Gifts We Give and the Stories They Tell

This morning I was feeling a little sentimental (okay a little more than usual).  Three of the people I love most in the world aren't here with me--Chris  is in Rome, my daddy is still living and working in Augusta, and Gangan died four years ago.   I know will see her again one day but for now she just remains a part of my heart (and a constant voice in my head.)  I was missing them, and so as I often do when I miss one of them, I put on a special piece of jewelry each had given me.  It may seem strange, or perhaps more people do this than I know, but wearing them reminds me of them and how they love me and I them.  As I put on the pieces, I retold myself the stories of receiving the gifts and what they meant to me.

New Year's Even 1988 Gangan took my sister, my cousin and me on a week long cruise.  She wanted to spend time with us and it's what we wanted to do.  (The following winter she took the grandsons out west to ski--yes she was in her 80's)  We had a wonderful time and the memories of that trip--the stories from that trip we still tell each and every time we are together.  One afternoon while we were in port, Gangan took us into a jewelry shop and told us to each pick something.  She gave us a dollar limit.  My eyes were drawn to a sapphire and pearl ring which was above the limit.  No matter how hard I tried I kept coming back to it (remember I was a 20 year old ).  Beth and Meredith each chose their piece while I continued to browse always returning to the ring.  I was trying it on "for the last time" and  Gangan came up behind me and said, "It looks beautiful on you.  I wish I had your long fingers.  I'll tell you what; we'll get it and it will be your 21st birthday present as well."  Two months later when I turned 21 Gangan drove to Charlottesville to take me out so that she could buy me my first legal drink.  Each time I wear this ring I think about Gangan and how important being in relationship with her grandchildren was to her.  She met us where we were; she became involved in our lives and in our interests.  She made the relationship about us and our needs.  And she rarely asked for anything in return.

Easter of 1989 I came home for the weekend.  Easter morning there was my basket filled with the things I got every year--jelly beans, white chocolate bunny, and peanut butter eggs.  Easter afternoon after our traditional dinner of lamb I got ready to leave for the drive back to school.  Daddy came into my room where I was packing and handed me a box.  "What is that?" I asked.  "A little something for Easter for you." I opened the box and inside was a beautiful pair of earrings.  "The sapphires reminded me of your eyes," Daddy said choking back tears.  I hugged him so hard; he had never given me anything like this before.  As I pulled away he said, "I wanted to be the first man to give you a piece of real jewelry."  Looking back all these years later I realize there was so much more to that gift.  He was admitting I was growing up (I had just turned 21) and he was trying to let go while also holding on.  And he was admitting I was ready-- This September Chris and I gave Sarah Katherine a  pearl bracelet for her 18th birthday.  Chris chose it, and as I watched him give it to her, saw them embrace both in tears, I realized it too was a gift that said "you're growing up but you'll always be my little girl."  I know how hard letting go of Sarah Katherine is for Chris (and me) and because of that I know how hard it was but how much grace Daddy showed as he let go of me.  Wearing these earrings reminds me that although he let me go we will always be connected.

On July 3, 1993 as we were walking into our engagement party Chris asked me to wait for a minute.  Everyone else went inside and he pulled out a box.  Inside the box was a gold locket with my monogram on it and the date inscribed on the back.  "I know you've always wanted one of these, and I wanted you to have this.  It will be the last time I give you anything with that monogram, but I hope you'll wear it always."  This gift was more than fulfilling my wish of having a gold locket; this gift said, "you are going to become my wife, take my name, but you will always be you." His gift acknowledged I was my own person with my own identity that started before we were a couple and that will continue afterwards.  And this gift represented the huge step we were both taking as we "officially" launched our engagement.

So I put these pieces of jewelry on today and I am reminded of the stories and the relationships behind them.  I am reminded that I am loved and respected for who I am both in relationship with each of these people but also as my own person.  And I wonder about the gifts I have given people and the stories and meanings they have created.  Our gifts to one another often go far beyond what they are to what they represent; the value of the gifts is far less important than the love that comes with them.  We give gifts to one another both tangible and intangible. Today take a moment and remember a gift and the person who gave it to you and give thanks to God for that relationship.

Today I am wearing three beautiful pieces of jewelry given to me by three people I love and who love me dearly.  Today I give thanks for them.

An Unexpected Gift of Grace

Explaining the relationship I have with my sister is very difficult; to say we're best friends doesn't seem to be adequate.  To say that she's the half that makes me whole isn't accurate; that is more the place and role of our husbands.  (Back when we were married almost 20 years ago, my father gave our husbands long distance gift cards--this was in the days when we paid for long distance.  He said, "I'll start you out with what it's going to cost you with these two, and then your on your own.  The telephone cord is their umbilical cord to one another--I suggest you not cut it.")

I suppose that as limiting and inadequate as these words are, I would have to say she's my compass--she orients me because she has been with me and knows my past, we're together in the present and she'll be with me through the future.  She is the vessel that holds my memories, the companion of my present, and the instrument which catapults me toward the future.  Together we remember who we are--"the Kanto girls" and together we push one another to stretch ourselves into becoming more while holding onto each other.  We have a relationship that cannot be described, defined, or imitated.  It is an intense relationship and as can be the case with intense, vulnerable relationships, it isn't always easy.  We've recently had one of those times.

