As many of you know, my kiddo is quite the climber. QUITE the climber.
“I’m a National Climber,” she’ll tell people, after overhearing me call her a natural climber. After all, she crawled up the stairs long before she walked, and then trees, playgrounds, any structure she came upon.
And at eight, we’ve reached the point where I am no longer monitoring her every move.
And that’s where we begin– at a familiar park with high slides and a good time. However this time, it was not the slide she climbed.
She shimmied up the SUPPORT POLE for the tallest slide. Yup. Full on Mulan’d her way, barefoot, up the pole and pulled herself to perch on the cross beam.
At which point she realized how far up she was. And how sweaty her hands were. And how she’d have to let go of the pole to wipe her hand and there was NO WAY on God’s green earth that was going to happen.
This is when she called for me.
And I, alas, did not hear her.
I know, you’d think in the edit/re-write I’d portray myself in a better way. And come right away, get a spidey sense something was wrong but nope. I was chatting away/listening to the moms (as the New Mom, I’m working hard to find my place). So I didn’t hear her holler for me.
I mean, fullest disclosure, I thought I heard her, but peeked around and didn’t see her in any Area of Concern, so went back to smiling and nodding.
Then, one of the boys came over.
“K needs help.”
Oh shit.
At which point, I discover her, in tears, about 15 feet up, beyond where I can reach her.
I thank the boy and scramble up the play structure so I can touch her foot.
“Hey,” I say, “Hey, let’s have you slide down this pole.”
Knowing she’s slid down the fire pole before, knowing she’s generally fearless.
And I have never seen her more scared in my life (Maaaaaybe when the gray dog chased her. Maybe).
After several other approaches I realize I am just too short to reach her, she is too panicked to let go and drop to me, and she is begging me to call 9-1-1.
Then, I see a woman waving at me from across the park.
“My husband is coming!” She shouts.
I see him swiftly walking towards me, I jog to meet him.
“Your son is stuck?” He asks calmly.
“My daughter, actually.”
“Here’s what we’ll do, I’ll climb up, pull her into the slide and she’ll get down.”
He’s clearly done this before.
We explain in to K. She is near hysterics. I calmly tell her, level with her (dangling off the rock climbing section), to take his hand. And after a moment she does. And he pulls her in, she slides down, and she’s safe.
I didn’t even catch his name, she was crying so hard and he was already trotting back to his family.
Grateful doesn’t cover it.
I was so humbled by the moment of fear and helplessness. And even more humbled by the presence of help.
I couldn’t help my child.
I hate that. It was absolutely awful. And I felt so negligent. How could this have happened when I was right there?
And at the same time, I am so incredibly grateful for the strangers who were my angels. The woman who noticed me in distress and offered assistance. The man who knew what to do and was willing to do it. And grateful for my own willingness to ask for and accept help,
But most of all I’m grateful that she’s okay. That the lesson came with fear but no injury. That Daddy was home for her to run to. That it happened on a day that we could all be together as a family that night.
Also (is it too soon to admit this?), I’m damn impressed that she shimmied up that high. Hopefully next time she won’t be afraid to slide back down herself.
Pretty Good Ugly 