Smashing Memories

We're back from the beach and trying to adjust to real life (think scrounging the freezer and cabinets for dinner and coming up with Hamburger Helper). It was a great week full of swimming, sunning, visiting, playing and riding some seriously big waves, which by the way, I have decided is my favorite beach pass time.

Par for the course for the Parris family this summer, we had one medical mishap when little Max's finger was accidently smashed in a door. We've had some fingers smashed before but this one was by far the worst. After an hour or so he was still in pretty intense pain so I took him in to an urgent care facility. X-rays showed no break and the doctor said he'll probably lose his nail but other than that we're okay.

But my Max, sweet little Max, nearly broke my heart. I held it together through the initial shock of seeing the injury, the hour and a half of non-stop crying, and the discussions of whether or not to take him in but when my mom (the nurse who I call for EVERYTHING) returned my call, I had to hand the phone to Nelson because I couldn't speak.

I think what happened is that I maintained strength as long as I had to be the strong one but when I heard my mom's voice it just brought me back to that place where she could make everything okay and she was the one that had to be strong...not me. In all of my parenting experiences to date, the hardest by far is seeing my children in pain and not being able to make it better. I'm sure that these minor incidences, although frequent lately, will not be the worse I will experience as a parent. That knowledge doesn't make it any easier.

After an hour of tears I finally asked Max, if drinking something might make his finger feel better. He agreed and took a few swigs of his milk. He finished drinking, put down his cup and cried, "My finger not feel better." Pitiful. When we loaded up to head to the doctor's and he asked where we were going, I told him we were going to see the doctor so he could make his finger feel better. As I was buckling him in on the way back home, he looked at me with crocodile tears and let me know, "My finger still not feel better Mama." I was total mush.

Amazingly enough, from the time I left the house to the time we returned totaled 2 hours. We got back and hit the pool, which helped him forget for a little while. However, watching my sweet baby hold that little hand, fingers spread, against his chest all day, I did not forget. And once again I was reminded that I can’t protect my children from everything. I can’t make every injury feel better. However, I know God can and that is what keeps me going.