The details of our disagreement are ours alone; suffice it to say that texts and emails are not always the best modes of communication even when or perhaps especially when you love someone so dearly.  We had a misunderstanding and that coupled with very busy lives resulted in our not communicating for ten or so days; I convinced myself it didn't matter.

Friday night I was with two sisters.  One lives in Washington DC and one in Kentucky.  I was there when they reunited, and I saw the love and joy they shared just  being together.  It made my heart happy and it felt like an arrow piercing my heart.  I was overcome with an intense painful ache-a longing for my sister that pulsated through my body and soul.  I thought nothing of our "misunderstanding" but only about our relationship, and I needed to know that it still mattered to her too.  I was shrouded in fear; what if this was what permanently tore us apart?  I didn't trust in our relationship; I doubted, if only for a moment, the strength and endurance of our relationship, and I suddenly felt like I had been cut off from a part of myself. All of these emotions came on suddenly and intensely.  As the evening wore on and the festivities of the night continued, the emotional typhoon subsided some, but it remained a dull ache in my soul.

I said good night to the sisters and the almost sister and headed home to my family.  As I arrived I noticed a box on the front porch.  It was addressed to me.  I began to rack my brain wondering what I had ordered (and how mad Chris was going to be that I did order yet another thing).  I opened the box and in it I found an "it's so ugly it's cute" owl.  Initially I didn't find any card; when I did it said, "Love your chi omega sister."  I wanted to believe it was from my sister who also happens to be my sorority sister, but I couldn't let myself completely give into that hope.  We hadn't spoken for days, why would she send me this gift?  And so I again doubted the strength of our relationship and instead protected my heart.

The next morning it was confirmed.  It was a gift from my sister and that owl (that my children say will haunt them at night) became both a gift of love and grace and the tangible reminder that our relationship is more than misunderstood texts and emails--that our relationship is anchored in unconditional love.  Our relationship with all its warts, like many relationships, can in fact be a testimony to God's active presence, through ordinary relationships, in the world.

Friday afternoon The Rev. Canon Jason Lewis proclaimed that our calling as a church is to listen for and look for God's presence in the world today and then to point to it.  I suspect we often miss it when it's right in front of us.  But we need to pay attention to the whole world--the big and the small, to what seems momentous and to what seems ordinary and coincidental.  We need to notice, identify,and celebrate .  God is active in our lives.  God's present activity is known in forgiveness, unconditional love, mercy, and in broken and restored relationship. Sometimes that presence is seen when we feed the hungry, when we tend the sick, when we witness the reunion of sisters, and sometimes it's when we open an unexpected box containing an unexpected gift.

Enjoy it today Darlin'

Today I finished day 100 of my 100 day challenge--at least 1 mile walking or running everyday for 100 days straight.  It was cold, and I was running late which may explain why I was running 8 minute 15 second miles.  Whatever the reason, I was pretty pleased with myself; I would have started singing the happy song but I was having a hard enough time breathing--45 years old (middle aged, not old, right Cliff?) but still running at a decent pace.  And then I remembered my 16 year old son coming home last week and telling me he had finished the mile in 6 minutes 20 seconds.  Back to that middle aged thing... I flashed back to  March 2010 and a 5K we did together.

It was another cold morning and the first of the triple crown leading up to the Derby mini marathon.  Chris and I were both signed up, but he had the flu.   He really wanted that t-shirt and you have to do all three legs, (or maybe I really wanted to not go downtown alone) so Boss stepped up and said, "I'll run this one for you."  We were both a little surprised; true we all run the turkey trot every Thanksgiving morning, but other than that, I'm not sure we'd ever seen him go out and run.  But off we went.  We started the race together and I tried to pace myself with him.  I was a little worried about his asthma, and I wanted to help him, to encourage him.  Towards the end of the first mile he turned to me and said, "You know, I'd really like to do this on my own.  You go ahead; I'll be fine."  So, not being the mother of the year but rather being the competitive mother of a child with asthma who justified leaving him with the thought, "there's lots of EMT's around" I took off.  I crossed the finished line and my maternal instincts kicked back in so I began walking the route backwards.  About half a mile from the finish line I saw Christopher.  He was still running but looked a little tired; I broke the rules and went back on the course to finish with him.  As I got over to him he said, "I haven't walked once."  He was so proud and we finished together.  As we were heading back to the car he said, "Thanks for coming back for me; I know I could have done it but I'm glad you were there at the end."  I too know he would have done it; he's quite competitive--not sure where he gets that?   When we got home Chris asked us how we did and I went back into competitive mode and stated my time and then Christopher's.  Chris responded, "Enjoy it today Darlin' it's not going to last." Truer words have never been spoken.

