The Post I've Been Trying to Write

I want to finish the story of Josiah's drowning incident, but I'm not sure how.

I must have started this post a hundred times in my head.  But for some reason, all I can do is squeeze out bits and pieces of what I'm trying to communicate; and even what I do get out sounds strange to me--not sufficient to capture what really happened and what I'm really thinking and feeling.

I suppose I'll start where I left off...  I'm sure this will be disjointed and rough, but something written down is better than nothing, and I feel strongly that I want a record of this in the coming years.

After Jeff pulled Josiah out of the pool, they were sitting on a bench together; and I was sitting with them.  Michele Mumaw came over and talked with me to make sure that Josiah was OK, and I was so grateful for that.  I'm jumping ahead in the story; but throughout the course of the following week, I exchanged several very encouraging emails with her, and last Sunday, we talked about the incident again when I saw her before our church service.  I didn't realize this until she told me on Sunday, but Michele happened to look up from the magazine she was reading in the pool area and see Josiah struggling.  Just as she was going to yell for help or do something about the situation, she saw Jeff moving to save him.  I was incredibly relieved to hear this because perhaps the most haunting thing in the aftermath was the question, "What if I had not come back to the fence when I did?  Would no one have seen him until it was too late?"  Now I know the answer to that.  To my great relief, Michele saw him.

And so, apparently, did the lifeguard.  The day of the incident, we had had absolutely no contact with the lifeguard.  Although he was literally sitting right above where Josiah was in the pool and had a clear line of vision to Josiah, he didn't jump in the pool to save Josiah or even come over to us afterwards to make sure everyone was OK.  We assumed that he simply didn't see Josiah and was completely oblivious to what had just happened.  To his credit, we realized that it could have just looked like a child swimming face-down.  He didn't know that Josiah doesn't know how to swim.  He didn't recognize, as we did in the space of a single heartbeat, that Josiah was in distress.  Perhaps if more time had gone by, he would have realized that Josiah was in danger and would have jumped in to save him.  But all those thoughts raced through our heads after we left the pool.  In fact, on the way home, Jeff and I talked about how we wished that we had spoken to the lifeguard to at least let him know that an incident had occurred and to encourage him to stay vigilant in his job.  I do remember Jeff saying that it was probably a good thing he hadn't talked to the lifeguard because he wouldn't have been able to say anything nice to him!  But I thought I could have...and should have...said something.

The next day, I emailed Janet Blosser, director of children's ministries at our church, to let her know about the event so she could let the camp know what had happened.  Most of all, I really wanted to make sure the lifeguards were reminded of the seriousness of their task.  I'm sure watching a pool day after day can get quite boring, but being in a daze could have tragic consequences.  Janet was grateful that I told her and assured me that she would communicate with the camp about it which she did, and yesterday I got an email from her saying that the lifeguard had indeed been aware of the situation and had reported it to the director, just as he was supposed to do.  So, not only was Michele aware of the danger in which Josiah found himself that day, the lifeguard was, too.  I've been able to breathe big sighs of relief, knowing that all along, God had people in place to watch out for Josiah; and even if I had stopped walking back to the pool that day to--oh, I don't know, get a rock out of my sandal--Josiah would still have been rescued.

I hope I'm not giving the impression that I'm blaming the lifeguard or somehow trying to avoid the responsibility that is ours as parents.  Not at all!!!  I can't stress enough how huge the burden of responsibility and--yes--guilt has been as I've come to grips with what almost happened.  As far as this area goes, I've especially realized that the responsibility we entrusted to the girls watching Josiah was much too big of a load for their shoulders.  I actually feel bad that we put them in that position, and for their sakes as well as ours, I'm relieved (that word, of course, hardly does justice to my true feelings) that everything ended well.  I would hate for the burden of guilt to be carried by them, especially at their young ages.

In thinking about all of this during the past week and a half, this example has come to my mind: if I asked David to carry Tobin around the house, and he dropped him, I could not be upset with David because I should never have asked him to carry his little brother in the first place!  The load was simply too great for him to bear.  The same is true of Josiah's care in a pool (which is different than his care on a playground); it was just too big of a load for the girls' shoulders.

