Perspective

In recent posts, I've likened the adoption journey that Katrina and I are on to a journey through a blazing desert, with few oases and little shelter from the burning sun. There are times when this desert we are traveling in seems so expansive, so neverending, that true perspective is lost. And, sometimes, events occur to bring life jarringly, unerringly back into clear focus.

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Skyler is a student I never had in class, but I know her well. Her family moved to the community where I teach when she was in the 7th grade, and I got to know her mom pretty well through her involvement as a parent volunteer at various school functions. In the 8th grade, she hung around with a group of girls who were in my class, so I saw her so much that I began to think of her as one of my own students.

Now, the last day of school before Halloween (or Halloween day itself, if it falls on a school day) is always a special day in my class. I turn out all the overhead lights, turn on one small desk lamp, and proceed with a tradition that I have maintained my entire teaching career: the annual telling of my own, personal ghost story. It has been a big hit every single year I've told it; in fact, when I was a 7th grade teacher, I would usually end up fielding about a half-dozen requests at the start of the next school year from former students who wanted to hear it again.

My last year of teaching 7th grade, I had a student named Rashell, who became fast friends with Skyler. Rashell is one of those students in the rarified air who got to hear the story two years in a row, as she "rolled up" with me when I went to teach 8th grade. She had been one of the biggest fans of the story in all my years of teaching, so it came as little surprise when my classroom phone rang about a half-hour before school started on Friday, and I picked it up to hear Rashell's voice, telling me that she was coming for a visit that day to hear the Halloween story once again.

When Rashell showed up, she had Skyler in tow. The girls had made the transition from gangly middle schoolers to (reasonably) cool and collected high school freshmen quite well, and were dressed uniformly in our high school's orange and black, in recognition of that night's big game against our biggest rival in the next town.

Both girls brought me Homecoming dance photos, which they both signed and tacked up to the wall behind my desk (where I have photos given to me by students going back to my first year of teaching). We talked briefly about how things were going in high school - they were both really invovled with things there - Skyler had even made the cheer squad.

The girls stayed for the whole Halloween story, and, before departing, both promised to come visit again soon.


Earlier today, Katrina and I came home from shopping, and there was a message on my answering machine from Mariah, my student council president. She told me she'd heard about the "tragedy," and asked me to call her. (I don't normally call students on the phone, but I do have to speak with Mariah on occasion for ASB business, and it's always with her parents' permission).

Being self-centered and feeling quite down, I thought she was being 8th grade melodramatic and was referring to my "tragedy," which I shared with my students on Thursday - namely, that the adoption I'd told them about was now officially off. I thought through what I'd say to Mariah, that I'd thank her for her concern, that everything was going to be okay, that Katrina and I would get a child at some point, that I really appreciated her taking the time to call and tell............

"Hello?"
"Mariah? It's Mr. Rainey. I heard you called."
"Oh, hi, Mr. Rainey."
"So, what's going on?"
"Well, did you hear about Skyler?"





"No, Mariah...what about Skyler?"


"She was coming home from the game last night, and the car she was in was in a terrible wreck, up on Sunset View Road. She was thrown from the car."




"She...where is she?"



"She was LifeFlighted to the hospital. They said she'd ruptured her bladder, broken her femur and had shattered her pelvis, and she's in intensive care on oxygen right now."





Sometimes, events occur to bring life jarringly, unerringly back into clear focus.







I drove to the hospital tonight, numb, not knowing what I'd say to anyone I encountered there. I made my way up to the pediatric ICU on the third floor, and there I found Skyler's mom sitting with another of my former students (a fellow member of the cheer squad) and that girl's mother. Skyler's mom looked up, and stood up and hugged me.


As I stood there, Skyler's mom sobbing into my shoulder, it occured to me that there can be things worse than what I've been going through.



I've been wishing and praying for a child of my own.




Tonight, I stood with a mother who was wishing and praying for her own child's very life.



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Skyler's injuries, though severe, were not as bad as they could have been. Her injuries actually seem to have been caused by the lap belt she was wearing (she was in the center seat in the backseat of an older Honda). I'm assuming that since she was actually thrown clear of the car, that the lap belt tore away in the accident - brute testimony to the accident's violence. Remarkably, the other four kids in the car only suffered minor injuries. The sheer fact that she was only injured from the waist down - and with, thankfully, no spinal cord or head injury - is miraculous in and of itself. She will be in for a long road of recovery - although the surgeons attended to her ruptured bladder last night, she will need additional surgeries this coming week to attend to her horrifically damaged pelvis and broken femur. She is stable, though, and under heavy sedation for the pain. Please pray for this kid - she has a lot of work ahead of her.