Fear is shaking my nervous system. Thoughts racing through my brain; I know I should have taken the child CPR class, this cannot happen, i will not lose my little child, am I loosing you my dear one? My worst fear is right in front of me. I dial 9-1-1 and wait for them to pick up the phone.
We are sitting together sharing the last pieces of our dinner. We are playing, talking and enjoying ourselves. Then the ring that you are playing with is in your mouth and is slides down your throat. First you cannot breathe. You are crying. Michael is trying to gently and desperately assist you but neither one of us know exactly what to do. We should have taken that child CPR class. I know we should have.
Every second feels like an eternity. You are gasping for air and you are breathing. You are talking. The woman who is still talking to me on the phone is saying to continue to watch your breath while the paramedics are on their way. She tells me to stay calm. I am in general a calm person but while facing my worst fear of losing my child I am everything but calm. Breathing and watching you. You come into my arms and I feel your strong heart beating against my own heart. My fear of losing you is imminent. Now your body is trying to get the intruder out of your system. You throw up. First air. Then in a puddle of mucous the ring comes out. The nightmare is over. You are calm and so composed like nothing really serious has happened.
My body is fighting inside the chaos after fear and adrenaline overflow. I love you more than you ever can know. I wanted you more than you every can know. I am reminded of the impermanence of life. How fast who we love can be taken away from us. I am reminded of how close death is. That every moment I have together with the two human being that I love more than anything is so precious. I am crying. The fear leaving my body. I know I cannot protect you from life and everything that can hurt you. Thank you for not leaving me.
A few minutes after this chaos you are continuing to eat while pappa Michael is reading a book to you. Like nothing has happened. Maybe a little more tender and always utterly vibrantly alive.
Jag älskar dig min kära lilla son.
