This year has seemed to have its fair share of tragic events. With many others I have read, heard, and spoken about them with a certain helplessness. Then I have turned and hugged Dillon tighter or kissed the soft, smooth skin on Ayden's cheek.
I have known moments of terror. Those brief moments when something happens and my heart jumps, seemingly out of my chest and my adrenaline surges. It addles my brain and I begin to scurry to organize the myriad thoughts coursing through it, until I devise a plan. It was the moment that my two year old followed her dad out of the apartment, unbeknownst to him, and we searched the complex, yelling her name until she was found under some stairs with another child's toy. It was the time Caleb toppled backwards out of our large van to the cement below, and I ran, blindly, to the other side of the car, not knowing what I would find. Then it was Seth, sneaking out of the house at age one and standing in the middle of a busy road. It was Ayden, my body trying to deliver him too soon. And Dillon, falling down a flight of stairs onto the hard, ceramic tile below. Each event, time stood still until the climax was over, and my child was safe in my arms. It was then that I looked up and thanked God for a miracle. Most of us have been through this. That terrifying accident, that moment of truth and, hopefully, relief that all is well. But what about those that go through those emotions, that terror, only to find the resolution is not a happy one, no reason to be thankful?
For them I ache. I cry with them. I let them mourn, as long as they need. I treat them the way I have always treated them in hopes to provide normalcy. And it's not easy. And I wonder, why them? Why this time? And I know, this could have been me. And it's not fair.
Why am I writing this? This little block of ideas that so many others have already shared and written before me? I suppose it's my way of coping and working through the hurt and the unanswered quesitons. The ideas pummel my mind and I write them, in hope of some relief. Hold your loved ones tight, every day. Your friends, your partners, your children. Give thanks for the miracle of having them every day, for it only takes a second.
I have known moments of terror. Those brief moments when something happens and my heart jumps, seemingly out of my chest and my adrenaline surges. It addles my brain and I begin to scurry to organize the myriad thoughts coursing through it, until I devise a plan. It was the moment that my two year old followed her dad out of the apartment, unbeknownst to him, and we searched the complex, yelling her name until she was found under some stairs with another child's toy. It was the time Caleb toppled backwards out of our large van to the cement below, and I ran, blindly, to the other side of the car, not knowing what I would find. Then it was Seth, sneaking out of the house at age one and standing in the middle of a busy road. It was Ayden, my body trying to deliver him too soon. And Dillon, falling down a flight of stairs onto the hard, ceramic tile below. Each event, time stood still until the climax was over, and my child was safe in my arms. It was then that I looked up and thanked God for a miracle. Most of us have been through this. That terrifying accident, that moment of truth and, hopefully, relief that all is well. But what about those that go through those emotions, that terror, only to find the resolution is not a happy one, no reason to be thankful?
For them I ache. I cry with them. I let them mourn, as long as they need. I treat them the way I have always treated them in hopes to provide normalcy. And it's not easy. And I wonder, why them? Why this time? And I know, this could have been me. And it's not fair.
Why am I writing this? This little block of ideas that so many others have already shared and written before me? I suppose it's my way of coping and working through the hurt and the unanswered quesitons. The ideas pummel my mind and I write them, in hope of some relief. Hold your loved ones tight, every day. Your friends, your partners, your children. Give thanks for the miracle of having them every day, for it only takes a second.