Sad Memories

As much as I would love to forget, I remember every details of the afternoon of June 11, 1993, as if it happened yesterday. Twenty years ago I woke up a naive teenager, but I went to bed irrevocably changed. I was home from college and assumed my job as a babysitter for a local family. At that time in my life, it was the perfect fit. I had taken care of the children, then 6 and 8, since they were born, and they were good kids. Although I had been away at college, we quickly eased into our comfortable routine for the summer.

Because I had known the family for so long, it was normal for the neighborhood kids to congregate at the house. I would like to think that it was because I was such a fun babysitter. In reality they were drawn to the pool and the never ending supply of Rice Krispie treats that I always kept stocked in the kitchen.

That fateful afternoon we had exceptionally hot weather. The pool was open and the children, along with some friends, were splashing and having a great time. The neighborhood children's moms were also poolside, joining the fun.  Among the brood was a little girl named Rachel. She was the youngest of the pack at only three years old, but that certainly didn't stop her from trying everything. She was a spitfire!

Rachel, abiding by the rules by wearing her life vest, jumped into the pool and squealed with delight. She swam over to the side and crawled out. Staying on her tummy, she began to pat and play with the waves coming along the top of the water. At first I didn't think that this was out of character, but after a few moments I became alarmed.  Her mom knelt next to her to make sure that she was okay.

What happened next felt like it took an eternity, but in reality occurred in a matter of seconds. Rachel's mom let out a blood curdling scream, the primitive type that only comes from true fear. In a flash I ran into the kitchen and called for an ambulance. It took me two attempts to solicit aid from 911--the first call ended up being disconnected.  By the time I hung up the receiver, Rachel was lying on the kitchen table, turning blue and unresponsive.

Her mom began screaming, "Please Peggy, don't let my baby die." I took off her yellow Beauty and the Beast life jacket and began CPR. When I think about it, I can still feel her cool wet face on mine which is probably a reason I avoid remembering!  I only stopped CPR for a moment to yell at the kids who had congregated in the kitchen. Wanting to spare them from seeing their friend in such a vulnerable state, I instinctively screamed at them to leave.

It felt like an hour, but an ambulance came within 10 minutes. In my heart, I know that Rachel had a slight pulse when she was loaded onto the stretcher and transported to the hospital. On autopilot, I called the mother of the children I was watching to inform her about the incident. I retrieved my two little ones, who by now were nearly inconsolable with fear, and waited for their mom to come home. I was numb.

I can remember wishing and praying with all my heart that Rachel would be okay. I couldn't fathom such a sweet little girl dying so quickly. I thought that she would be okay because she had to be okay. In my innocence, I couldn't imagine her young life ending so early.

At about 7:00 that evening, the telephone finally rang. Rachel had a congenital heart abnormality and, although she had surgery when she was an infant, the muscle was weakened. Despite my efforts and my pleads to the Universe, she died.

When I heard the news, the pain struck to my very core. I had never felt such anguish, grief and pain. It was overwhelming and I felt like I couldn't breath. If my mom hadn't been by my side, I don't know what would have happened. 

The next few weeks were a blur. I knew that the family didn't blame me, but I couldn't help but blame myself. I did everything "right" but struggled with the "what if" scenarios for years. The fact that the original call to 911 became the impetus for a police investigation certainly did not help! I was contacted by the press and endured a full interview from the State police. In the end, I was absolved, and the 911 system was changed to institute a call-back policy when a disconnection occurs. While I doubt that the few seconds it took me to call back for help would have made an difference in this case, I have some solace in the belief that the new policy might have helped other people during the past 20 years.

What happened with Rachel profoundly changed me. I learned that sometimes, regardless of how deeply you need something to happen, it doesn't always work out. I learned that you need to stand up for the truth, regardless of the naysayers and the pain that you are experiencing in the moment. I learned that life isn't fair and that sometimes bad things happen regardless of whether or not you do everything right. 

I don't talk about that summer, and few of my friends know what transpired. Even fewer realize the depths of self-doubt, depression and anguish that I experienced for the months that followed. It took me a long time to heal. In reality I probably should have sought counseling, but being young, I thought I could do it alone.

In twenty years the memories have not faded, but I have gained perspective. Rachel's death and the inquiry that followed changed me forever. I know that there was nothing that I could have done to save her, but accepting that a child can die so quickly continues to be difficult to comprehend. I'm thinking about her today.

Ditches and Dancing

Friday was definitely a day filled with highs and lows. Thankfully, it was followed by the weekend affording me some much needed time to relax and regroup. Of course, I'm not sure how much relaxing was actually accomplished, but I digress and that will be the topic of a future blog.

Friday morning was spent frantically trying to get everything organized and ready for the luncheon. Robby stayed home from school so that he could attend and "help" us with the event. Since he only has three more days of school left, I didn't see the harm in allowing him to skip class for the day. Besides, seeing what his Daddy does for a living is just as educational as sitting in a classroom.