As I was remembering this I started thinking--when the children were small I had to drastically slow my walking pace down so they could keep up.  I distinctly remember one afternoon William saying, "My legs hurt trying to keep up with you."  It hit me like a ton of bricks.  What was I in such a hurry to do?  And so from that day forward, as hard as it was, I tried to match my pace with theirs.   I couldn't walk ahead of them--it wasn't safe and my job was to protect them, to nurture them, to be there for them.  And what a joy it was to watch them explore the world, to see things I wouldn't have seen as I rushed through the day.  It was an even greater lesson, honor, and privledge to listen to them--to hear the stories of their days, to hear what was important to them and to listen to them dream.  As they got older they needed a little more freedom and to go at their own pace--sometimes alone. They need to know they can accomplish something with their own grit, with their own inner resources and strength.  Sometimes they needed and need to be alone; to struggle through their own life race but to always know I'll be there for them.  I will come back, and I will find them.  Some of their stories and dreams they still share with me, but I suspect some are just theirs.  And now as they are moving towards moving out and on with their lives, it sometimes feels like they are leaving me behind, and that is hard.  I am watching them move forward; I am cheering them on; and I know they are ready, but I miss those old days.  I suspect that one day when I am much older they will have to slow their pace down and wait for me.  It's a circle of life.

It reminds me of walking our journeys of faith.  Sometimes we need people to really slow down their pace or we need to really slow down ours and just be with each other wherever we are.  We need to listen to each others stories, hopes and dreams and walk hand in hand exploring our lives and the world God created for us.  Other times we have to struggle and move forward by ourselves understanding there are people who are cheering for us and who will continue to be there for us whether they have to come back or we have to slow down to wait for them.  Sometimes we may even have to break some rules to walk with someone.  Sometimes, as hard as it may be, we may even have to let go.

"Remember that life is short and we have too little time to gladden the hears of those who travel with us.  So be quick to be kind, make haste to love, and may the blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit be with you, with those you love, and with all those you encounter this day and all the days of your life."  (Anonymous with some changes by me)

My "Standards" Have Fallen

I can't remember what "trauma" prompted the phone call last spring to one of my oldest, dearest, and wisest friends.  This friend is always there for me; I wish I called her more frequently just to catch up. Instead this is the friend I call when I need to be grounded, when I need a calming presence, a listening ear, and a nonjudgmental conversation.  She is someone who knows me and my neurosis and loves me anyway.  And perhaps most importantly, she loves my children and outside of the family may be the only person who knows everything about them. Everyone should have a friend like this.

Anyway, I called her with the latest "issue"--I can pretty much guarantee that I went on and on about how I was failing as a parent, about how I didn't know what to do; basically I went on and on making it all about me.  And she patiently listened, offered wise counsel, and then we moved onto catching up on our other children--we have a passel between us.  Our oldest are either in college search or have made their decisions.  We laughed about how when they were three and four years old they used to compete with multiplication facts. We laughed about all the things we used to worry about (okay I'll be honest,  I worried and obsessed about it more than she did.  She's always been more level headed.) As we were concluding our reminiscing my wise friend said, "You know I've let so much go.  My goals and standards have certainly changed.  If I can just get them out of high school and not in jail, I'll consider that a success."  I laughed and added, "Yeah, and not pregnant or addicted to anything would be icing on the cake."  We were making light and laughing but the comments have reverberated with me for all these months.

What did we mean by letting so much go and our goals and standards changing?  Are we just tired? Are we giving up?  I knew that wasn't true.  Suddenly this week it hit me--the goals and standards I was striving for all those years ago were about me.  I suppose I needed to be validated; I needed the children to "achieve" in order to make myself feel important and successful.  And I believed that achievement had to come in the way the world defined achievement and success.  I wanted to be the mother of the valedictorian, the quarterback, the captain of the team, the class president, the star of the play, the Ivy league graduate because I thought then I would know I had been a "good mother."

Let me be honest, I love watching the children reach for their dreams and I cheer and support them as they chase them.  I cannot watch Sarah Katherine dance without tearing up; I watch with pride as Christopher and William take the field or the court; and when Caroline is performing or playing sports, the pure joy on her face brings joy to my heart.  But what I have learned is these "things" are a) not about me and b) not the measure of success that is most important.  It is hard to let go of that. What I now hear when I think about our flippant comment is that I want the children to grow up and be caring and compassionate people.  I assume that if they can graduate from high school not in jail than they have tried to "persevere in resisting evil, and to respect the dignity of all people, and have tried to strive for peace and justice among all people." (BCP, p.292)   And if they do these things--it is THEIR success, THEIR achievement; while I can be proud of the people they have become, it is not about me.  I may have been one of the important people in their lives guiding them, but they have made their own choices.  Yes I want the children to be successful, and  yes I want them to lead productive lives, but I have to remember that they are their own people--they will make their own choices and have to face their own consequences--good and bad.  Some choices I will agree with and some I won't. I suppose it's not that I have let my standards and goals fall but rather I have tried to stop making then all about me I have tried to release the goals the world says I must have for them, and I have have attempted to loosen my death grip on the children and instead  allow them to claim their own personhood.  It's a daily challenge, a daily struggle, and a daily joy.

