31/08/2019
It did not escape my attention that I was accompanying a mature human being through the children’s hospital—my child who is now a half an inch taller than me… who knows more than I do on a variety of subjects… and never ceases to remain calm in situations where I fall apart.
It did not escape my attention that she thanked me for bringing her knowing that deviations from my routine, driving on the Interstate, and medical paperwork cause me angst.
And it did not escape my attention that the nurse called us back just as an emergency code was issued over the hospital loudspeakers followed by a description.
“female, age 17, light brown hair, jeans, black backpack”
The nurse stopped writing on her clipboard to eye my daughter who nearly fit the description to a T.
The three of us watched hospital staff frantically split up, heading down different corridors to search.
My daughter looked at me with confusion in her eyes.
I mouthed assurances to her, but truthfully, I was unsettled by what was happening in the life of a young person—to be somewhere you don’t want to be so intensely that you feel you must flee is a terrible feeling.
Pain will do that.
Fear will do that.
Uncertainty will do that.
Loneliness will do that.
“What do you think happened?” my daughter asked as soon as we were alone.
Rather than speculating about the situation, I focused on the person.
“I think she’s scared,” I said, my voice heavy with concern.
Through a project I’ve been working on for many months, I’ve had the privilege of talking with many young people. What I’ve learned firsthand is that many feel overwhelmed, lonely, stressed, unseen, and unheard. And when you add one more thing on… a diagnosis… an ailment… a setback, escaping may feel like the only alternative.
I shifted my focus back to my daughter.
It did not escape my attention that although the children’s gown fit her perfectly, she spoke to the doctor as articulately and assertively as any adult.
It did not escape my attention that she used her breathing to stay calm and present.
But today, I cannot stop thinking about that 17-year-old—the one who might be taller than her parents now, who appears healthy and happy, doing all the things “right,” but inside she’s scared. Maybe today she needs to know she doesn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders alone. Maybe today she needs to know she doesn’t have to have it all figured out right now. Maybe today she needs to know less about her falling-shorts and more about her over-comings. Maybe today she needs to know breathing is not a luxury and being a kid is not a crime. Maybe today she needs to know that although she looks like an adult, she’s still someone’s baby.
How easily it can escape our attention that our growing kids still need our support, assurance, and unwavering love.
I hope someone will find her – wherever she is – and tell her.
© Rachel Macy Stafford 2019
Although this has been a hard week for our family, I am grateful for the opportunities each challenge brought to see human beings through a lens of love and compassion. Thank you for looking out for each other and refusing to let the most important things escape our attention, my friends of The Hands Free Revolution.
