a bed was to go sit on a portable bed right in the middle of the emergency room action.
So there we were, watching all the action as the staff dealt with a half-dozen poor souls wounded by a bad car wreck.
At one point, a nurse pushed a rolling stretcher right next to the one on which my mother and I sat. I looked down and just a few feet away I saw a pair of scared eyes staring up from a bloody face.
At 51, I feel reasonably confident I can display the appropriate etiquette in just about any situation, but this one had me at a loss. Do you simply turn your head? Do you say, "Hang in there." Do you say, "Hi!"
Across the hall, the staff was pushing back in a man's dislocated hip. After the second blood-curdling scream, a nurse looked up and saw our aghast faces and mercifully shut the door.
A few minutes later, a woman began to break down in the bathroom across from where we sat. You could hear her anguished moans as she beat her head against the door. I suspected she had just learned of the death of someone she loved very dearly.
Despite it all, it was just a day at the office for the UMC emergency staff. They carried on with efficiency, enthusiasm and even a little bit of humor. We got our X-ray after a few hours' wait. Nothing broken. The hassle was about what you would expect for a weekend trip to the emergency room.
We were given a wonderful sling. Whoever invented velcro should get a Nobel prize. We drove back home along Old Canton Road under beautiful fall skies in my '65 Mustang.
My mother was so apologetic about inconveniencing me. "I guess this isn't what you were planning to do today," she said.
I told her I was happy to have the chance to pay her back for all the times she drove me out to the golf course when I was a kid. She was a selfless mother. I wish I could be as selfless a son, but at least today I was and I meant what I told her.
Celia Emmerich is a unique spirit. Her enthusiasm and energy belie her years. When I see her, I still see the 36-year-old mom who raised me. Airline stewardess, Ole Miss cheerleader, Himalayan trekker, human being extraordinaire. Why must our bodies forsake us?
Arriving home, the ordeal over, I found my son John surprisingly eager to throw a frisbee. John isn't much for organized sports, but I have slowly turned him into a decent disk hurler. "Let's go to the graveyard," he suggested.
Behind our house off Meadowbrook, is a 10-acre old church graveyard full of spider lilies, mockernut hickories, foxes and rabbits. It's a beautiful piece of timeless landscape, the top of a small hill with crumbling tombstones here and there.
It was one of those perfect November days. The sun was setting so early behind a willowed sky. A gentle breeze dislodged the golden leaves of the hickories and oaks.
We didn't play much frisbee. We identified the trees, including a new one for me, a Royal Pawlonia. John turned the frisbee upside down and used it to catch the falling leaves, laughing with childish delight. A profound calm enveloped me, and I noted that John always seems to be around at these moments, as though he has a sixth sense.
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