With the car loaded with lasagna, rolls, and cookies, we headed into Scott's school. With help and the use of several carts, everything was transported into the cafeteria, and within 30 minutes we were set up, decorated and ready for the students.

This is the 8th year that we have hosted this event, and I have to admit, I think that this was our best yet. Everybody enjoyed the food, the student's accomplishments were celebrated, and everybody left with a fully belly and a smile on their face. Before I knew it, we were packing up to head home, highly satisfied with a wildly successful luncheon.

I had promised Robby that we would pick up his friend Rowan from school and go to the local bounce house. Both he and Rowan were excited about spending a Friday afternoon hopping and playing. I was eager to watch him become tired, hopeful that it would translate into an early bedtime. As soon as I had the car unpacked, it was time to go pick up Rowan. By this point in the afternoon, I was beginning to lose steam.

Driving on autopilot, I had already gone a few miles when I realized I was not headed towards her school. With time ticking away, I began to look for a place to turn around. I saw a side street and decided to take it, hoping that I would be able to turn around.

I knew I was driving slowly, so when I saw a car quickly approaching in my rear view mirror, I pulled to the side of the road to allow him to pass. Unfortunately I pulled over too far! Within seconds, I was stuck in a ditch with the right tires covered to the top with mud. I tried to back up and rock my car out, but I only managed to dig myself deeper into the ditch. There was no doubt: I was stuck and wasn't going to be going anywhere. I desperately needed help.

I called Scott who had already made it home. I explained where I was and that I needed him to come right away because Rowan was expecting me to pick her up at school in 10 minutes! After I hung up with him, I called Mr. Bill whom I knew had a strong truck and a lot of mechanical experience. I love that I could call both men for help and that they both dropped everything to come, no questions asked.

I sat on the side of the road and realized that the SUV was profoundly leaning. I knew the vehicle was losing the battle with the soft mud and that I needed to get Robby out. I had just pulled Robby from the vehicle when Scott and Bill arrived.  Without asking any questions, Scott threw me the keys to his car so that I could go pick up Rowan. He stayed with Bill and a gentleman in a truck who also stopped to help.

By the time I picked up Rowan and drove home, the mud laden SUV was sitting in the driveway. To everybody's surprise, the good Samaritan was able to pull it out of the ditch! The car was dirty but undamaged, and my anxiety and fear turned to embarrassment when I knew that everything was going to be okay.

As promised I took Robby and Rowan to the bounce house. I sat in the bounce lounge, beating myself up for stupidly driving into a ditch. I couldn't believe that I had done something that irresponsible! We were so incredibly lucky that nobody was hurt and that the SUV was pulled out dirty but unscathed.

I called my Mom and began to rant about my stupidity. She stopped me in mid sentence and told me something that I desperately needed to hear. "You made a mistake. You aren't perfect, and it's okay." In that moment I forgave myself for the accident, accepted the gift that nobody was hurt and that the car was undamaged, and promised to pay the good Samaritan forward by helping somebody else someday.

As soon as I embraced the fact that I am not perfect, I began to feel better about driving into the ditch. I tried to put the accident out of my mind and began to concentrate on having fun. We came home and had a pizza party followed by a walk to see the duck pond. 

Somehow the walk morphed into a dance party. The fact that it began to steadily rain only added to the fun! We must have been quite a sight for the neighbors, dancing down the street in the rain to Michael Jackson's "Thriller" and "Beat It.". Both kids were laughing, singing and having a good time. I'm so glad that Robby is not yet at the age where he is embarrassed to sing and dance with me!

I was exhausted by the time I crawled into bed Friday night. Between the luncheon, driving into a ditch and the dance party in the rain, the day had been the epitome of good and bad. I'm so glad that I ended the evening by dancing in the rain, laughing with my little boy!

Homesick

Last night I had a wonderful dream: I was in college, surrounded by my friends and just having a good time. I was bi-legged, didn't have a husband and child, and didn't have any financial worries. I was just happy and laughing. Although I love my life, I have to admit that I was disappointed when I woke up!

The dream left me feeling both euphoric and deflated. I loved reliving the youthful and carefree emotions I experienced while in college. Like most things, I didn't appreciate that special time in my life until it was over.

It amazes me that I have been out of college for more than 15 years, yet I can still relive those days so vividly in my dreams. I miss those times, when my only responsibilities were making good grades and forming friendships. Of course, at the time it felt stressful, but I've come to learn that stress is relative to the situation. 

Ever since my dream, I have been feeling oddly homesick but not for my childhood home; after all I am lucky enough to visit my Mom on a regular basis. Instead, I'm longing for those late night pizza parties with my friends, midnight jaunts to the diner for pie and spur of the moment road trips to visit the beach. I miss the camaraderie of my college friends.