PS
I have to say that I am so thankful that despite all the things I have considered traumas I have not had to face (at least yet) addiction, teen pregnancy or any other truly difficult and life changing situation, and my heart and prayers go out to all those parents who have.

Responding (or not) and Relationships

Halloween has always been a big deal at our house--we always fix a big pot of chili and the children invite as many friends as they'd like.  This year Caroline asked if she could have five friends for chili, trick-or-treating and to spend the night (no school on Friday the 1st).    Plans started being made; costumes designed and space scoped out--Christopher was also having four friends over for all of the above including spending the night.

Wednesday afternoon (the 30th) I got a text from Caroline stating that three of the five girls had backed out.  I asked her what they were doing instead and she replied the three of them were going to one house.  She made no mention of having been invited to go too.  My Mama Tiger adrenline started pumping.  I know these girls, and I know their parents.  It didn't sound like something they would do.  I couldn't figure out what had happened.  I asked Caroline what was going on and she said, "I'm not gonna make a big deal about it because I already learned my lesson from that."  Ahh--last summer

Last summer Caroline was uninvited from a trip to an amusement park.  She was very upset; I suggested that she just ask the girl who was organizing it why she wasn't invited.  I suspected it came down to a numbers thing--perhaps this young lady had been told she could invite people and she went over the agreed upon number.  I had no idea, but I convinced Caroline that it was a good idea to just ask and get an answer rather than imagine all sorts of things.  I projected my need to know onto her. And for whatever reason, this time she listened to me (why this time she had to I'll never know)--the next thing I knew she has thrown herself across the bed and was sobbing.  I honestly to this day cannot figure out the whole story, but I do know asking was the worst thing she could have done.  It stirred some middle school drama pot and the texts were flying--for two weeks she felt that she had no friends.  No one would talk to her; no one would come over; she was miserable.  It ended when another girl came back in-town (one who had not cancelled on her for Halloween). This young lady knew nothing about the weeks of drama we had all just endured so she invited the whole gang over to her new hot tub.  It wasn't perfect; I ended up getting a call to come get her, but it broke the ice and by the time school started a few days later the estrogen storm raging through the various households had subsided.

Caroline took that lesson and chose not to ask the girls for details.  She chose relationship over the need for a response.  She told me they were still all sitting together at lunch and things were fine on the basketball court.  By Thursday all but one had cancelled.  As Caroline and her friend got in the car on Halloween, they were excited and full of energy.  They had decided to just have a good time; and a good time they did have.  Yesterday Caroline came home from school and all was well.

I still believe that sometimes we need to clear the air, ask the question and have open and honest dialogue.  We do, however, also have to consider why we are starting a discussion--is it for clarity, for healing, for reconciliation or is it just to make ourselves feel better, to erase the discomfort we feel?  It matters--when we our only striving to keep ourselves from feeling any pain and we are not considering the other--it becomes about the response and not the relationship.

Relationships are hard; sometimes they require difficult conversations and sometimes they require silence.  James P. Bartz writes, "If in our reading of scripture we search only for behavioral directive in order to achieve the best possible experiences and outcomes for our individual selves, we miss the "pearl of great price", which is the truth that the kingdom of heaven is at hand when humanity is actively engaged in the mission of loving God and loving or neighbors as ourselves." (Anglican Theological Review, Fall 2013, p.690)  Sometimes loving our neighbors means allowing ourselves to be uncomfortable, to remain silent--sometimes it means speaking up, but it should always be about relationship because it is in and through our relationships with one another (even overly dramatic estrogen infused middle school girls) and with God that we experience the kingdom of heaven right here and now.  Through our relationships we catch glimpses of the kingdom of God in the halls of the middle schools, in the workplace, in our families, and in our churches.  God grant me the courage to speak when I need to speak, to remain silent when I need to remain silent, and the wisdom to discern the difference.

A Lesson in Forgiveness--from a 3 year old

The third and final part of Caroline's trauma trilogy took place in May of 2004--21 months after she lost her pinky.  (The pinky accident took place 21 months after the skull fractures--we held our breath throughout February 2006, but it came and went and eventually we exhaled..)

This particular Sunday evening we packed a picnic dinner, loaded the four children into their four carseats/boosters, and headed down to the Three Rivers Art Festivals to hear music and enjoy the finally warm weather.  We ate and then decided to walk around a little bit to see the booths--read walk around and listen to the children beg for face painting and balloons and cotton candy.  As we were walking we passed a man with a golden retriever.  The children all asked, as we had taught them to do,  if they could pet him and he said yes.  As we made our way back to our blanket we saw the man was sitting less than 20 feet from us.  Caroline asked if she could sit by the dog and pet him.  The man said yes--the other children were right around there and everyone was in our sight.

