This past Sunday was my little cousin’s birthday party – a pool party. We live in Florida so a pool party in October is completely reasonable. It was a glorious day, in the upper eighties with feathery clouds wisping across a bright blue sky.
Mari, age 3, was in her water-wings – she basically can swim, but we keep the wings on as a precaution. And of course Lucas, age 7, is a dolphin, flipping and spinning under the water – he only comes up for a quick breath once per minute or so. He spends the whole time underwater with his goggles on, examining the stream of water shooting out of the pool’s jets.
Later in the afternoon, once all the non-family party-goers had departed, we cousins sat around chatting, enjoying the gorgeous day while our four kids played happily. Mari didn’t want to go in the pool anymore, so I permitted her to take off her water wings. She was playing with the plastic toy kitchen a few feet from the pool, filling and dumping the pots and pans, stirring up a magical witches’ brew.
There were six adults sitting under the screened porch. I was keeping an eye on Mari even though I know she is an extremely cautious child, she can swim fairly well, and there were five other adults with eyes more or less on the pool. But an adirondack chair was somewhat blocking my view.
And we were talking, y’know? We were having one of those animated conversations when everyone talks over everyone else and we all burst into laughter at the same time and slap our knees.
I was into the conversation. I was not paying attention. I was not looking.
My cousin suddenly broke the conversation by jumping up out of his chair and was at the pool’s edge in a flash. I jumped up too, knowing it had to be Mari. The other kids, they’re all strong little dolphins… excellent swimmers.
My heart exploded in my chest and blood rushed like a tidal wave in my ears. My hands covered my mouth as silent, wordless prayers went up to God, begging for mercy, begging forgiveness for my stupid, careless lapse in attention.
How soon had my cousin noticed that Mari wasn’t still standing there pouring water and chattering with her adorable little chipmunk voice? What had he seen that made him jump up like that? A splash? The roundness of a tiny back floating at the surface?
Shame on me for not putting her water wings back on. Shame on me for not sitting in a spot that had an unobstructed view of her. I was too busy talking… And now I was going to be one of those mothers. We’d be one of those families… the ones with a hole, a missing piece. We lost my step-brother seven years ago, so I know what that hole looks like, I have seen what it does. It never, ever goes away. We feel my little brother’s loss constantly. He was part of our family. We are incomplete without him.
These chipped families; we pray for them, we think of them in the shower, on the drive to work. When we think of how they carry on in spite of their horrific, unfathomable loss, we berate ourselves for losing patience with your own kids over stupid crap like leaving socks on the floor. These broken families wish their precious child was still around to leave socks on the floor…
We feel deeply for these families. We see them smiling and moving through the motions of life, and we wonder how they go on, though we know subconsciously that the reason they go on is because… that is the only thing there is to do. We pray to God we won’t ever have the need to summon that kind of strength. And we feel guilty for praying it, because after all, they have to suffer through the emptiness of all those birthdays that will never be. What makes us any more deserving of them to have children who get to stay alive? We feel we would do anything to take away their pain…
Anything but trade places.
In the tiny fraction of a second before I realized that Mari’s chubby little hands were already gripping the edge of the pool, just as we had practiced hundreds of times over the summer, I was that mom, we were that family, and the vast black hole of Mari’s absence had sucked away our entire future.
Through choking sobs of relief and self-loathing, I hugged my baby tight, lavishing praise on her for doing such a good job “saving herself.”
Of course my cousin had been right there and saw the very moment her little body went over the edge. And of course we’d been practicing all summer the technique we call “The Princess Who Saves Herself.” (Which goes like this: “Fall” in the pool. Swim to the nearest wall and grab on. “Monkey walk” to the steps and climb out.)
So we had some safety measures in place.
But still.
Sunday could have ended much, much differently. I made a huge mistake letting Mari play near the pool without her water wings. I know that many drownings happen in moments such as this, with all the adults busy talking, all the kids occupied in their game, everybody assuming someone else is watching. I know I should have had my eyes on her, or that my husband should have been assigned with the task.
I know these things…
I guess I needed a reminder.
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26 Comments
It’s a nightmare come true, isn’t it? I’m so glad she was brave and smart and did what she’d been taught….good job, Mama. I lost my youngest in our freaking neighborhood when he was two. He was gone for ten minutes, maybe fifteen. In that little chunk of time, I had pictured him dead, kidnapped, injured somewhere. Those mixed feelings are wild, aren’t they? The panicky feeling will eventually go away…but that self loathing takes a while. Go easy on yourself 🙂
Oh man. Thank the Lord it was only a fraction of a second I had to worry. That was LONG ENOUGH!
So glad she was ok! I think we have all had one of those “moments”. The self loathing pops up at the strangest times. Usually when he’s driven me to the brink and it causes me to remember to be so thankful for him. Don’t beat yourself up about it…easier said than done but you’re a great mom!
I’ve definitely been snuggling a little closer with both of my kids, been a little more patient with them since this happened…
We were at an easter egg hunt this year and there were literally hundreds of kids. Once you found the eggs, you traded them in for a bag of candy at a table not far away. Ava disappeared. In a swarm of hundreds of kids. For roughly 10 minutes I was frantically calling her name, trying to be heard amid all the chaos. I had every worst case scenario running through my mind. And then she appeared. Huge grin, candy in hand, like the cat that got the cream. It was terrrifying! I’m so glad Mari was ok. Yay for safety plans!
Oh, yes, in a crowd! That’s scary! Lucas used to run off all the time in stores. I was thiiiis close to buying a leash for that kid.
