Accidents
Be Not Afraid Accidents
Chapter 9
Accidents
Ten years have passed, and still people look at Hillary's son and ask, "Isn't he the one that choked?"
We were sitting in church, in the middle of a service,
when an usher called us out. Our son Jarius, who was in
daycare, was choking. We got there in minutes, taking
three other people we knew from the congregation – two
of them medics, and one a nurse. Immediately they
began trying to open his airway. Once in a while they
got it partially opened, and he would cry out, weakly.
In between he was silent. But even then his whole
body fought with the medical team as they alternately
pounded on his back and suctioned his throat.
Jarius was nine months old – a happy, healthy baby
just beginning to explore the world around him. His
favorite means of locomotion was rolling sideways,
and he could get anywhere he wanted in this fashion.
Be Not Afraid Accidents
He would roll over to grab a toy, and then lie on his
back studying it – or examining his fingers and the way
they moved. That morning, he was playing on the floor
when his daycare teacher noticed he was having trouble
breathing. Luckily, she called for help right away…
As the three rescuers continued to struggle, it was clear
that they weren't succeeding. Now he was completely
obstructed most of the time, and when he did catch a
breath, it was obvious that he wasn't getting enough
oxygen. An ambulance was called, and when it arrived
my husband, Travis, and I jumped in with Jarius.
On the way to the hospital the team continued to
pound and suction; they also monitored his vital signs
closely. Unfortunately, we still had no idea what was
causing the obstruction. Food? An allergic reaction?
Would his airway close off completely before we got to
the ER?
Sitting in the front of the vehicle, I couldn't see my
son, but I could hear his weak, half-strangled cries, the
long, frightening silences that came in between when he
was unable to make a sound, and the concerned voices
of the medics as they tried to decide what to do next. I
felt helpless to do anything but cry out to God inside and
pray silently for His protection.
We arrived at the hospital, and the struggle to save
Jarius continued. Travis and I were taken aside for
history and other questions, and the rescue team went
Be Not Afraid Accidents
on, pounding and suctioning. They were just preparing
to take Jarius to be X-rayed when someone shouted, "It's
out! It popped out!" We ran over. There was our son,
crying loudly and indignantly – and in the nurse's hand,
a small piece of hardware from an adjustable bookshelf,
a metal clip my son had discovered and investigated in
the best way he knew how: by putting it in his mouth.
We called our church to share the good news, and
were told that the service was just over. But that was
not all: it had ended with a prayer for our son. And ever
since that day, I knew what a power there is in prayer;
for I strongly felt – and still feel – that it was the force
that released him from his struggle with death.
Not everyone is so lucky. After Evelyn moved in with her uncle and aunt on their Canadian farm, it wasn't long before she was not only taking care of their own children, but half the neighborhood as well. A gentle, fun-loving teen who never seemed nervous, she had a way with children that made them flock to her, and whenever she wasn't working or helping around the house, she could be found playing with her cousins and their friends.
Often they'd be down at the river that ran along one side of the farm. Evelyn and her tag-alongs were forbidden to get wet: the current was strong and
Be Not Afraid Accidents
there were shifting sinkholes. But summer 1982 was a roaster, and even if you couldn't swim, playing in the cool sand provided at least some relief from the heat. So did wading.
Not one to break her word, Evelyn wouldn't join in at first. But one day she got tired of being splashed and teased, and within minutes she was leading a game of tag in the shallows. Before long, one of her playmates spotted a sandbar a little way out and suggested that they play tag there. Evelyn, the tallest in the group, helped the shorter ones, and they all made it over safely.
When it was time to return home for lunch, Evelyn started back the same way – or so she thought – with a smaller girl holding tightly to each hand. Halfway across the stream, all three stepped into a deep sinkhole. The rest of the children, still on the sandbar, shrieked in terror as they watched the girls struggle to stay afloat. Luckily an older boy nearby heard their cries and came running, dove in, and swam to the rescue. But as all three lunged toward him, he was overwhelmed, and gasped, "Someone has to let go – I won't make it!" Evelyn released her grip, and he began to make for safety with the two younger children.
Once at the shore, he rushed back into the water for Evelyn. But it was too late. She had vanished. By then,
Be Not Afraid Accidents
more help had arrived on the scene, including Evelyn's parents, who stood in stunned silence and disbelief.
Evelyn's body was later found several hundred yards downstream, caught by a tree. Amazingly, her
expression reflected no terror at all. Despite the panic she must have felt as she made her last gasping efforts to stay alive, her face radiated peace.
Accidents do happen. Some are preventable, or seem to be, at least in hindsight. Others are not. In the case of an "unnecessary" death, we may find it as good as impossible to forgive the person whom we hold responsible. It is the same when we blame ourselves, or are made to feel we bear a guilt. But even when we cannot see the way forward, we can always hang on to the heart's deepest longing for peace. And we can pray that it will crowd out other emotions – especially the temptation to grow bitter, or to wallow in selfreproach. In short, we must trust that even if nothing can remove the pain of a tragedy, it can just as soon drive us into the arms of God, as into the pit of despair. That can happen, as long as we are open to such a possibility – as the following anecdote about Karen, an acquaintance, shows.
