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| Having fun skipping rocks on the river |
This isn’t the post I had intended to write today. But we all know sometimes things in life don’t go according to plan.
Earlier this week, The Explorers and I were in Yosemite with my step-mom, in part to celebrate my 40th (I could think of no place else on Earth I wanted to be) and in part to enjoy the park during one of its most beautiful times.
On Tuesday we headed down to the river to skip some rocks before lunch. We’d been playing about half an hour when The Big Explorer bent down to pick up a rock just as The Little Explorer leaned down to see it. When boy met rock, it wasn’t pretty.
I’d always wondered how I would respond in an emergency. I’m no good with blood and figured if push came to shove, I’d most likely pass out, vomit or run for cover. Especially if my kids were involved.
The good news is I passed the test. The gash on The Little Explorer’s forehead was deep and wide enough that I could see his skull, so I knew we were in a bit of trouble. Thankfully, my step-mom was there, so I sent her off for help, grabbed The Little Explorer, applied pressure to the wound and tried to calm him with a festive round of Jingle Bells. (Yeah, I’m cool like that …) The Big Explorer never left my side.
It took about 10 minutes for help to arrive. By then, the gash had stopped bleeding and The Little Explorer was beginning to calm down. The next big hurdle: Getting medical attention when you’re 40+ minutes from the nearest care center.
Many hours of frustration followed, but suffice it to say it took us 6 hours in the urgent care facility before all was said and done. That and 11 stitches.
The kids made me so proud. Six hours sitting around waiting with nothing to do and neither of them so much as complained once.
I kept it together, too. But I gotta admit, they’ve fared far better than I.
And not for the reasons you might think.
I wasn’t sad or scared that my 3.5-year-old had suffered a major trauma. I’ve known this day would come. He suffered three bloody noses learning to walk, so I figured a few trips to the E.R. might be in our future. I knew he was going to be fine, most likely not even remember it and be no less worse for the wear.
Never mind that 1 inch was the difference between a few stitches and him losing an eye.
I wasn’t feeling any guilt that I somehow could have prevented it. It was an accident, after all.
And I wasn’t any less inclined to let the kids throw rocks than before. Y’all know that’ll never happen.
What has me shaken is that my sense of invulnerability about being alone with the boys in nature has been tested. And to be perfectly honest, I’m not quite sure how I feel.
I take the boys on all kinds of adventures, not all of them in our backyard. Just the three of us. And aside from the basics, I’ve never given a second thought to our safety.
Until now.
I suppose that sounds kind of naïve. And maybe it is. Maybe this experience has shown me just that.
In spite of the fact that I did exactly what I needed to do – remain calm, cool and collected in the face of an emergency – I’m still wondering what might have happened if I’d been alone.
How might things have played out differently? Am I prepared for that? If not, what does “being prepared” look like? And how do I regain the confidence I need to head out on our next adventure – just the three of us?
I could sure use some sage advice about now. Got any?
