I was listening to a woman yesterday describe the ordeal of losing her son in Disney World. She was a much better story teller than I, however, I will share my story anyway--as it was just as traumatic for me.
When I was great big pregnant with my third child we decided to go and get some Christmas shopping done. We left the house with our 5 1/2-year-old daughter and our 2-year-old son. Now, remember, I was huge. Big. Pregnant. We pulled up in front of a small local department store and unloaded our kids and the stroller and headed in.
Many times when we went out as a family we would each take charge over one of our kids. I happened to be holding our daughter's hand and my husband was pushing the stroller in which our 2-year-old son was riding. Since our son was the size of a 3-year-old and very well behaved, we did not fasten the little straps in the stroller. So there we were looking at toys and clothes and meandering through the store when all of a sudden a few aisles over I heard my husband begin to call the name of our son. His voice with each shout out became a little more frantic sounding. I waddled as fast as my swollen feet would carry me--trying to get to the area where I could hear my husband's voice.
When I reached him he said--he's crawled out of the stroller and I can't find him anywhere. The panic that filled my brain and then sunk to my heart is an emotion that is almost indescribable. My mouth could not work fast enough as I tried to scream (without sounding like a nut job) my son's name. Still--no little boy.
The store, upon hearing the commotion locked down its doors and the staff along with us began combing the dressing rooms.
I can't begin to describe the thoughts that were going through my head. Kidnapping, killing, mutilation, torture--my mind went crazy and those were just a few of the crazy notions careening through my head. I could hear someone screaming and calling out his name but didn't even recognize it as my own voice. Desperate. That's how I felt. And helpless. Completely helpless. I was the mom! Where was my son?
I began to pray. I began to beg. I began to plead. Help me find my baby. We were all shouting his name. Where was he?
And then I heard it. A little giggle. I slowly walked back to where I thought the sound was coming from. And I looked inside the round rack of clothing and there snuggled down right in the middle of that rack was my 2-year-old son. He smiled at me and said Boo. I began to cry, I pulled him out of that rack and hugged him. I think other moms were wiping tears away too. But, not my husband. Nope, not him. When he assured everyone that all was now well, he put our little boy back into that stroller and began to quickly push him right back out to the car.
I can read my husband's expressions and the one on his face wasn't a good one. I walked as fast as I could behind him holding tight to my daughter's hand saying--he was playing, he didn't know what he was doing, it's not his fault. I had to somehow get through to my husband that what our son did was not willful disobedience. He was just mimicking the games we played at home. I asked my husband to just sit in the car and cool down. I did not want my 2-year-old to be spanked for something that really wasn't even his fault.
I sat there in the car next to my husband and noticed that his hands were shaking. He had been just as afraid as I had been. It had affected him too, he just had a different way of expressing his emotions. As my little family sat there in the car, all safe and sound, we tried to explain to both of our children why we do not play hide and seek in the stores.
Later that night as we tucked them into bed, we were so thankful for the outcome of that day. Yes, he was lost for a few horrific minutes. But, then he found us.
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