Eugenious

For the second time in a little over a week, death—or its proximity—has convinced me that I need to make some simple changes in my life. This morning, while toddlers and preschoolers bounced on trampolines, spilled water on themselves at the fountain, and twisted themselves up on the rings, a dad and the owner of this kids’ gym performed CPR on a mom nobody knew whose heart had stopped by the time she hit the ground. Her two-year-old son was carried away so he could try to focus on something other than his unresponsive mom with people pushing on her chest. Later, someone realized that the smiling 11-month-old baby in the carseat was his little sister.

(The lack of empathy that preschoolers and toddlers exhibit was perfect for this situation, by the way. They played, largely unaware of the drama unfolding before them. It wasn’t until the paramedics came that either of my children noticed something was wrong.)

After some deduction and asking the little boy where his shoes were in the hopes of finding his mom’s purse, the very responsible woman in charge found the patient’s phone and managed to call her husband. After the ambulance left, the rest of us moms and dads followed our children around, our eyes glazed and our minds on other things. The patient’s husband and mother or mother-in-law arrived, and, as with my realization that I had met the high school student who drowned in a rogue wave last week, I was taken by the smallness of this world. This shell-shocked young dad had been my respectful, questioning, adventurous student at the University a decade ago. I smiled at him and then took care of my daughter’s nosebleed–something I knew I could actually fix.

Other than hoping that the AED did more for this woman than CPR (which did help, a little; twice she came back and took big gulps of air before disappearing again), here’s what I was thinking:

• My kids need to know how to dial 911. If something happens to me when I’m alone with them, they’ll have to be my heroes (but don’t tell them that they failed if they can’t be).
• They also need to know their own names, my full name, Chris’s full name and where he works, and another emergency contact’s full name. Both kids had this when I quizzed them on the way home. I just heard Elena saying “Mama, Mama, Julie, Mama” as she fell asleep.
• I need to amend my purse a little. It should have:
  • My small CPR mask (which easily fits in my pocket)
  • Emergency numbers in my wallet
  • Contacts in my iPod

I don’t want to be a downer, just a realist. But to end on a happier note, remember that my lesson for last week was that the single most important thing I can give my children is a childhood filled with laughter and love. Laughter and love: ultimately, nothing’s more important.