Atypical walk

I strapped Harrison into the baby carrier today and started off on a walk to the park in our beautiful 70 degree Los Angeles weather. Typical weather, typical routine, typical destination, but within two minutes of leaving our apartment, the atypical hit hard, and the events of it have left me processing over the past few hours.

I was walking near an apartment a street down from ours when a man came running out of the courtyard, frantic, with a wild look in his eyes. He was screaming with terror- Help! Help! Somebody help me! My baby!

And then he ran back inside.

As someone who takes a long time to process anything (wait a few days after watching to ask me how I liked a movie), I was frozen in my steps for a moment, stomach churning, having no idea how to proceed. For a quick second I considered turning around and avoiding the situation altogether- so many things were flashing through my mind and I thought maybe it was just a ploy, and following him would lead me to an unsafe place- he just looked that crazy. But the next second I got my bearings together and ran to the entrance of the courtyard to help- only to find a locked wrought iron gate  preventing me from doing anything but listening and watching.

There were a few more bystanders inside the courtyard, and one was pacing back and forth, on the phone, presumably with 911. I locked eyes with him and motioned the notion of asking if I could help, and he shrugged. It seemed like no one really knew what was going on. I heard screaming and crying and since there was already an emergency call in place, I walked down the street and prayed. It was such a vague prayer, but I knew at minimum that man needed comfort and his baby needed help.

I walked back when I saw the 911 caller walk out onto the sidewalk and asked him what was going on. Apparently the baby was sleeping and would not wake up.

My stomach sank. My worst nightmare since becoming a mother. One of the reasons why, 10 months in, I still check on Harrison every few minutes to be sure he is breathing. I don't know when I'll find the confidence to stop that habit.

With an ambulance on the way, I waited on the sidewalk with a small group of people who had also tried to respond to the Dad's initial cries. Then the Mom came out with her baby, a little girl probably two or three years old. Limp body, eyes closed, her Mom shaking her hands, pinching her toes, patting her cheeks, asking "Is she dead?" And frantically asking where the ambulance was. It was all too much, standing there with my very awake baby strapped in the carrier on me, putting myself in this mother's shoes. All I could do was point down the street where I saw the ambulance on the way, and wave it over when it got closer.

I stepped a ways away when the paramedics got out and the little girl was thrust into their arms. I heard minimal conversation, and I didn't want to snoop; whatever role I had in this situation was over and it was time to continue on my way. The little girl WAS breathing, and the paramedics were doing what they could to calm the parents down while tending to the child.

I continued on my way to the park, turning to look behind me every so often, checking to see if the ambulance had left yet. It was still parked on the street for the few minutes the location was still in my viewpoint.

I shed a few tears as I walked away, for the parents, and for the little girl, and for Harrison, and for every parent. Emotions run deeper than we realize they can, especially when it comes to our children. The crazy, frantic look of the Dad that made me initially doubt my safety- it was the crazy, frantic look of a man who is wildly in love with his daughter, and couldn't fathom her potentially being in danger. I know we all have that crazy in us, and just as much as I hope not many of us end up in circumstances that unleash it, I hope for this family that everything is perfectly fine, and the little girl will be riding her bike down the sidewalk tomorrow- that they can get back to their typical.