Existential Realities: Reflections from a Grateful Mother

“How’s Alvaro doing?” someone asked me earlier today. “He’s doing great, like nothing ever happened,” I replied. “It’s a good thing you took him to the hospital when you did. If you  had waited until the morning, he’d.…” he trailed off. “If we had waited until the morning, he’d be dead,” I said, finishing his sentence matter of factly. “If we waited even another hour or two, he would have died.”

He then commented on how lucky we were to have things turn out like they did and added that all the prayers said for Alvaro worked.

I agreed and walked out of the room pensive and heavy hearted. I bit back tears as I moved forward.

For those who aren’t aware of our recent life events, about a month ago, our then 3 year old son fell off the Junior Loft Bed we converted into bunk beds for our boys. The bed sits 50” high (just a little over 4 feet high). Alvaro tripped and fell off the back, hitting his head on the carpeted floor. He didn’t hit any objects, but he was in obviously in terrible and unsual pain. Fearing he had a concussion, we rushed him to the ER. Over the next couple of hours, it was discovered he had an epidural hematoma (a type of traumatic brain injury caused by massive brain bleeding and blod clot). He was transported via ambulance to the Children’s Hospital downtown and was rushed immediately into surgery. The neurosurgeons had to remove a piece of his cranium, to remove the clot and stop the bleeding. He now has a massive scar on the left side of his head, along with 5 titanium screws that will fuse with his bone as his head heals from the life-saving surgical procedure.


The shock that my child was in a life-threatening situation wore off a couple of days after his surgery. It took a day or two before I could breathe and embrace the joyful news that he would be ok. Not only was he ok, he recovered at a lightning speed rate.  We had surgery about 11pm Saturday night. By Wednesday afternoon we were back at home resting and recovering. Watching him bounce right back was a miracle in itself. Seeing him return to school a little less than two weeks later was awe inspiring.

But despite my obvious joy and relief at his recovery, there remains traces of sadness and fear. Questions that trigger feelings of grief rise to the surface…. what if we hadn’t taken him in to the ER when we did? What if he had calmed down and we had no idea he was bleeding internally? What if we had lost him? And before I can stem the flow of questions, my heart is gripped in anxiety and dread.

I have always known that anything can happen to my children, despite my best efforts to provide a safe and protective environment for them. But sitting in a waiting room hospital, unable to determine whether my child would live or die was the most helpless feeling in the world. It was an all too sobering reality that life is a precious gift and that it was well out of my hands to decide when that gift would be given or taken. It was a reality I had hoped I’d never have to confront. And there I was sitting with it, waiting with it, wondering and praying through it, afraid to hope and afraid to fear.

When I feel myself getting lost in the “what ifs,” I gently and kindly remind myself he’s ok. I tell myself to focus on what is, not what could be. I turn my heart towards peace and relief and gratitude that Alvaro is back to his normal self. Not gone from me forever. But the echoes of grief and fear linger still.

I have seen some precious friends lose their little ones. A beautiful loved baby boy was born forever sleeping. Another took his last breath in the hospital, after a random sickness his body could not fight took his life. And others passed away in unexpected accidents. As I walked through our valley of the shadow of death, my heart laid heavy for my friends. I thought of them, I prayed for them, and my heart grieved that they were not able to enter into the relief that was afforded me.

So here I sit a month later still trying to process the most frightening experience of my life. One I hope and pray I never have to live through again. But it’s impact lingers still. My heart is still raw. My fears still run deep. I am grateful and cautious and sad. And despite having been a parent for 5-1/2 yrs, I feel the anxiety and stress that I felt when I brought home my very first newborn.

I am grateful beyond words Alvaro is ok and no worse for the wear (if you don’t count his scar and healing skull). I am not so sure I’m okay yet, but I will be. Eventually.