February 9, 2021 – “Dear God, please help them”

This afternoon as I was driving to pick up my sweet babies from daycare, I noticed an ambulance and fire truck speeding down the road, sirens blaring.  As I pulled over (even though they were on the other side of a divided highway), I found myself having what is probably the closest to a panic attack that I’ve ever had.  It certainly wasn’t bad, and my heart goes out to those who actually have panic attacks.  But I realized in that moment the feelings I now associate with ambulances, fire trucks, sirens, and lights. 

It took me right back to that morning that I stood in front of our house.  Screaming and sobbing in my pajamas.  Knowing my son wasn’t breathing inside.  Hearing those sirens come up the main boulevard to our house.  Seeing the lights as they turned onto our street.  Watching them pull up to our curb.  I couldn’t get them inside quick enough.  They rushed in and weren’t sure where to go, as I’d run inside assuming they’d follow me into our master bedroom on the main floor where Tom was trying to revive our angel boy.  They initially headed upstairs to Benny’s room, so I called out to them to come downstairs and save our son.  But it was too late.  Our angel had already made it to heaven, before I even dialed 9-1-1. The moments to follow were certainly some of the darkest of our lives.  And today the lights and sounds took me right back.

Even though that was such a tragic morning that still makes me tear up when I think about it, I have so much admiration and respect for the first responders who arrived.  I honestly don’t know how they do things like this day in and day out.  They were incredible and we can’t thank them enough.  From the paramedics to the police to the medical examiner, everyone was so kind and respectful.  Having so many strangers in our home during those fiercely tragic moments was tough, and so much of it is still a blur.  But one thing I do remember amidst the madness of it all is the kindness of the first responders.  They went above and beyond to care for our family.  When they first went into our bedroom where Benny was, I’m guessing it was clear to them, with all their training, that it was too late.  Yet they ushered us out and started life-saving measures and did their best to bring our sweet boy back to life.  I still remember the moment they gave us the news that he was gone.  I think I already knew, but I was hoping beyond hope for a miracle.  I could almost see it in my head.  They would come out and tell us he was breathing again and our boy was back.  But that miracle didn’t come.  Our life changed in that moment, but as I’ve looked back, I’ve realized a different miracle came.  Lots of them.  And they’ve been coming ever since.

Today as I saw and heard the paramedics, I found myself praying for the people they were going to see.  The people whose life had just changed, like ours changed on November 16.  The people whose world had just stopped.  I don’t know them.  I don’t know their situation.  But I do know what lights and sirens mean.  And it broke my heart. 

So I prayed.  It’s all I could do, so I did it out loud.  From the bottom of my heart.  With everything in me.  Pleading with the Lord to help them and bring them comfort. 

“Dear God, please help them.  Please bring them comfort.  Please let them know that things will be okay.  Please give them a miracle, whatever that looks like.” 

The day that Benny passed away, and in the days since, Tom and I have felt strength in the prayers being offered on our behalf.  I have such a testimony of the power of prayer, and I know how meaningful it can be.  Especially when it’s all you can do.  So, I have faith that the prayers I sent to the Lord for whoever needed them today will hopefully help.  And hopefully that family receives a miracle.  Whether it’s a medical miracle so their situation ends differently than ours, or a healing miracle that brings them peace amidst the tragedy, I know our God is one of miracles and I’m grateful to place my trust in Him.

But goodness, the range of emotions I felt at such a simple sight today was significant.  Panic and anxiety when I first saw and heard the sirens.  Sadness and pain for the people whose lives had just changed.  And then the guilt.  Guilt for realizing that my day was actually pretty good while someone else’s was potentially one of the worst of their lives.  Guilt that here I was, just heading to pick up my kids and then run to the store as if everything is normal, all while someone else’s world had stopped.  I thought back to that day and how it blew my mind that the world could just move on.  That people could go to work.  Go to the store.  Live their lives with smiles on their faces.  Didn’t they know one of the world’s brightest lights had gone out?  It was hard to see the world moving forward in those moments when I couldn’t. 

But now I feel like I am.  Today I was one of the people I was simply perplexed by the day we lost Benny.  Our world has moved forward and we are healing.  That’s definitely one of the biggest miracles that has come.  But today, someone else was back at square one.  In the eye of the storm.  In the heart of the pain.  Day one of their healing journey, with a painful and long road ahead.  My heart goes out to them.  This mortal experience is a difficult one, but one thing I know that will make a difference to me and to them is asking God to help.

The pain is still somewhat raw for me, so the emotion feels fresh.  But I hope I continue to always feel the empathy I felt today whenever I see lights and sirens.  Because no matter who it is they’re going to or what is going on, it really doesn’t matter.  Everyone can use a little extra love, and everyone deserves a heartfelt prayer.