A missionary in Haiti, Karen lost her three-monthold, Hannah, to a freak accident in their home:
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One afternoon, while waiting for my husband to come
home from work, I heated water on the stove to give my
daughter a bath. While I got the tub ready and collected
a diaper, towels, and pins, she fell asleep on our bed, so
I decided to let her rest for a while. I set the tub down on
the floor, tucked a folded towel under her side to keep
her from rolling off the bed, and went into the kitchen.
That simple decision changed my life irreversibly.
While I was away, Hannah woke up, wiggled to the edge
of the bed, and rolled into the tub. I found her just a few
minutes later, but it was too late: my baby had drowned.
There will never be words to tell you how I felt at that
moment. From the depth of my soul I cried to God…
Knowing from other similar incidents how parents who have lost a child in such an accident are often unable to cope with feelings of guilt – and may obsess over the event for the rest of their lives – I asked Karen whether she has ever been able to come to terms with what happened. Naturally, she has done her share of blaming herself, but her overriding state of mind is one of remarkable freedom and peace:
It is nine years ago that Hannah drowned, and I still find
myself wondering, "How old would she be now?" "If this
had never happened, what would life be like?" And there
Be Not Afraid Accidents
are still times when I cry in deep sadness. But I would
be a basket case if I allowed myself to fill my mind with
such thoughts. I have found peace in focusing on my
faith that the Creator of all is my shepherd, and that I
must follow like a sheep, even if I don't understand the
"big picture."
I cannot explain the comfort I felt and feel now
in God. It is a mystery. But maybe this quote from
Amy Carmichael – something someone gave me after
Hannah's death – touches on the reasons I feel as I do:
"We see hardly one inch of the narrow lane of time. To
our God, eternity lies open as a meadow. It must seem
strange to the heavenly people, who have reached the
beautiful End, that you and I should ever question what
Love allows to be…"
While one would wish that everyone who seeks healing could find it, as Karen did, it remains a rare gift. And even when it is given, it will not come right away, but only with time. After all, the most pressing question in the wake of an accident (whether fatal or not) is not how to get over it, but to find out how and why it happened. And until we have come to terms with that, "moving on" seems a moot point.
Because accidents always seem senseless, most of us will readily jump to embrace the first plausible
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explanation that comes our way. And it will come. There's always somebody with a solution, a perfect preventative measure, or an "obvious" lesson on the tip of their tongue. But discovering the deeper meaning of
an accident – if it even exists – is much harder. Perhaps that's why Dan, a forty-year-old who survived a deadly fall, feels that in the aftermath of an accident, it is less important to find answers for it than to contemplate the questions it raises:
I was going to Cornell at the time, and one night a bunch
of us were walking home from a rock concert on campus.
We'd taken a familiar shortcut, but we were stoned and
only vaguely aware of just how close it ran along the
edge of a deep gorge.
Friends tell me that I was there one second and gone
the next. They were certain I was dead. Some of them
made their way down to the roaring falls below and
searched among the rocks for my body. One went to call
the police, and another remained on the path where I'd
disappeared. I myself remember nothing at all, except
that when I woke up I was lying on my back looking
up at a sky full of stars. I yelled for help twice, and the
second time I was answered by a voice about twenty feet
above me. It was one of my friends, and he raced off to
get help. Soon he was back with a student who was a
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mountain climber. Together they lowered a rope and
hauled me back up to the path.
My friends were ecstatic. Someone lit a joint, and we
took stock of what had happened. I'd stumbled off the
cliff and fallen onto a ledge about three feet wide – the
only one of its kind along a mile-long stretch of the
gorge. Had I fallen anywhere else, I never would have
survived. As it was, I had landed flat on my back, on
moss, and I didn't have a single scratch or bruise.
Back at the dorms, we partied up a storm. Yet as we
laughed I caught a classmate staring at me as if I were
some ghost returned from the dead. I guess I felt like
one. I had cheated death, but only by inches.
Still, my fall had little, if any, effect on me. Someone
else might have been shattered by it, or awakened to the
preciousness of life. But I didn't let myself be fazed in
the least. Instead, I partied with fresh abandon.
Looking back, I see now that by mocking the incident
in this way, I avoided its impact and missed a rare
opportunity to examine my life – its meaning, its
direction, its purpose. Yet the fact is that my worldview
at the time was such that I was incapable of absorbing
any deeper message from it. It was only many years
later – after a conversion, actually – that I was able to
really think about what had happened and to appreciate
its gravity. The protection I experienced that night awes
me.
Be Not Afraid Accidents
I've had other close calls too, including a near-
fatal car accident, and not long ago my mother said
something that made me think about them in a new
way. She asked, "Where would you be without the pain
that brought Jesus into your life?" I've pondered that
one often. There is a mystery about the way a death (or a
brush with death) can lead us to life; about the way God
reaches out and leads us from life's hells toward heaven.
We may never grasp it, and probably aren't meant to,
but it still happens…