I veer from my normal posts to share with you a personal experience so relevant to the recent tragic news of the fallen Georgian luger, Nodar Kumaritashvili.
With the recent onslaught of storms in our area, we decided to take advantage of the fresh powder,by sledding in our local park. My son being 3.5, was of course the first one down the makeshift course, consisting of snow covered slopes, that in the summer are considered park pathways.
It was every man for himself. Or in my case, every woman. I admired my son’s bravery. Proud of his fierce independence, yet wrought with anxiety, as he sped haphazardly down the partially icy hills. Mind you, this is just a local park , but a group of us found this location to be as daring as the snow tubing parks. The fear and of course excitement was the unpredictability of the direction the sled would take.
I got swept up in the excitement and did a few “runs” of my own, outlasting my husband who retired to the comfort and warmth of our car. The shared moments, rare these days, were worth the bumps and bruises I took to my poor behind.
It is indescribable. The laughter of a child so completely in the moment that he chortles to the world, with nary a care who is listening. I shall cherish that sound forever.
But I digress. As the day grew colder and I grew more tired, I became less vigilant. Actually I should say I became more lax in the manner that he controlled his sled. This in an of itself is an abusrd notion. To believe that a preschooler has the muscle control needed to steer a careening sled. Something shifted in the span of the day. Perhaps
our repeated runs wore away areas and iced over others. Regardless, to my horror, on the very last ‘run’ (no, really Mommy, I promise) I watched my gleeful son collide with a tree. The worst part is that my mother’s intuition had kicked in before that last hurrah. Earlier, we had rode tandem and I turned my head as we sped backwards, just in time
to see the looming tree. I shifted into Mom mode and thought rapidly, better to break my arm than have him hurt, and in one simultaneous motion I braced my arm for the impact and pushed him from the sled.
As I raced down the tiny hill, heart pounding in my chest, I berated myself for allowing him to go again and even more so, for having been to tired to have gone tandem, where I could have saved him as I had done before.
He stood, crying confused, no longer the gleeful free spirit. I quickly checked his head, eyes etc with shaking hands and tried to assertain the damage. As he stopped crying, I recognized that G-d had spared my adventurous son yet again.
I sank into the snow sobbing with relief.
We came home to hear of the tragic circumstances of the young luger, never to recognize his Olympic dream. All I could think of was his mother and the countless of other Moms who had the strength and grace to let their children fly in the face of countless injuries. The emotional and physical setbacks, where they quietly on the sidelines supported and cheered the hopefuls on. I cannot even imagine the heart rending pain that this mother must be enduring. I only experienced a mere nano-bot of the fear.
Cheers to the mothers who love their children even when they bobble a triple toe loop, showboat right before the finish line, losing the gold and choking in front of millions. They will always be our little boys and girls, regardless of how the world sees them.
I do not know your name, but I am humbled by a loss of such magnitude. May you find strength and comfort from your loved ones and know that as one Mom to another, I am infinitely grateful that you have shared your child with the world providing inspiration for the rest of us. I have much to learn.
