A list with all the things ....

It is March in Finland.  I’m at work, in a meeting. My ten-year-old son is calling. It is after school, and he should be at home, alone and probably bored. Or hungry. I considered if I should answer, but I decided to step out of the meeting and deal with it.

-          Mom, I’m a little bit wet.

-          Why, what’s happened? What do you mean you are wet?

-          Well, I went to the lake on the bicycles with the boys. And I got a little bit wet.

The lake is frozen. Almost. It has been sunny the last few days, and the ice is starting to fade away at the shores, but it the temperature is still mainly under 0 Celsius degrees.  I am not yet worried

-            How wet is a little bit wet? What did you do?

-          Well, I went into the lake a little bit. I am a little bit wet and cold, and I don’t know what to do.

Antti, one of his best friends, is with him. His house is a few mins' walk from the lake.

- Go to Antti’s home, I will call his mom, and I’ll be there shortly!

In a half-hour, when Antti’s mom opens the door, and I see her eyes, I know something is awfully wrong.  Then she says, “He is okay. He is okay. Don’t be scared.”

I see him by the fireplace, with no clothes, just a blanket around him. His hair is wet.

He was not “a little bit wet” – but thoroughly wet.

Walking in the middle of the lake, the ice broke, and he fell, getting entirely underwater. The other boys have been brave enough (or not fully aware of the danger) to walk to the hole in the ice and pull him out from under.

The avalanche of emotions, it is hard to describe. Gratefulness, horror, anger, horror, gratefulness, joy, horror, and gratefulness again. I can’t talk.

He is scared. Not of what happened, but of me, on how I will react. 

I hug him, and I kiss him. I say, “It’s okay. I am happy you are safe. It’s okay now. Let’s go home.”

Later in the evening, when we both managed to recover, I got to ask him, “Do you know how dangerous this was? Haven’t we talked about the iced lakes?”

He looks me in the eyes. “I’m sorry, mom. But can you please make me a list of all the things in the world that are dangerous?”

I want to. I want to make a list and then ensure that he will never get close to any danger. Never ever again. 

I realize horrified that protecting the ones we love and keeping them safe and secure it's just something we imagine we do in order not to deal with the truth. We have no control. 

Lists are not the answer. 

Angels are. 

 Sanda / www.sandaberar.com