Uh… mom?” my four-year-old son’s voice quivered. I glanced up to see blood quickly running down his forehead, seeping through his blonde hair. I tried to move, but my legs were like lead. I couldn’t understand what was happening; my brain couldn’t react. I stood frozen.
“I’m bleeding!” he said.
Finally, I grabbed a towel, put it on his head, and laid him down, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop. Ambulance? Drive to the ER? There were two additional kids at home, one a newborn. “Think, Michelle, think.” I dialed 911, had my older son run to the neighbors, and then somehow — within what seemed like seconds — my mom arrived, and my son and I drove off. I can still picture him in the rearview mirror, so unaware of the severity of his cut, his little body only partly strapped into his car seat as he held a towel to his head.
I pulled into the hospital parking lot and the staff grabbed my son from me and went to work on him. As soon as he was out of sight, it hit me. My adrenaline started to come down, and the room started to spin. The nurse gave me a cookie and some juice, as I struggled not to become patient number two. I pulled the trash can close, just in case.
It’s weird how our bodies work — magnificent, really. To be able to think clearly and rationally in the moment of danger — bandaging the wound, driving the car, and making split-second decisions. That’s how we hope we will react, and very often do… and in reality, how we respond to extreme suffering, pain and trauma varies.
My son had somehow fallen over and pinched his head under the leg of the heavy chair he was sitting on, slicing his head in the process. Just before he fell, he asked me to help him. He had called out to me and said, “Mom, help me. I’m not joking.” I didn’t help him. I was annoyed, and I told him to do it himself, to sit up straight and stop goofing around in his chair.
Why? Why didn’t I get up off the floor and help him? Why did I choose to ignore his pleas for attention and allow him to fall? If I had just made a slightly different decision, we wouldn’t be in the ER, examining the scar on his forehead that he may have for life.
Why, why, why?
I think we all do this. Try desperately to turn back time so we can make a different choice. I beat myself up for nearly one full year. I consulted plastic surgeons about my son’s scar, and I insisted he wear a bandage for one full year to keep it out of the sun.
It’s in every picture that year, his little bandaged forehead. And then there’s me, staring at the photos wanting to throw up from guilt and shame each time I see one of those pictures, his perfect face now scarred.
As I write this story, I’m getting emotional and soaking my sleeve in tears. I had done everything right, and still, it happened. I had a baby gate up, dozens of smoke alarms, security system, medicine stored out of reach. In fact, I had insisted my son drink a kale smoothie that day, which is why he was in the chair in the first place. Horrible things just simply happen and no amount of wishing the outcome differently changes it.
In fact, this fight with reality causes us incredible suffering.
So, even though I cry to myself as I’m writing this, I truly wouldn’t change that horrible thing that happened because that would change the boy he is and the man he will become. Don’t misunderstand, this is not a story about accepting horrible things that happen to you.
For me, with both physical and emotional wounds there is a freedom in acknowledging that the bruise will always be there. It will never leave. It’s now a part of us, a part of our path. And if, just maybe, one day we can look at it, touch it gently and not feel a shooting pain… well, then we’ve started to heal. A never-ending and always evolving process of pain, anger, acceptance, and on and on again.
Through our work as BodyMind Coaches and in this community, I’ve learned to heal in ways I never knew possible. I’ve redefined what it means to be supported and be a part of others’ healing, and I’ve found deep comfort in the process, however painful.
