Broken Bones

My husband and I celebrated our 17th wedding anniversary on May 26th. Since we had gone out to dinner the night before with friends to celebrate, we decided to do lunch on that day.

As we were driving around discussing what to do next, I felt the need just to return home. Actually, I needed a power nap. (Hey, it happens when we get older!) I suggested we go home, I would take a 30 minute nap, then we could do something with the kids.

When we arrived home, my thirteen year old wasn't home. When I asked his whereabouts, I was told he was outside skateboarding. Ummm! Didn't see him out front. I went upstairs for my nap. As I looked out the bedroom window, down a steep, long hill...I noticed a firetruck. For some reason, I said to myself, "I really hope that isn't for Alex." Yep, you guessed it...it was.

Before I could even get the covers on, my fifteen year old Emily, started to tell me Alex is down the hill, broken leg...she said more, but that is all I heard before I sprinted down the hill. As I got to the bottom of the hill, I saw my son strapped to a backboard, being lifted into the ambulance.

"Alex honey, it's mom." He began sobbing...mom!

I rode with him to the hospital. He is in shock...pale, shaking, groaning in pain, crying. As I held my sons hand and head, calmly talking to him in attempts to comfort him...I couldn't help but think...thank you Lord for bringing us home!

I have five children, my oldest is twenty-five. None have broken a bone till now. I have broken my wrist. When I hear my mom tell that story...it has everything to do with patience and my lack thereof. Now, my brother Scott on the other hand...many, many broken bones. I can remember as a child the anxiety felt as we sprinted home to tell my mom that Scott had crashed again off a bike or skateboard.

Here is what happened with Alex. As he was riding his scooter (not motorized) down the hill, he hit a shot gun shell. He began losing control, in attempts to stop he put his leg down... You know the rest.

While at the hospital, once he was medicated and leg set, he began telling me his perspective through tears. "Mom, I was so scared and felt so alone. My friend called 911, then out of no where this couple showed up...I really need to find them and thank them. The fire department arrived, then dad. Once I saw dad (he arrived first via car) I told the paramedics..."that's my dad" and started crying. I heard your voice and couldn't help but cry more...I was so glad you guys were there. I never want to be alone. I promise I will listen to you guys more. I love you!"

For those of you who are parents...you can understand how I felt. I was trying to be so brave, not shed a tear (that freaks them out, makes them think everything is much worse). My heart ached so bad. I just wanted to take away all the pain, fear and anxiety from my son. It doesn't matter if it is a broken bone, skinned knee, emotional anguish from a friends hurtful words, break up from a boy/girl friend, crushed spirit and on and on. I have two grown children, and my heart still aches for their pain. It never ends, no matter how young or old your children are...we still want to protect them and ease their pain.

As I write this, I can't help but imagine the intense pain God must have experienced as he watched his son be ridiculed by his people, nailed to the cross and heard his groans and cries on that cross. There was nothing God could do, but be with him while he suffered. I imagine he was holding his hand and head, comforting him with his promise. Christ paid the ultimate sacrifice so we all could be free.

Above is a photo of my son and his friend, Mike. I thank God for Mike. He called 911 and was trying to talk to Alex, holding his hand until someone else arrived so he could come get us. Thanks Mike!