A recent tragedy involving a young child has rocked my local community and broken my heart.
I cannot take the tragedy or pain away. Nevertheless, I decided to share again an old blog post about a miracle that happened with my youngest child, William. It was Thanksgiving weekend, a cold, rainy November day. This was the kind of day where I would be amazed by just my ability (and good fortune) to locate swimsuits for everyone. We lived on an island, so we would swim nearly every day of the summer, yet by late fall swimming was a distant memory and the goggles, diving sticks, and other swim gear had long been stored away. On this particular day, we were invited to an indoor birthday party with our cousins from Maryland. We were thrilled that they organized the celebration around being with us and couldn’t think of a better activity for such a day. The only stress in getting out the door was the search for William’s inflatable arm floaties. One was in the basement, but none of the others were in the boys’ room, cubbies, pool bag, or toy chests, etc. On and on, we all looked. There was much discussion explaining to little William that with two arms we needed two floaties, and aren’t we thankful he didn’t have three arms. Finally, minutes before the ferry, my son Robert located one under God knows what, and we were off! As it turns out we arrived at our car to find another floatie tucked in the back amongst the smashed Cheerios—but who knew? I laughed, still grateful William has two (not three) arms.
So what is the miracle? William nearly drowned. Together we all swam for two hours full of joy, lots of ball tossing, talking, cup and saucer playing, etc. Eventually we stopped for fresh delivered pizza, cupcakes, and presents,…the works. The floaties came off and towels went on. Break time turned into catch up time and then clean up time. My back was to the water tending to the table and engaging with the other adults. Indoor pools are filled with echoes and noise yet no real sound. I never heard the splash or even the cries for help. All I saw was my ten-year-old nephew Noa delivering to me William who was dripping and startled. Noa had just scooped him from the deep end. Although I held and cuddled William for the next thirty minutes, I honestly didn’t realize how scared he had been or how real the danger was until we headed home that evening after a long day of vaccines at the pediatrician, exploring toys with cousins, and numerous errands. Within seconds of greeting the ferry captain, William announced, “Noa saved my life!”
It truly was a miracle. It was the kind of miracle that too often goes unnoticed. My heart breaks for the careful, loving, and nurturing parents who take endless precautions yet have lost children. There is no explanation for why one toddler climbs a bookshelf causing it to tumble and crush himself, or how window blinds can be deadly. The stories are endless and the pain unimaginable. I can only know that today I explode with thankfulness that my children are healthy. I know it is a gift not an accomplishment.