The concert ended; Chris went to gather the children, and I began to pack up.  The next few minutes are seared into my memory.  I was leaning down picking up the basket, as my head came up I heard screaming and saw three of the children running towards me.  William was screaming, "blood, blood, blood" over and over; Sarah Katherine's face was pale white, and Christopher grabbed my hand and said, "Run!"  I had no idea what had happened but I took off running covering the 20 feet in lightning speed.  As I approached I could hear Caroline screaming, "Mommy" and I saw her in Chris' arms.  What I couldn't see was any of her face--not one feature there was so much blood.  As Chris handed her to me he began saying, "I don't think it's that bad; remember head wounds bleed a lot.  It was the dog--he lunged at her when she stood up."

The next 20 minutes were frantic but also a testimony to the goodness and care of people--of strangers.  A young college kid whipped off his t-shirt and we wrapped it literally over Caroline's head.  He and his friends then took the boys about 50 yards away and started throwing the football with them, engaging them in conversation, keeping them from seeing the chaos.   A young woman took Sarah Katherine's hand and they went to regather the dropped picnic supplies the woman talking to SK the entire time--asking her about music and anything else.  A security guard appeared; he looked at Caroline's head and immediately radioed for an ambulance.  Four very large burly men, and I'll admit it men who looked like people I wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley, surrounded the man with the dog.  The man still hadn't said a word; he never to this day has spoken to us, but he had tried to walk off.  These men were having none of it.  Chris and I desperately tried to stop the bleeding but it wasn't working.  I still hadn't seen my baby's face; every time I wiped away blood, more poured forth.

As we were waiting for the ambulance I called my good friend Nicole Kitchen--I got the words out, "I need help with the children; Caroline's hurt"  She immediately responded, "I'll meet you at Children's--"  The EMT's radioed back that because of where we were they couldn't get any closer and asked if we could begin walking towards an open field.  The entire group of people I have mentioned, minus the four burly men still surrounding the dog, began the walk towards the ambulance.  It felt like a procession; it now feels like a holy procession.  For the third time I was loaded into the ambulance holding my child; as the doors closed I saw the faces of all those whose names I didn't know but through whom the love of God had been extended.  I never saw them again; I never thanked them; I hope they know.

We arrived at the hospital and were immediately put into a room.  Several doctors rushed in and began examining Caroline and talking amongst themselves.  "I see her skull"  "Not sure if she's lost part of her nose."  I stood there shaking and praying.  I wanted to hear what they were saying, and yet I didn't really want to know.  I looked at the nurse and asked, "Is Dr. Saladino here?"  "No," she responded, "He's off today."  They got the bleeding stopped and put temporary bandages on her.  About this time Chris and the children walked in.  Following them was our friend the security guard who always stands at the parking garage doors.  We knew him well--always brought him hot chocolate during the winter.  After the children saw Caroline and were assured that she was not going to die, the guard took the children back to wait for Mrs. Kitchen.  I heard these words again, "I'm not supposed to do this, but yous both need to be hear with this angel. I'll take care of these urchins."  (Yous is not a typo :))

As the children left a young doctor walked in and explained that they were going to have to sew her up but in layers because of the extent of the injuries.  He asked when she had last eaten and we said within the last hour--ugh--that meant we had to wait some time because they were going to need to put her to sleep.  I looked at the young man and it hit me, he was a resident or an intern--and so I said, "Excuse me, are you a resident?"  "Yes, a third year," he responded.  I hope I said the following kindly, but I can't promise that, "Sir, I know you're training.  I'm sure you're very good.  But I'm going to have to ask you to call for a plastics attending.  You are not touching her.  You're going to have to learn on someone else."  (I probably shouldn't have added that last part.)  Just then the door opened and in walked a nurse with  Dr. Saladino.  He told the resident he would take over and the young man left.  Dr. Saladino said to us, "Just a minute" and he stepped out.  I heard him say, "She doesn't mean to be rude.  Her father is the head of a children's hospital.  She probably knows you've been on for hours."  (To be honest I didn't care if he'd been on for hours or at just arrived--I was still asking for an experienced attending.  But he didn't have to know that.)  The nurse told Chris and me that Dr. Saladino happened to stop by on his way home from the very same concert to sign a chart.  Someone told him a family asked for him; he asked who it was and then immediately called his wife and said he wouldn't be home.  We love that man!!!

We waited for what seemed an endless amount of time for her to be prepared for surgery, thank goodness they gave Caroline lots of pain medicine.  The police showed up to take the report.  They told us that they had taken the dog into custody because he had no shot tags and they would run tests and let us know.  Chris asked what would happen to the dog.  The officer couldn't look him in the eye.  "Chances are he will be returned to his owner."  An intense rage flashed across Chris' face and he said, "I'll kill that dog with my bare hands" as he walked out of the room to compose himself.  I stood there with the officer, staring down at our child and he said, "I would too.  I'm so sorry m'am."

Eventually Caroline was sewn up--86 stitches in her forehead and 7 in her nose.  We were released around 4:30 am.  God love Nicole who kept our other three all night AND got SK to school the next morning in time for her talent show--dressed in full costume.  Chris stayed home with Caroline and I went to watch--102 elementary acts!  A woman I semi-knew said, "You look exhausted--fun weekend?"  I couldn't even respond.

