Sunday, March 8, 2009

Thoughts on being weak

LisAway recently posted about being "weak" in the face of scary situations with our kids. Quote.
My stomach totally does a flop when I even think about a serious injury.
David once knocked his front teeth pretty badly and they were all a little
wiggly and bleeding. While I was cleaning him up and checking things out I
just felt ILL. I was still good about the not freaking out and about the
comforting etc. but my stomach did not handle it well, and it wasn't even an
open wound!
We've had our fair share of gore in the This Girl household. No broken bones, although we did get a split chin once. (In a hotel room. In a city I was unfamiliar with. THAT was fun. I think the hotel receptionist almost passed out.)

But I think the worst thing that's happened to us didn't involve any blood at all.

It was two years ago. Two of my brothers were visiting (why am I talking so much about my brothers lately?! Oh. Because I love them.) and we took them to a fancy shmancy hotel on the beach. We had a fancy shmancy suite that walked right out onto the pristine (fancy shmancy) sand.

On our last day there, Ouro Branco (then a wee little one) woke up at about 6ish to nurse. In my half-awake state, I noticed that Little Prince wasn't in his bed. I nudged My Man and asked him to check if LP was sleeping with my brothers.

I must have drifted back to sleep with OB in my arms when My Man returned and began putting on his shoes.

"LP isn't here, Becky."

"Mwa ... huh?"

"He's not here, Becky. The front door is open. Wake up."

The next few minutes were a blur. I plopped OB unceremoniously into the crib and threw on a shirt. (Backwards, I later found.) We ran out the door, calling LP's name franctically. I was vaguely aware that my brothers were right behind us.

Everyone at the hotel was still asleep. I burst into the barely-opened hotel kitchen, shaking violently and trying my best to describe LP amidst my stutters.

And a mile in each direction was the ocean. Waves crashing upon waves, a deep, unforgiving blue.

My brothers were racing down the sand, their voices no longer discernible. My Man was searching the hotel pools, the jacuzzi, the kid's play room.

And I collapsed into a soggy heap of despair.

My glasses wouldn't stay on, my tears were so violent. Visions of my firstborn son being dragged out to sea filled my head. He was never afraid of the water.

The search went on. And on. And on. The clock neared seven.

And I prayed.

I only said five words. Dear Lord, not my son. Dear Lord, not my son ....

We are told not to give ourselves over to vain repetitions in our prayers. And though I was repeating myself, there was nothing vain about it. I have never prayed so fervently in my life.

And just when I closed my simple, heartfelt prayer, I heard a cry. Coming from our hotel room.

My Man and I raced back in time to see a little head crawl out from under the bed. Where he had, apparently, slept through this whole scandal.
Ether 12:27 My grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me;
for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make
weak things become strong unto them.

I was one strong lady that day. And I will be again, each and every time my kids need me.

15 comments:

Rocketgirl said...

Blame it on the pregnant, but that just made me bawl. LP does have a knack for the dramatic though - you have got to blog about the time he locked himself in the car - that still makes me laugh (not because he was in danger, just that he's so GOOD at getting into stuff!).

But I just read an article about the adrenaline that hits moms and what we're able to do when a situation happens - the whole lifting a car to save our kid? Not a myth, moms have been known to get that shot and do amazing things. DANG we're awesome.

DeNae said...

You're right; being strong often means just plugging along when you're too exhausted and too frightened to do anything else. I'm reminded of Pres. Uchtdorf's story about his mother searching the train cars until she found her children. We tap into our inner goddess when faced with the loss of our kids, I think. And I don't mean 'goddess' like Athena or Hera or any of those fake ones. I mean that real, divine mother of us all.

Great post.

Kristina P. said...

I can't even imagine what it's like to momentarily lose a child.

There was a day with my husband's previous job, which was farily dangerous, when I couldn't read him for hours and hours, and it terrified me!

Thanks for sharing your strength with is.

Amber said...

I know how the ending turns out- obviously you found him and he was fine but reading it my heart was in my throat and I was bawling- that is so terrifying!

Real Mom, Real Life said...

Somehow -- we get that strength when we need it. So glad LP was just sleeping under the bed. What a scary experience!

Loved this post!

SO said...

That is so scary! I had a time when my two youngest went missing. I had to call the police. My prayer was very much like yours. They came walking up the road just as the policeman came around the corner.

Thank you for sharing your story.

janae said...

So I skipped half the post just to make sure you found him, and then I went back to read the middle. Only afterward did I realize OF COURSE you found him. He's still around today. DUH. :)

Rachel said...

Oh, my heart skipped a beat and I went cold. That feeling of not knowing. How terrifying. Wow. I hate those kind of moments.

Melanie J said...

How utterly terrifying. I'm so glad it all worked out and everyone is safe. I know I can keep it together if I have to. I just hope I don't have to.

LisAway said...

Oh man. That is awful. We lost Aaron in the grocery store once at a time when 23 kids had been taken from the exact same kind of stores and reappeared in that store a few days later missing a kidney or other organ. That was no fun. In the end he was just a few aisles away playing with the balls (we should have known). I didn't love that, though.

Kimberly said...

I'm overwhelmed by tears at the thought of your anguish during that moment...thank you for this.

wonder woman said...

How terrifying. You told this story so well. Glad it had a happy ending.

The Motherboard said...

That was a beautiful parable... You are a wordsmith, my dear!

cally said...

ugh. I can deal with an injury, or illness. But losing a child is terrifying.

You're a very good writer.

Harmony said...

Oh my goodness! That must have been horrible! You poor thing. I have this sick fear that I'l drop my baby on the floor... or someone else will do it... and it will die. I know it's sick but I think about it every day!

Sorry, that had nothing to do with your post. My bad.