“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” Luke 2:19
This post comes during a great deal of pondering. I am no Mary, but these words have spoken to me. This story is written with great tenderness and awe for parents who have walked a similar road with a very different outcome. If read by one such as this, I hope that shines through these words. Deep in my heart dwells empathy for the brutal possibility of losing a child, and yet I don’t fully know it. I live life with friends, acquaintances and strangers who have walked this devastating path. I wrote about my wrestling with the mystery of the miracle a few years back – that is a wrestling match that continues within. The events of a week ago have only magnified my questions. Before you continue on, please know that a full recovery is expected for our precious daughter.
It was a week of 70 degree North Carolina blue sky days. This weather had beckoned and called out to our older daughter and led her to time spent alone in her new backyard. On one such day, I realized that she had climbed way up into a tree in the corner of our yard. The tug of war between “protective mommy” and “encourage the risk taking mom” flitted through my mind as she excitedly shared her adventure with me. There was a nest way up high – she was so excited. The “adventure loving, put my fears aside mom” won out. The “be careful” mom voice was quelled. In hindsight, a more full integration of the two would have been appropriate.
On Friday night, good friends arrived at our home to enjoy our new place, and our four girls excitedly ran around to explore. We were midway through an adult home tour when I heard the voice of our youngest girl. It was frantic and of a different pitch. Her sister had fallen from a tree. Come now! I ran to the tree and what I saw almost stopped my heart. My tiny 60 pound girl lay flat on the ground. I know that some of my auto pilot response was shock, but I also in that moment knew deep in my soul that my undivided and true presence was critical. Everything else must fall away.
I have practiced and practiced symbolically holding my children in the palm of my hands and letting them go to God. As I knelt down beside my precious, barely conscious girl, my heart and hands let go. It was terrorizing, but the raw truth was this was a situation over which I had absolutely no control. In that moment I knew in a way I’ve never known before that I must remain present for my girl and that there were no guarantees whatsoever about how this particular story would end. It was a severe surrender.
Very soon the EMS team arrived and they asked lots and lots of questions of my girl and of me. She was extremely confused but she was talking and conscious on some level. Altered state is how they described it. How far up was she? I literally could not make myself look up to the height of the nest that she excitedly told me about just a day or two before. In hindsight and with information from the three 9-11 year old witnesses to the fall, we now know that she was about 15 feet high when the branch snapped. The nest she shared with me was located at least double that height in the same tree. The EMS team kept saying she fell 15-20 feet – I now believe that they knew that a 30-40 foot drop would play out in a much different way.
The EMS team was amazing. As we loaded up into the ambulance, the driver spoke incredibly gentle and merciful words to me – “Mom, we don’t see anything too critical at this point, but we are going to use lights and sirens to get there asap”. PLEASE DO! Was my reply. You don’t have to explain anything. I wanted her in capable hands as fast as possible.
The pediatric trauma team was professional and gentle at the same time. A social worker needed to get basic information from me, but when I expressed that I needed to be right next to my confused and terrified girl while she was being peppered with question after question, she pushed me through to this position. I spoke words of comfort in a calm voice. These words came almost automatically after lots and lots and lots of practice doing the same for both of our girls in their early days, months and years with us. Even though my girl was confused and didn’t know who I was, she did respond to my voice. I heard an observant team member say “mom is calming”. They let me be right by her side for the duration.
CT scans, xrays, ultrasounds ensued. As she moved through the scans, I sang skidamarink-adink-adink and a special song I made up just for her during her early difficult adjustment days in our home. Each professional showed mercy on mother and child as one test after another revealed no structural or internal damage. They were quick to communicate this to us. We were told over and over again how lucky/fortunate/blessed was she. Both my young daughter and I have come face to face with raw vulnerability, mortality and the fact that life can change in an instant.
After several hours and many negative tests, dad and sister arrived. Our precious daughter/sister was beginning to fully return to us. I prepared her that when her daddy walked in the door, I would most likely let down and cry. She was gracious and understanding. The tear flow was a relief.
In the quiet of the night in the ICU, I often rose from my resting spot, put my hand on her beautiful face and let those tears wash down my face. Around 4 am, the cervical collar was removed, and we were gifted several hours of rest. The next afternoon, my precious girl got up and walked out of the hospital with her mom right by her side. Concussion was the diagnosis – not a sore muscle in her body.
At some point, I realized that I had to start writing down the crashing waves of gratitude that have filled my heart and mind during these days. Here is a start:
My husband – he is a rock and was a tremendous comfort and shelter for our younger girl who witnessed this terrifying fall. He has supported and been available this week as we all begin to recover and move forward.
4 adults – there were 4 adults on the scene when this happened. We each had a critical role from being present with the three young witnesses, to calmly relaying 911 orders in the early minutes.
Mulch – this tree is in a back, neglected corner of our yard. Years of leaf fall and leaves blown into this place created a nature pillow for our girl to land upon.
Calm – through meditation and yoga, I have practiced remaining present and calm in the midst of difficult times. This was like a final exam. The many hours of practice and study prepared me for such a time. My daughter has also practiced deep breathing and calming. She was able to access that at critical moments.
Parenting paradigm shift – I am grateful for Conscious Discipline and The Connected Child and all the teachings that I have worked hard to embrace and incorporate. The “you are safe”, “I am with you” message was critical to impart during those traumatic hours.
Our people – family, friends and teachers who know and love each of our girls and us and have stepped in to bridge gaps, support and encourage each of us through these days. We have needed a slow trickle of support so that we can mostly focus on rest and recovery. That has been respected and provided.
Mental health providers – we have had a great deal of relationship and connection with them over the years. We are now set as needs arise.
Lice – 48 hours after the fall, it became obvious that lice were on my children’s heads. I am a former OCD, over the edge, lice responder. Lice are now in perspective. After uttering a few cuss words and a big REALLY?, we arranged for the mobile lice lady to come. We are all now clean and well educated and hopeful that we can go into prevention mode from here on out. I felt like a regular mom dealing with regular kid stuff. That was a gift.
The list could go on and on.
Emotionally, I am a roller coaster. Anxious to weepy to filled with gratitude. When we birth or adopt children into our hearts and lives, we become extremely vulnerable. I have heard someone say that being a parent is like walking around in life with our heart exposed on our sleeve. Most of us don’t spend much time thinking about that because it is terrorizing. For any of us who truly love, our hearts can be crushed and devastated in an instant.
Our girl is cleared to ease back into life and school as she recovers. On the day that I first took her back to school for an hour’s stay, I felt like I was dropping a newborn off at daycare on her first day of life. My plan was to take a walk and be within 10 minutes in case she needed to leave early. In the middle of the walk, I needed to find a restroom. After striking out at several places, I headed to my church. I opened my email and received these words from a dear friend. She put into words what I have been unable to clearly articulate:
“ I feel the fear of all the “what ifs” that come with such an accident. My prayers are with you as you move through all these and many more emotions surrounding this event. Thanks be to God for the power of grace that touched (our girls’ name) in that fall. For me, I don’t understand grace, but I believe you were touched by it and it continues to surround (our girls’ name).” Within my belief system, I hold onto the thought that even if we had a different outcome on that day, grace would still be a part of our story. But it would have been a much more severe grace.
In the midst of our daughter’s four names is the word “Grace”. The Chinese name that she was given can be interpreted “sunshiny blessing from heaven.” In days, months and years ahead, we will all continue to ponder and wrestle with this grace and blessing in our midst. With extreme gratitude and humility, I will move forward. I imagine that there will be much to write of in days ahead.