Within two days I realized that things were not going well for Caroline.  Despite the antibiotics that she was on the incision was oozing and red.  Wednesday morning, the first morning of summer vacation, I knew she had to go back to the hospital.  Chris had already left for work so I loaded up the four children and headed back to Children's.  We were admitted immediately and IV antibiotics were started.  The doctor explained that she would most likely need at least 5 days of them.  Five more days in the hospital and now no school to help with the children.  It didn't matter.  Word had spread and people were ringing our phone off the hook wanting to bring us food, visit Caroline and take the other children.  Caroline's preschool class made sure that at least one person came to visit and brought her a gift everyday.  Her bed is still covered with the stuffed animals she received.  Chris' co-workers, the COT, took over his work so he could work with lawyers, (we didn't know if we were going to need additional funds for future surgeries--this was a very uncomfortable time for us and difficult decisions; this was the first time Chris and I prayed aloud together for guidance.  It came through the voices and advice of my father and Dr. Saladino.  "This isn't about you and being nice.  This is about protecting Caroline and providing for her future needs.  When doctors recommend hiring a lawyer--seems like Divine intervention and we decided it was the thing to do. We called one of our friends from church who was a lawyer.  He said he'd take it but he wanted us to have the best, so he got Chris into "the office of the best in town" for these type of cases.)   On the day of their son's graduation and graduation party the Woodyard's took the other three to the pool and then brought them home with trays of shrimp--we'd been invited to the party and the shrimp were bought knowing we'd be there.  Miss Pat spent hours reading to Caroline before she left on Saturday to lead the youth mission trip.  Angels surrounded us.

We were discharged very late Saturday night.  Sunday morning Chris and I were watching TV having decided that God understood that we simply couldn't get all the children up and to church. Our bodies hurt we were so exhausted.  I have to admit I was also worried about taking Caroline out in public.  She looked really bad--double black eyes, swollen face--guess I didn't really learn about that vanity stuff.  As I was sipping my second cup of coffee Caroline walked into the room and said, "When are we leaving for church?"  "We're going to take this Sunday off" I responded.  "NO!!" she screamed.  "It's Sunday, we have to go."  I looked over at Chris and we exchanged the what do we do now look.  "I'll go I said but let the other children sleep.  I'll just take Caroline." "You do realize," said Chris, "Church starts in 20 minutes."  No shower--throw on clothes--and off we go.

Caroline went to children's chapel and I sat in the church way back in the corner of the nave--a long distance from the front pew where we usually sat. I sat and I cried.  I felt so overwhelmed, so tired, and yet so thankful.  I worried about the scarring and I yelled at God in my head--how many physical "deformities" does this child have to endure?  At the peace Caroline came skipping into the church, mary janes clicking on the stone floor, and for the first time she found me and not her beloved Miss Janie.  She climbed up in my lap and brushed away my tears and then settled in.  As we were leaving church Kelly, one of the children's chapel volunteers, stopped me.

"I have to tell you something," she said as she squeezed my hand.  Caroline had run off for her doughnut as she did every Sunday.  Children's chapel at St. Paul's was amazing.  They basically followed exactly what we were doing in church but it was very interactive.  Kelly said, "During the prayers Caroline had a special request--she asked that her mommy and daddy learn how to forgive the man and the dog and not be mad anymore.  Tears began streaming down my face--there's more said Kelly.  She also asked that God let the dog know that she was okay and that she knew he didn't mean to hurt her.  She didn't want the dog to be sad and she knew he was sorry.  A lesson in forgiveness--a lesson I needed and that I struggle to remember.

Part 2 of Caroline's Trauma--Well I was dropped on my head...

I opened a can I'm not sure I was ready to open. But it's opened so here goes--Caroline's traumas are really a trilogy and since I started I feel pulled to finish the story.  So here's part two.

November 2000 my nephew was to be baptized in Philadelphia.  Chris was in grad school and I wasn't working, so finances were a bit tight.  We decided to divide and conquer.  He would stay home with the "big kids" (ages just turned 5 and 3), and I would take the "babies" with me (4 and 21 months old).  It seemed a perfect plan and was a wonderful weekend until....

Late Sunday afternoon Dritte, my little brother, drove my sister, my parents, me and the babies back to the airport.  We all had different flights but around the same times.  We said our goodbyes and I started towards my gate pushing the double stroller with William's car seat propped on the top while balancing the over sized diaper bag and my purse.  Caroline was getting pretty squirrley as she was hungry; my plan was to nurse her on take off.

