It is true. My children saved my life. Not once, but twice.
I’ve been thinking about the past, and thinking about the two incidents where my children saved my life. I thought, since Mother’s Day is tomorrow, that I would share.
I married young. I met my future husband when I was 16. I weighed around 110 – and that was with clothes and shoes on. We married when I was 19. I had gotten a little more growth in, weighed 120 pounds, which was pretty much my ideal weight for my height and bone structure. But within the first six months or so of marriage, he started telling me that I was getting fat, and needed to loose weight. Things went downhill from there.
Six years later, I was in a very deep depression. I had suffered an almost daily barrage of criticism – I couldn’t do anything right. I felt unloved. I felt totally worthless. I no longer wanted to live. I was suicidal. My friends would have been very very surprised by that, because I hid it well. I always had a smile on my face. I appeared cheerful and happy – in fact, people often commented on how happy I always was. And I would always think “if only you really knew…”
My 25th birthday still stands out as one of the worst days in my life. I had been researching suicide for a couple of years, and had actually picked out the method that I planned on using. And no, I’m not going to say how – it is too easy to do, too painless, and I don’t want to give anyone ideas. But I would go to bed at night wishing that I would never wake up. I had no hope, and didn’t want to go on.
But there was one thing in my life, one thing that kept me going. One thing that I felt such responsibility for, such a duty for, and such love for, that I never actually made that attempt to end my life. I had a baby. And my first born was such a delight, such a joy, that I knew I could never deliberately leave my child.
So that was the first time my children (child) saved my life.
The second time happened a few years later. I was driving down towards San Diego for something, it was fairly late at night, my youngest was in his car seat in the back, my oldest was in his booster in the front, and they were both slumped over, asleep. I suddenly saw blue lights flashing behind me. Now, I had not been speeding, as far as I knew all my lights were functioning, but I obediently pulled over to the shoulder of the road. The bullhorn came on, directing me to go down this off ramp, to a road that had never been finished. There was an off ramp, an on ramp, but it didn’t go anyplace else. But this was the police, right? State Trooper. So although I thought that was weird, I pulled down the off ramp that went nowhere. And stopped the car, but the engine was running. My sons are beginning to stir as the officer comes up to the window of my car with his flashlight. I’m directed to turn the engine off, and about that time, my oldest son sits up and asks what is going on.
The officer, obviously startled, sharply asks me who that was. I explain that it was my son. By this time, my youngest one is awake, and beginning to cry a little bit. The officer says something under his breath about not having seen him, tells me to be careful driving, and leaves.
A few weeks later, a girl’s body was found in that area. She was the sister of a friend, and I had actually met her once. She was such a joy that I have never forgotten her – and a state trooper was convicted of her rape and death.
It was dark, and with a bright flashlight shining in my eyes, I never got a real good look at the trooper who stopped me, but the general body build fit the person who was convicted. I have often wondered what would have happened to me, if my children had not been in the car. I’m pretty convinced that they saved me from a tragedy.
So, my kids have saved my life, not once, but twice.
Mother’s Day is a day when we honor mothers. But this year, I want to honor my children.
I love you. Thanks for saving my life.