It was a Friday evening two years ago when it happened...
My husband took our then 3-year-old, Lincoln, and one of his big brothers out to the car. He closed the car door and went to throw something away in the garage. Shortly after, I walked out the front door with our other son.
Locking the front door, I headed to the car.
I watched as our two boys in the car bounced around happily, laughing and making funny faces. We were on our way to get frozen yogurt, and they were excited.
Our third son opened the door of our SUV, not realizing that his little brother was standing, leaning against the window. As the door opened, our 3-year-old fell directly onto the sidewalk, head first, without breaking his fall with his hands.
Watching it all, I screamed for my husband who was close by now, to get our son and check him. He picked him up, checked him out and assured me that Lincoln was okay.
Buckling him into his car seat, I kissed him and prayed a prayer of thanks that God had protected him. I thought for sure that his little face would have been badly injured from the impact of the fall. Surprisingly, there wasn't even a scratch.
I never guessed what would happen next.
Inside the frozen yogurt shop, Lincoln wrapped his arms gently around my legs and quietly said the words I haven't been able to forget, "Mom, I can't see."
As the cheerfully noisy place grew dark for our sweet little boy, I remember how bright the lights seemed to me and how loud the Friday night voices, as I searched quickly past the faces to find my husband. "We have to go to the hospital! He can't see."
"Aaron, he can't see!" my eyes held his for a second, conveying the gravity.
That drive to the ER seemed like it took an eternity. Our little Lincoln was struggling to stay awake. Kneeling on the floor between the back seats I plead with him to stay awake. And I plead with God to help my baby. We all prayed.
Our normally active 3-year-old was difficult for the doctor to wake. He didn't know his own name. He was very confused and sick to his stomach.
When the doctor said he needed an MRI, I questioned him... I had just learned of a new study about the frequency of childhood MRIs prescribed and the amounts of radiation associated with them. "If he was your son," looking into the eyes of the doctor I searched, "would you have an MRI done?" "Yes," he assured me, "the symptoms observed were substantial. If you go home [and there's bleeding in the brain] we'll be too far behind." My mind tried to process, "too far behind" but didn't want to.
I remember this deep feeling of despair as I stood at the door, watching our little guy lay eerily still during the MRI.
We were relieved to hear that there was no bleeding found. Yet there was comfort in being under the watchful eye of the doctors and nurses. Before we left, they told us what to look for, scheduled an appointment for us to see an eye doctor the next day, and told us to try to limit Lincoln's physical activity - not to let him run, no bikes, no rough housing - for the next couple of weeks so that his brain could heal.
I asked about sedation - only half kidding. I asked about a helmet - they hoped I was kidding, and said it wasn't necessary. You want me to keep a 3-year-old boy with two big brothers still? I was concerned. No, worried. No... I was scared.
Suddenly life felt so fragile. A broken bone would have been sad, but bones heal and there is proof of that. An injury to the brain is not so clear...
The next day, we received good news from the eye doctor. Lincoln's vision had completely returned to normal! I tried to watch over Lincoln like a hawk, keeping him as low-key as possible.
During this time, I became very fearful. I was having flashbacks, reliving seeing Lincoln fall. When I took a shower, I ended up weeping. And at night in bed, it's like I couldn't stop replaying the scene in my head. How? Why? Is he okay... will he be okay?
That Sunday, my husband took our two older sons to church, while I stayed home with Lincoln. During the church service, one of the pastors prayed for Lincoln. When the service ended, an acquaintance walked up to my husband and said, "That explains it. On Thursday night, I had a dream that Julie had lost something very precious to her. You were looking all over trying to find it. I didn't know what it was, but I woke up and prayed for your family. I've been praying for your family."
Now please know, this was not someone we knew well. Our paths would cross at church occasionally, but that was it. We would not naturally be on this person's mind.
When my husband came home and told me that story, it brought me so much comfort. There really aren't words to express it. God was with us. He knew what was going to happen. I don't know why He allowed it, but I do know that He is always good. His perspective is different than mine. It could have been worse.
In His kindness, He woke a dear lady up, who He knew would be faithful to pray. He set that into motion the day prior to Lincoln's fall. Blows. My. Mind.
In brokeness, I cried tears of relief. God had sent us help. It reminded me that we weren't walking this path alone...
"I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you." Joshua 1:5
Thank you so much for being here.
Have a blessed Sunday!
