I wonder how many near death experiences I can survive before my children leave home. It's no wonder grandparents are paranoid -- because they've raised children. Today Caden fell and we couldn't get him to start breathing again. It seemed like forever. The details are all muddled in my mind. I remember Zac crying and hiding behind the corner. I remember the desperation of believing that he was dying and only God could save him now. I called my sister, trying to explain through my cries and hysteria, that little Caden's life was hanging in the balance. I remember my husband leaning over him, the CPR, the call to 911. Then that one beautiful little grunt. He lay flat on his back with his arms stretched out to each side, his eyes closed, his face blue, but making raspy little breaths. Then he started to cry. I was so relieved.
This happened around lunch time. By dinner time I saw his first smile, after dinner he was talking again, and by bedtime he was throwing his diaper in the garbage. I am grateful for his life.
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