I had one of those moments today, where you wind up face to face with the potential for your life to be changed forever. You look that possibility in the eye, and wait for it to decide your fate.
Jenna and I were headed off to school. We have steps that lead from the basement to the garage. As usual, my assertive daughter opted not to listen to me and to push ahead of me and start down the steps on her own, leaving me with a handfull of items--purse and coffee among them--to fiddle with closing the door.
I saw her mis-step half way down. The proverbial slow motion began as she tumbled head first down the steps, smacking her head on the concrete garage floor, the sound of which you only know if you've heard it. And I'd heard it before, many years before. But that's for another post.
For a split second after the impact, as I dropped everything in my hands, I heard only silence. That's the moment I'm talking about. Where you come face to face with an instant that is extraordinary in every way. Sometimes they're good moments. Usually not. Seems like anyway.
The shrieking began "MAMA MAMA!" I told George I don't remember how I got from the basement two flights up to the kitchen. It feels like I flew. I don't remember my feet touching the ground at all. A hurt child is weightless. This is when parents develop super human powers. Lift cars. Fly. Things like that. Because I know I flew all the way up with 50 pounds in my arms. I touched down at the refridgerator, grabbed the ice pack from the freezer, flew again into the living room and put Jenna on the couch while I screamed GEORGE! at the top of my lungs. I think waking up to the cries of your daughter and beckoning of a traumatized wife ranks right up there with one of those traumatizing moments.
I thought that find her face crushed when I first looked at her, which I hadn't done until we landed by the couch. I expected blood. I feared the worst. It was the sound, you know? That thwack. You feel it all the way through your stomach and into your spine. But amazingly, her face was clear except for tears, and there wasn't a cut on her head! She landed more on the top of her head than anywhere else. We got ice on that spot right away.
Then George took over while I stepped outside and looked for my cool. Definitely lost it. When I got my cool back I went back inside. He was talking with Jenna, having her follow his finger and asking her about this and that. He was very soft and collected. I was so grateful. That's why it's good to have two adults to evey child. So one can always be in varying degrees of freaking out while the other keeps cool, and then you swap, and so on.
Anyway, we rushed her to the doctor, who pronounced her well, took some time to discuss the amazing resiliancy of children, and told us to take her to school and go home and enjoy the morning.
Collective sigh. Collective thanks. Aside from a headache, she seems unphased. But we'll be keeping our eyes on her.
So my instant of horror passed me by, this time. I feel blessed beyond all else for my daugther's health, her life, her laughter, her joy.
I love my sweet baby so.