Back to the story...  As we were walking out of the pool area, Don Martin spoke briefly with us; but I don't really think we talked to anyone else (if we did, I can't remember it at all!).  We got to the van, helped the boys quickly change out of their wet clothes, then had no trouble deciding that Jeff would squeeze himself into the back seat between David's car seat and Josiah's booster for the ride home.  Neither Jeff nor I wanted Josiah to be left alone for even a second.  We still watched him with eagle eyes to make sure he was really OK, and we both were worried about the possibility of dry drowning (which we didn't know anything about until we read the news earlier this summer about Johnny Jackson).  Even though we knew Josiah was so tired, we didn't want him to fall asleep for fear he'd never wake up.

Joy Showalter had not brought Tobin back yet (not surprisingly, because we thought we would be spending more time at the pool) so we couldn't leave, of course; but it wasn't long until we saw her hurrying towards us with him sleeping like an angel.  Someone had seen us gathering our stuff to leave and had then seen her with Tobin and told her it was time to head back, so that all worked out OK.  

Josiah was very, very sober...extremely downcast...I don't think I've ever seen him like that or even close.  He didn't talk a whole lot, but it was obvious that he was shaken to the core by what had just happened.  

David, bless his heart, kept asking where Josiah was hurt.  "Was it his head?"  David wanted to make sure that Josiah got kisses on the hurt spot and was confused when we told him that Josiah got hurt kind of on the inside and we couldn't really kiss away the pain.

Jeff and I talked some on the way home, but there was some silence as well.  Honestly, we were still struggling to even comprehend what had just happened.  The shock was enormous.  It wasn't as if Josiah had disobeyed and wandered off into a place he shouldn't have been.  It wasn't like he had sneaked into a pool that was closed.  There were plenty of people around, including lifeguards, so why didn't someone see him struggling (obviously, this was before we knew that he had been seen by others)?  The sun was bright, the air was warm, people were happy.  Tragedies aren't supposed to happen on such a day, right?

I cried some on the way home and had to drive the beautiful, winding, country roads half-blinded by tears--but I was also extremely conscious of danger and extra cautious in my driving.  Several things stand out to me from that time and the hours after that.  First, the intensity of the "NO!" that raged within me.  Though it didn't escape my lips, a primitive, raw, angry defiance rose up in me and joined with the cry of thousands of other parents throughout history who have been faced with their child's death.  I could not accept what was happening.  Second, the thoughts of just give me these five minutes back. Let me change the outcome.  Let me be with Josiah in that pool.  Please, somebody, turn back the clock.  It's just a few minutes, after all.  How could the events of such a short amount of time so completely change everything?  Give me this time back.  Let me change it.

Reading back over that paragraph, I realize that it falls so pitifully short of what I'd really like to convey.  How can I express it?  I sit and ponder...I don't know how to do it.  Maybe those parents who have found themselves in similar situations can identify with it.

It seems to me that it's a different kind of pain than that experienced when loved ones are sick or deal with some kind of prolonged suffering before death.  I'm not at all suggesting that the shock of a sudden death is worse than the pain of a long illness, but I do think they're different.  That feeling of trying to turn back time, realizing that so much could be lost in such a short amount of time, that seemingly small decisions could have a much bigger impact than imagined, that a bit of carelessness could result in a death, that sense of "let me do it over"--all that was incredibly strong.

There was no peace in my heart, and that sounds like such a "duh!" thing to write; but later, I thought, "Davene, you think about heaven so much; and you pray regularly about it with your children.  And more than anything in life, you want to someday be in heaven with all your family.  Nothing is dearer to you than that.  If Josiah had died, he would have gone to heaven.  Why wasn't there at least an acceptance of that, even a joy that he was safely home with God, that he was finally able to give God a big bear hug like he's talked about, that he was walking and talking face to face with his heavenly Father?  Why couldn't you have rejoiced, even a little tiny bit, in that thought?"

All I can say is that there was no rejoicing in that thought.  None.  I fought against the thought of Josiah's death with all I had in me.  

I'm sure, in time, that acceptance would have come.  I'm sure my faith would have sustained me.  I'm sure I could even have come to rejoice in Josiah's safe arrival in heaven, his true home.

However, in those moments, I could not.  Not at all.  Even though Josiah was safely riding home with us in the back of our minivan with his daddy checking on him constantly to make sure he was still breathing, the size and intensity of that NO that was screaming around inside me was almost the biggest thing I could feel.  Almost, strangely enough, bigger than relief.