My daughter disappeared in a Target when she was roughly Mari’s age. Several minutes of sheer terror, of berating myself, of horrific pain. She was hiding under a display, of course. I couldn’t be mad when I finally spied her smiling face emerging from beneath the clothes, but boy did I tell her over and over that she should never do that again. I think we all receive these little “reminders” from time to time. Those who are good parents, like you, take them to heart. Don’t beat yourself up. You taught her well. She is okay.
Oh my! My son used to do that, play hide-and-seek in the stores… or he’d just wander off, without any particular plan. lol
I did good having a plan in place, I’ll give myself that much. But Mari had no business playing near the pool without her floaties. I think even if I’d been RIGHT THERE, she still should’ve had them. It only takes a second. I’ll be forever grateful that this moment turned out how it did!
Ugh…I just posted and it didn’t post. So I’ll do it again because I love you. Thank God that Mari was okay…I know the feeling of that heart in your stomach at your feet, I had it just this morning! I sleep with the windows open, and my bed is pushed against said window because of all the space I need for boxes currently. Anyways, every morning when I wake I close windows to a few inches that Raegan’s chubby body can’t fit through. Except this morning, my friend called and I forgot to. I didn’t think about it again until I realized Raegan was upstairs and I didn’t hear her feet running around. I have never climbed the stairs so quickly…and there she was, calmly walking out of my closet with my fedora on her head. I still feel guilty for what could have been. Makes me sick to my stomach!
These little rascals… it only takes a moment. Yes I’ve had several of those “wait a sec, whyyy is it so quiet??” moments where I had to RUN – just to be sure. <3
I had the same exact thing happen with my middle son. He was at the bottom of the pool by time I noticed…just mere seconds that something wasn’t right and by time I got to him. Talk about running and diving in slow motion! I dove down and grabbed him by the hair, knowing that as I flung him up, the force would pull me down and I wanted to get him up quickly. I got under him and pushed him up and out of the pool the rest of the way and got him on the lip of the pool…and he sits up, coughs out some water…and then asks why I pulled his hair. I don’t think the fear has ever left me. It was so close…and it happened so fast. I’m glad your incident turned out ok too.
Holy cow, that is absolutely horrific! Thank God he’s okay!
xoxo
Oh, Kristen!! Those moments are seared in, aren’t they? I’m glad you shared this … reminds us all to be more vigilant, and to appreciate our moments together. So glad this turned out like it did!
Jen
You and me both, sista.
And yeah, I shared it, you know, just in case… maybe someone will think twice about taking their eyes off their kid after reading this, and maybe that will make a difference. =)
My two littlest children need water training. We don’t have a pool or live by the beach, so it’s more difficult to get in those swimming times, but they still have to be trained. End of story. YMCA has a swimming program. I’m on it.
Yes, it’s important no matter where you live. We actually live near the ocean and tons of people we know have pools. It’s an absolute necessity for us!
Thanks for reading!
What a nightmare! My cousin (who was an excellent swimmer) drowned a week before his 18th birthday. Gaping hole doesn’t even begin to describe what happened to his family.
Oh, that’s so sad! The anniversary of my step-brother’s death was just yesterday. It’s a very emotional day. 🙁
SO glad she is ok.
I know the feeling you describe…the horror & then the guilt. Heart wrenching. And in my situation, I was literally RIGHT next to my son, (3yrs old) near the stairs in the shallow end of an in-ground pool. I was talking to another mom & had spaced that he wasn’t wearing his wings anymore because he had been just siting on the first & second steps. Again, RIGHT by me. It took him grasping the front of my suit from UNDER the water, trying to climb up my body to get himself up & out, before I realized what was happening. One of the scariest moments of my life as a parent; seeing his face under the water & realizing he was struggling to get out. Needless to say, I pulled him up faster than the speed of light. I wanted to burst into tears when, after he coughed up a bit of water & whimpered a little, he started saying he was sorry for “sinking” 🙁
Thanks for sharing your story.
Xo
Awww that’s the worst when the little buggers lay on the guilt on top of the guilt you already feel! 🙁 Glad your son is okay. xoxo
Solution: strap on a life vest anytime she’s near the pool. Mom no longer has to eagle-eye the scene, and no more heart attacks! There are even spandex one-piece swimsuits with floaties sewn inside around the trunk of the body. Peace of mind is priceless.
Oh, that’s unfortunate — my previous comment didn’t post. But anyway, I wanted to say I thought it was courageous to share this story, and I can imagine many people have experienced moments when they felt as if they failed in their responsibility to keep a loved one safe. My most vivid memory of this kind comes from when I was a kid and my mother told me always to hold on to my grandmother when she was walking around. My grandmother, however, really didn’t want to be held onto. Of course, the moment when I obliged my grandma was the moment when she lost her balance. Luckily, she was unhurt, which was quite fortunate given that she was in her 80s.
Awww – but as a kid you couldn”t be expected to take on that level of responsibility! Poor kid, lol
I’m sure you still feel that panic right now when you remember that moment. You described it so well. It’s exactly how I’ve felt in those split seconds that happen now and then . . . a car almost hits us, a kid wanders away a the store. It’s awful. And that perspective never stays with us until the next time. It would be impossible to live that way. Sometimes socks DO send us over the edge.
Excellent post. I’m so sorry this happened to you.
Thanks for the perspective, Nina. Still feeling so grateful that things turned out as they did. And I’ve been yelling a lot about sock-type issues lately. On my son’s homework sheet I wrote a note to myself: “DON’T GET ANGRY.” Yes. I did that. It works. Sometimes.
PHEW! Are the only words that came to mind as I pictured you jumping up from your chair finally finding your daughter safe. I am so grateful for this post. It only takes a second, and everything can change.
Having a similar moment when I lost my son in a large store for quite a long period. (I had only turned my head for a minute, and he was gone.) I have felt that sort of panic – thinking to myself. I will be that Mom, the one who didn’t watch him close enough, and he is gone!