Although I'm still in contact with my friends from college, there is a closeness that has evaporated since we don't see each other daily. Instead of just opening up my dorm room and walking across the hall, now we must try to schedule phone calls and email messages. I hate that I am at a point in my life where my interactions need to be scheduled!

I live an active and involved life, so I was taken aback when I realized how isolated I am feeling. I think I need to schedule a girls' weekend. At this point, the sooner the better!

Luncheon Prep

The school year is rapidly closing, and that translates into one thing in our house: my kitchen has been transformed into a factory as I cook and bake for the traditional luncheon. Each year I swear that I am not doing it again, yet each June I find myself frantic and toiling in the kitchen, cooking a feast for 100 hungry teenagers and their mentors.

Because Scott teaches Special Education and Disadvantaged students, his classes are small and many of his students have been with him throughout their high school career. The first luncheon was hosted on a whim, as a means of saying goodbye to a particularly special group of students. We both quickly realized that the modest celebration was the only acknowledgment that many of these students received for earning their diploma. Scott and I both decided that all graduates deserve to have the milestone celebrated, and since that time, Graduation Luncheon has become an unintentional tradition.

I would love to have the luncheon catered, but it is cost prohibitive since we fund the event ourselves. Instead, we scour sales circulars throughout May, trying to device a special, yet economically sound, menu. Scott always promises to help, and although he means well by this offer, I always end up kicking him out of the kitchen. Having his novice hands in the mix creates more frustrations, and he quickly becomes underfoot. Instead his talents are utilized during clean-up when I pop off my leg and relax with a wine cooler.

Yesterday I spent nearly 4 hours prepping and assembling over 70 pounds of lasagna. It may sound like a lot, but the appetites of these teenagers always astounds me. Today I need to make the yeast rolls (the menu changes each year, but the rolls are a much-anticipated staple) and bake the chocolate chip cookies. I wish it was a little cooler outside because my ovens will be on all day.

It's a lot of work, but it will be worth it on Friday. I know that the kids, along with their mentors, appreciate the celebration. Friday night I plan on curling up to watch a movie on the couch and devour all the cupcakes that are left over from the party!

Walk On

The warmer weather coupled with my healed limb and perfectly fitting prosthesis have allowed me to resume my daily walks. Although I originally started walking as a means to become fit and to lose weight, I've come to realize that the daily jaunts are more beneficial for my psyche than my waistline. I enjoy the solitude of quietly strolling through my neighborhood, listening to music and escaping my own worries and thoughts for awhile. I'm a much happier person, and a better Mom, when I allow myself time to decompress.

As I was walking yesterday I began to think about my friends. So many people whom I care about are dealing with constant infections and pain. It is a helpless feeling when there is nothing that can be done to ease pain and frustrations of my friends, and I feel inadequate when all I can do is offer a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on.

When it comes to secondary health issues, I have been blessed. I'm living without my foot, but I am not in a constant battle with infections, sores and relentless pain. When I am without my leg, I'm miserable primarily because it happens so rarely I have become accustomed to a bi-legged life. Too many of my amputee friends have been unable to utilize their prosthesis for years, and when they are able to wear it, they can use it only sporadically. I cannot fathom the frustrations that they feel.

Yesterday, between my dedicated walk and my normal ambulation throughout the day, I logged over 9 miles. I am so incredibly lucky that I am physically able to be as active as I am, and I realize that my status can change at any time. Thankfully, I've never had infection issues, but I am prone to limb breakdown which can sideline my activities. Hopefully my paranoid vigilance about limb health will help thwart any issues from developing, but I also realize that luck plays a part.

My friends are not battling issues because they were negligent. For whatever reason, they have been dealt a bad hand and are trying to make the best of it. At times I become frustrated with the inconveniences of living with a limb loss, but I try to never take my mobility for granted. I live with the reality that I can be rendered immobile at anytime, so I am going to keep trying to soak in every moment of my daily walks.

Snake Charmer

I have come to the conclusion that I have few fears. This probably seems odd since I habitually lose sleep due to fretting. However, I've come to realize that fretting and worrying are different than experiencing true fears. Other than something happening to Robby or other members of my family, I am only truly afraid of two things: mice and snakes.  Unfortunately the two seem to always be paired together!

I do not live in a home conducive to avoiding these two critters. Living in the woods in a house riddled with cracks and small holes, the only thing that is missing is a formal welcome mat to make these vermin more comfortable. We've tried to make our home less rodent and serpent friendly, but we are fighting a losing battle.

Sunday afternoon, one of my worst fears was realized. There was a snake- a big snake- in our attic. As if knowing that the slithery foe was in the house wasn't enough, we could lay eyes on him, but he was virtually unreachable. He was perched in our attic, lying on top of the plastic sheeting that was covering a hole in our ceiling. We could see his entire chubby, and extremely long, body above our heads and the only thing separating us was the plastic.