I arrived at the gate and approached the desk.  I could both see and feel people staring at me and I'm fairly certain they were all hoping they didn't have a seat near me.  As I got to the desk to check in the attendant said, "I'm really sorry but we're overbooked and have had to bump you from this flight."  Are you kidding me?!?!?!  Who bumps a woman flying alone with two children under 2?  "But," he continued, "We can get you to Chicago tonight and put you up in a  hotel and fly you to Atlanta in the morning."  I didn't say it, but I thought, "Why would I want to fly to Chicago by myself with two small children you moron?"  Instead I said, "I'll just stay here for the night. Can you get me on a flight in the morning?" I suspected that Dritte was not going to be thrilled to have unexpected guests for another night he's more of a neurotic planner than I am, but I couldn't worry about that right then.  Caroline's squirrliness was turning into full blown screams.  We were re-booked, I called my brother to come back and get us--to his credit he was very sweet.  I then called my parents to tell them what happened.  Mama could hear Caroline screaming through the phone, or perhaps through the airport, it was that loud, so she said she'd meet me to help get to the car.

Mama got Caroline out of the stroller; I continued to push the stroller with one hand as I called Chris to let him know what was happening.  "Just let me know he said.  We're going to the Balls' for dinner."  Mama was in front of me and suddenly I saw her slip.  As she was slipping she threw Caroline into the air; it was slow motion as I watched Caroline arc up and then down.  She landed on her head.  There was a loud echo and then complete silence.

I dropped the phone in the stroller and raced the 15 feet to scoop Caroline up off the floor.  I saw a man sitting at a table a few feet away and shouted, "help that woman."  There was no blood, but Caroline wasn't making a sound.  I saw my sister approaching and I screamed, "Where's Daddy?" "Down the escalator" she directed, "I'll get William."  I took off running.  As I raced towards the escalator Caroline began to cry.  I reached the top of the steep escalator and saw Daddy at the bottom talking to a security guard.  "Daddy!" I shrieked.  He looked up and I suppose saw terror on my face; he definitely heard Caroline.  He turned to the security guard and said, "I think we're going to need an ambulance."

I reached Daddy and he took Caroline into his arms as I breathlessly explained, "Mama dropped her.  She landed on her head; she didn't cry.  She went silent."  "Well she's crying now," Daddy calmly said as he felt along her head, "That's a good sign."  He continued to rub his hand over the back of her head and I could see his lips moving.  I know now that he was counting the number of fractures that he could feel.  Meredith arrived with William and the stroller just as the EMT's arrived.  Wild Willie as he was known around Athens was unusually quiet.  He climbed out of his stroller, stood beside me with eyes wide open, and silently held my hand. Daddy began explaining to the EMT's that he was a pediatrician and he suspected multiple skull fractures.  He told them to take us to Children's Hospital of Philadelphia.  As they strapped me onto the stretcher holding my precious baby Daddy began to quietly explain to me what was probably going to happen.  "Listen carefully," he said, "This is the type of injury that occurs with child abuse.  They will most likely separate you when you get there and question you.  Don't worry--I will be right behind you."  I was trying to focus on what he was saying but William was beginning to panic and would not let go of me. He was desperately trying to climb onto the stretcher with me.  My sister Meredith was attempting to convince him that he could ride with her and Pop, but he was having none of it.  One of the EMT's said to the other, "Grab the car seat and put him in the back with ya'll."  "We're not allowed to do that," replied the driver.  "Screw the rules--oh sorry m'am--forget the rules.  We've got to get this child to the hospital."  And so we were all loaded and off we went full lights and sirens.

As we made our way towards the hospital I prayed like I had never prayed in my whole life.  I asked God to please not take this child from us.  She was our miracle baby--a 1% chance of being conceived--and she had brought so much joy to all of us.  From the moment she was born we knew there was something special about her.  She lit up a room.  "please God," I prayed, "I wanted this child so badly; you gave her to me, please don't take her.  Please don't make me have to call Chris and tell him we've lost a child." I couldn't bear to think about how I would make that phone call. Every time she stopped crying however briefly, I stopped breathing.

As we arrived at the hospital and the doors opened I immediately knew my father was right.  There were doctors and nurses and one very official looking woman with a clipboard. As they were pulling me out of the ambulance she said, "I'm going to need you to follow me when you get off the stretcher.  I have a few questions."  One of the nurses asked me what the baby's name was.  I have no idea what possessed me to answer with her full name, but I said, "Caroline Kanto Doyle"  Suddenly one of the doctors abruptly turned around.  "Did you say Kanto?" he asked, "As in Dr. Bill Kanto?"  "Yes," I responded, "he's my father; he's on his way.  We were all at the airport.  My mother dropped her." Tears began streaming down my face.   The man's eyes softened as he patted my arm turned to the woman and said, "We're not going to need you.  Dr. Kanto trained me.  I'm sure everything is fine.  We'll let you know."

