The Lights of My Life
“I gadda go to the bafroom, Daddy!” Christopher demanded for the second time since we left Yreka just an hour before. My husband Don wasn’t going to give in, though. Taking a five-hour road trip with a two-and a-half-year old and a four-year-old that hot August afternoon had definitely drained every last ounce of patience both of us had. “Just hold it a couple more minutes,” Don said sternly, as if his firmness would somehow stop “nature” from taking it’s course. “But I gadda go nowwww!” Christopher wasn’t going to give up without a fight; nevertheless, this was one battle he didn’t win.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the seat, trying to block out the bickering coming from behind me. “Dad! He touched me,” bellowed my daughter, “make him stop!”
After tightly plugging my ears, I could only hear the faint sound of muffled voices. I imagined I was on a tropical island, surrounded by people rubbing suntan lotion on each other. A waiter with rippling muscles approached and asked me if I wanted my margarita with or without ice. Ah…paradise. No kids around to yell at or to bug me; it was just sunshine, my romance novel, and miles and miles of sandy beach…
All of a sudden, Don’s voice broke into my fantasy. “Look guys, here’s the Simms turn off.” He was really looking forward to fishing with his boss, Chuck, who happened to be camping at Simms that weekend. I was just glad to be getting out of that tiny Ford Escort, to be able to finally release the “monsters.” Deep down, I’d rather have just gone straight home, but marriage has its little sacrifices. Almost immediately after we arrived, Don and Chuck headed down to the Sacramento River, waders and fly rods in hand, looking like two school boys playing hooky.
I found myself a comfortable lawn chair and plopped down next to Chuck’s wife, Linda, while the kids headed off to collect pinecones. “How’ve you been?” She asked with a smile. “Was your trip to Yreka enjoyable?” Without hesitation, I blurted, “Are you kidding? It was horrible! All I did was rescue grandma’s breakables from Christopher’s clutches all weekend. He was into absolutely everything. Then for the grand finale, he spilled cranberry juice all over a hand-crocheted tablecloth. I was so embarrassed, all I could do was bury my head. Next year, we will send Grandma and Grandpa a home movie instead of visiting!”
Linda listened intently, giving me an understanding grin. It felt good to release my frustration, even if I did sound a bit whiny. After watching the kids laugh and play for a couple of hours, my internal tension finally began to melt away. It was after sunset when Don and Chuck returned. We had already snuggled up to a cozy fire to roast marshmallows when they came wandering up the road, long-faced and empty-handed.
“No fish?” I asked.
“No. Not a one.” I could hear the disappointment in Don’s voice, but I wasn’t going to show him too much sympathy. After all, we’d have been home already if he hadn’t wanted to stop to satisfy his recreational obsession. They crossed the road to strip off their fishing gear when Christopher decided he wanted to give daddy a warm welcome. I was glad someone was willing to cheer him up. To Chris, Dad was still his hero, fish or no fish. So he waddled across the road in his footed pajamas. I watched his blonde, curly hair disappear into the darkness. Soon I heard his joyful squeal when he jumped into Daddy’s arms.
After a few minutes, however, Don returned to the fire looking puzzled. “Where’s Chris?” he asked, with a tone of serious concern.
“I thought he was with you.”
“He was, but then he wanted to go back to the fire. He headed back across the road—he must not have made it.”
Immediately, everyone in the whole campground jumped up to help us search. We grabbed some flashlights and split up, each of us taking different paths. I screamed hysterically: “Chris—where are you?” Already I could feel my whole body going numb. Where could a two-and-a-half-year-old go in the pitch dark? This is the same child that clung to me like a barnacle when I tried to leave him with a sitter. He just ventured out into the woods with absolutely no hesitation or fear.
As I walked down the brushed covered trails, my flashlight illuminated only trees and rocks. There were hills and paths winding in every direction, but they all lead to the same place: the river. Less than 100 yards away, I could hear the rushing water pounding on the bank, sounding like a ravenous vacuum cleaner in search of something to suck into its mouth. I shuddered inside just thinking about my little toddler and how easily he could fall in if he had walked that far. I could already see the headlines: “Child Lost in River; Body Found Three Days Later.”
Never could I have imagined the shear panic I would feel when facing the possibility of loosing one of my children. In just a few minutes, Christopher’s whole life passed before my eyes. But, to my surprise, I wasn’t thinking about the scribbling on the walls, or the plugged up sink that flooded the bathroom, or even the latest Barbie casualty, missing her head. All of a sudden, those irritants disappeared. All I could think about was that little blonde-haired butterball, looking adorable in his cowboy boots, stomping down the sidewalk.
I found myself silently pleading with God. “Please, I begged,” just let me hold his plump little body one more time. Let me hear his high-pitched giggle when Dad blows on his belly. If you let me kiss his warm, rosy cheeks, I promise I’ll never complain about the terrible two’s again.” As I stood there waiting for an answer, I began to realize that my children are not the curse that I portrayed to Linda just a few hours before. Rather, they are the sunshine of my life, and at that moment, one of my “lights” was lost in the darkness, perhaps forever.
The search went on for what seemed an eternity. During that time, I started to understand how people were able to see blessings in the midst of tragedy. In that moment of truth, when danger approaches us, those things that we truly value become very clear in our minds. If nothing else, I learned a valuable lesson that night. Every day with my children is a precious gift—one that I shall not take for granted ever again.
The next thing I knew, Don’s voice echoed across the campground. “I found him!” he announced.
Miraculously, Christopher had been waddling down a path toward the river when something on the way sparked his curiosity. His innate inquisitiveness led him to stop, just long enough for Don to catch up with him. Everyone gathered around by now, beaming with excitement and relief. What a night. What a terrible fright!
I was so happy to climb back into our little car and to head home again. I looked with appreciation at the two kids in the rear-view-mirror, safely snug in their car seats. We waved goodbye as we drove through the campground, thankful for the miracle that just took place. And just as we drove onto the freeway, a tiny voice came from the back seat. “Daddy, I gadda go to the bafroom again.” This time, Don and I didn’t mind pulling over. In fact, we just looked at each other and laughed.
Mary