I wanted to turn and run, but I knew that wasn't a viable option. Robby was upset, worried that the snake was going to fall on our heads. Scott was spinning in circles and wringing his hands, mumbling the same phrase, "We're screwed." With both of my boys frozen and nobody to call for help, I had to formulate a plan.

Allowing the snake to live in our attic was not an acceptable option. If I was going to continue calling this house home, he needed to go! Thankfully the snake stayed still as I formulated a plan and gathered the courage to continue. 

I grabbed my crutch and taped my sharpest steak knife to the tip, creating a spear. Reminding myself that I only needed to be brave for 10 seconds and with the personal promise of a cupcake when the deed was over, I finally gathered the gumption to proceed. I'll spare the details of how the snake was removed, but know that after the deed was committed, I ran out of the room, shrieking and weeping like a little girl. 

Scott cleaned up the mess and we reapplied new plastic sheeting over the hole. I'm glad I was able to garner the courage to act, but I still get the willies when I think about the snake living just above our heads in our house. Needless to say, I haven't slept well. Every time I hear a noise I wonder if it is the cicadas outside or another slithery intruder above my head.  I think I need to pull my sound machine out of the closet for awhile, or perhaps I'll just loop my IPOD to play "I Am Woman."

Microwave Mishap

Friday morning I woke Robby up early. Although typically quite an ordeal, waking him early was surprisingly easy, and all I had to do was remind him that we needed to go film his commercial. Hearing those words caused him to hop out of bed and get dressed in record time.

Unfortunately Robby's boots were still soaking wet, the collateral damage of his birthday water gun fight from the previous night. In my zeal to get onto the road and lacking any other alternatives, I popped them into the microwave.  Alternating boots every 30 seconds, they were steaming (but nearly dry) within 5 minutes.  With his boots drying, Robby ran to the car in his socks, and we were on the road and headed towards the rink, only 15 minutes past my planned departure time.

Thankfully traffic, although congested, was not terrible. The fact that I could utilize the HOV lanes certainly aided our trip, cutting at least 40 minutes off the trip. We arrived at the rink an hour early. Eager to decompress, grab a cup of coffee and some breakfast, I pulled into a Denny's parking lot.

I handed Robby his boots and asked him to slip them on. By the time I walked to open his car door, I could tell that we had an issue. He couldn't get his boots onto his feet. Apparently popping them into the microwave not only dried the leather, but significantly shrunk it as well!

After 5 minutes of pushing and contorting, we finally managed to squeeze the right boot onto his foot. I was anticipating similar struggles trying to don the left boot. No matter what we tried, I just couldn't get it onto his foot.

We stood in the Denny's parking lot, struggling with the boot for the next 30 minutes. I'm sure we were quite the sight as I lifted Robby up 3 feet, holding onto only the sides of his boot. No matter what we tried,  nothing was working.

I dug through the back of our car, hoping to find a shoe horn but only managing to locate a hockey stick. I jammed the hockey stick into the boot, hoping to stretch it enough to allow his foot to enter. That desperate idea didn't work.

With only 5 minutes to spare and with both of us close to tears, we finally managed to work his little foot into the even smaller boot. I was worked into a full sweat, my dress wrinkled from the aerobic foot donning aerobics I had just endured. Robby was upset that his favorite boots weren't fitting, and angry that I shrunk them in the microwave. The euphoria from the stress-free drive had become a distant memory as we were both frazzled and high strung entering the rink.

After a few minutes of wearing and walking in his beloved boots, Robby proclaimed that they were no longer tight. He gave me a hug and apologized for being mad. I gave him a kiss and apologized for shrinking them in the microwave. With the boot catastrophe dealt with, Robby was able to become excited about meeting the hockey player and filming the commercial.

I must say that Mike Green, the Washington Capitals player whom we met, could not have been nicer. He took time to talk with Robby and to answer his questions. He posed for pictures, signed Robby's jersey and helmet, and seemed genuinely interested when Robby spoke. I overheard Robby proudly confide that he now has to wear a "private protector" when he plays hockey. I wanted to shrink into a hole at this "too much information" disclosure, but Mike just chuckled and told him that was a good thing because "you definitely want to keep that protected."

Robby did a great job with the commercial shoot. He listened to the director and followed the instructions perfectly. It took us almost 90 minutes to get there and 45 minutes to put on his boots, but the filming only took 40 minutes once we got started. 

We are going to be shooting the second portion of the commercial next week, at which time Robby will actually be on the ice. After meeting his new hockey idol, it is safe to say that Robby is beyond excited. This time, I'll try to save us from sweat and tears by keeping his boots out of the microwave.