Daddy appeared just as they were whisking us to x-ray; he shook the doctor's hand and took William from me.  After x-rays we were put in a room where Meredith, Dritte, and Mama were waiting.  Meredith took William and said, "Let's go get lots of candy."  (She is still his favorite aunt to this day and she still spoils him rotten.)  Mama kept trying to apologize to me and explain what happened.  She kept saying, "It wasn't my fault."  I knew it wasn't her fault; I knew it was an accident, but I couldn't focus on that just then.  I still believed there was a good chance my child was going to die, and I needed all my emotional strength to hold myself together.  "Dritte," I pleaded, "Please get her out of here."  And he did.  Daddy, Caroline, and I were left waiting--it wasn't long before the doctor asked Daddy to step into the hall.  I could see them through the door way pointing and counting and I saw my father step away and wipe tears from his eyes.  He regained his composure and the two of them re entered the room.  They explained to me there were between 5 and 7 fractures a couple close to blood vessels and arteries.  They said she needed a CAT scan immediately and if it was what they suspected she would be taken directly from there to the OR.  I needed to sign consent forms.  Daddy said, "They're going to let me put on scrubs.  I'll go with her to the CAT scan and I'll be in the operating room.  She'll never be alone.  But Katherine Mouse, you need to call Chris and tell him he needs to be prepared to get here.  When.." and he caught himself, "If we take her into surgery we'll send someone to tell you and Chris needs to get on a plane.  Kiss your baby and we have to go now."  He lovingly reached for her.  To this day letting him take her from my arms is the hardest thing I've ever done.  I kissed her forehead and prayed this wouldn't be the last time I held her.

They showed me to a waiting room and I dialed our home number.  My very dear friend and Caroline's godmother Gillian answered.  I told her I needed to talk to Chris.  "What's going on?" she asked.  I briefly explained and repeated I needed to talk to Chris.  "Leslie and I are here at your house right now.  We're cleaning and scrubbing.  You should see Leslie with a sponge."  In an instant it hit me, she was stalling and why was she at my house cleaning?  "Gillian, what's going on?"  "Weeeeelllll," she started, "When you first called Chris called me to tell me they weren't coming to dinner and what happened so I came and got the children so he could focus on you.  We were playing and there was just a little accident--it's not serious."  "What happened?" I asked as I begin to panic.  "It's really going to be fine," she assured me, "Sarah Katherine fell off the slide and cut her head kind of close to her eye.  I think she's going to need a couple of stitches."  I immediately hung up and called Chris on his cell.  He answered and before he could say anything I said, "Get a plastic surgeon to sew her up!"  "Too late," he answered, "Now what's going on there?"  I filled him in and he said that he would get home and get packed.  As I hung up the phone I saw my father heading towards me and smiling with Caroline in his arms.  A nurse was scrambling to keep up pushing the IV pole.  "It is truly a miracle," Daddy said, "The fractures are all around the vessels but they've missed it.  Surgery is not needed."  I burst into tears as I gathered a very drugged Caroline into my arms, "Oh thank you God," I said over and over.  Daddy explained they were going to put us in the ICU for observation for 24 hours and if all went as they expected we would be discharged the next day.  Daddy's former student was standing in the background waiting to say goodbye.  "I don't know how to thank you" I said.  "It wasn't me, it truly was Divine.  God bless you and your family.  It was good to see you again Dr. Kanto."  Daddy turned to the man, tears streamed down his face as he said, "Bill--call me Bill; you took care of my grandchild.  I'm just Bill."  The two men embraced and he left.

Meredith returned with William; Dritte returned with Mama and it was decided that Daddy and Meredith would try to get the last flights out.  Dritte would take Mama and William back to his house.  William was clutching a bag of candy and Meredith told him he could have it all to himself if he went with Uncle Dritte and Babah.  (God bless them for dealing with a 21 month old full of sugar!)  They took us up to the ICU and I climbed into bed with Caroline.  I asked for a phone and I called Christy my prayer warrior.  I didn't even realize I was calling another mother of 4 children at 11:30 at night and she never said a word.  She listened to me and let me process and she prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for us and as only someone as sweet and kind as she is could do, she also asked God to bless and be with all those parents who were not leaving the hospital with their children in their arms.  After we hung up, I laid in the bed with Caroline and cried.  As her drugs wore off, Caroline became playful; I was exhausted, my whole body ached.  The nurse sitting beside the bed looked at me and said, "I'm not supposed to do this, but let me take the baby.  I'll walk the halls with her so you can get some sleep.  I've heard it's been quite a day for you."

The following morning we were discharged.  Mama, William, Caroline and I headed to the airport where we were given first class seats.  Caroline's head was three times it's normal size and completely bruised, but she was alive and we were going home.

Chris and the big kids met us at the Atlanta airport.  Sarah Katherine had a bandage over her stitches, Caroline looked quite odd, the boys were rumpled messes, but we were all together.  Chris and I circled our arms around each other and all four children.  I felt complete peace, happiness, and gratitude.  As we stepped apart Sarah Katherine looked closely at Caroline's head.  "She looks funny," she said, "but I got stitches."

We arrived back in Athens to balloons and signs in the yard and a piping hot dinner in our oven.  We felt so blessed to have the friends and neighbors that surrounded us during that time.  There have only been a  few lingering effects from the weekend; Sarah Katherine has a slight scar by her eye; I spent months trying to convince the insurance company that it was indeed possible to have two hospital bills in two different states at exactly the same time; and Caroline now responds, "well I was dropped on my head" whenever I wonder why she does some of the crazy things she does.