This is a horror story. We were on the ship. The kids’ Christmas party provided a good chance for Chris to show us his living quarters and the flight deck. Everything was going well.
Then Isaac fell headfirst down a stairwell. Chris was in front of him; I was behind. Isaac had already climbed up many stairs no problem. Then we headed back down. In the half-second it took Chris and me to free our hands to reach for Isaac before he descended, he had already lost his balance and toppled down.
Chris was on the stairs with Eloise in a front snuggly pack. Isaac and I were at the top of the stairs and I adjusted the diaper bag so I could help him. But in that brief moment it was already too late. I blinked and saw Isaac’s feet disappear through the chain railing. Chris—while holding Eloise—grasped at Isaac’s legs. Miraculously, he caught Isaac by one ankle. I don’t even know how that was possible. Isaac must have tripped over the lip at the top of the stairs, tried to steady himself on the railing, and gone straight through.
He hit his head on the wall, which must have slowed him down enough for Chris to grab his ankle. Chris handed him to me and I lifted him into my arms like he weighed nothing. I carried him down the two flights of stairs he would have tumble down.
Even scarier, the way the stairs were set up Isaac probably would have landed on his head on an eight-inch section of steel before continuing to fall down the second flight of steps. And there was another three-inch lip around the second flight of stairs like the one he tripped over at the very top that he would have gouged his head on as he continued his descent.
The whole thing was one miracle away from spending the day in the ER or worse.
For days afterwords we thanked God for saving Isaac, and Isaac said over and over, “I fell down the stairs! Daddy saved me! He caught me by my ankle!”
It was horrifying.
And just the day before Isaac had told me something interesting. He was playing with my iPad and pointed to a sunbeam radiating out from the sun in the app he was playing with.
“It’s like God,” he said.
“Whaaaat?” I said.
“It’s like God,” he repeated. “God is like that. He looked like that when he lifted me.”
Isaac is not an entirely reliable source.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“When he lifted me out of the water, he looked like that.”
“Are you talking about when you fell in the river?” I asked.
“Yeah. When I fell in the river and I all soaked. God looked like that.” Isaac tapped the rays radiating out of the sun again.
Ooooookaaaaaay. Here I have to admit that I did not see Isaac tumble into the water that day. I saw him leaning over it, whacking it with a stick. I turned to put Eloise’s paci back in because she was fussing. Two seconds later I saw Isaac standing on the riverbank, soaked and crying, “I all soaked! My running shoes! My hands! My pants! My shirt! My diaper! Is all wet!”
And even now, weeks later, every time he talks about falling in the river he also talks about climbing in a tree afterwards, so he obviously remembers quite a bit about that day.
So if you need a little more divine interaction, I invite you to spend time with my son as he tries to accidentally kill himself.
It will stop your heart and increase your gratitude. Guaranteed!