I watched as my son climbed the tree. This was the fourth time now that he has tried to climb the tall, old tree. Each time one of his feet move, a strike of anxiety and worry shoots through me. “Jacob, mommy wants you to come down now! Your high enough!” I say. Then he looks down at me and I can tell he isn’t ready to come down. “Just a few more branches momma! I wanna go higher!” But he doesn’t understand. As he continues up, the branches get smaller, and there is less of them. I feel amazement and worry mixed together as he climbs to the third tallest branch. At this point, I know i want him to come down. But he just won’t listen. Now he has one branch left. He puts his left leg up on the branch and--SNAP! I scream in horror and  watch as my sons figure becomes a blur as he comes down, breaking multiple branches as he goes. Something keeps my planted though. I can’t move or breath. And just as he comes crashing down, my world does too.