The days my children were born are treasured memories. Their births not only added a precious soul to the family, each birth was a testament to my wife’s courage and strength. No pregnancy was easy for her, all the children were delivered via c-section, and after suffering so many miscarriages – each birth was a pure miracle to us.
Beginning with my oldest, and continuing with each, I would pick up our baby for the very first time and would always say to her or him, “Hi little one. I love you so much. I promise I will always be here for you, and I will always protect you.” I’ve done my best to do that – and on occasion I’ll admit I’m too protective.
In July of 2020, my son, Bridger, was attacked by a dog while protecting his little sister Brielle. When I first heard Bridger’s cries and saw the blood – I knew something was seriously wrong. Everything became a blur. All the first aid classes I’d ever attended kicked in. Make sure danger is gone. Apply pressure. Where is younger sister? Keep calm – panicking won’t help. Evaluate the injury. Make sure Bridger is stabilized and safe. Wait for the paramedics.
When we got to the Emergency Room, I’ll never forget Bridger’s little eye watching me for assurances. I felt peace and knew I had to stay calm for him. We talked and I repeatedly told him how proud we were and that everything would be okay. He was so brave.
At right around midnight the doctors finally wheeled Bridger back to surgery. I was then alone — the façade I had maintained for Bridger crumbled — it struck me that I had broken my promise and failed him. I wasn’t there to protect him. For the next two hours I kneeled, cried, and prayed. I prayed that he wouldn’t die. I prayed that the skilled surgeon would save my son’s smile. I prayed Bridger wouldn’t lose those traits that make him so special. I prayed and cried and prayed and cried. In those moments, I realized I would trade all I have, and ever would have, for the assurance that my child would be okay. When I finally saw Bridger’s beautiful face in recovery I again felt peace.
I would still give everything to go back in time to protect my son, but I’m finally starting to accept that no family is immune from the storms of life. I’m even realizing that it would be wrong for me to try and insulate my children from every difficult experience. Instead, I am simply grateful my prayers were answered and we made it through this storm.
Recently I read the following from BH Roberts: “It is not the smooth seas and the favorable winds that make your best seamen. It is experience in stormy weather; it is the ocean lashed into a fury by the winds, until the fretted waves roll mountain high. . . . It is when the lightning splits the clouds, when the masts are splintered, when the ropes are tangled, and all is confusion, that the sailor learns to control his fear and stand unmoved and calm in the midst of the threatening difficulties about him. Those are the experiences that make good sailors. And so the sorrows, the afflictions, the trials, the poverty, the imprisonment, the mobbings, the hatred of mankind are experiences that furnish men an opportunity to prove whether or not the material is in them to outride the storms of life.”
It is those experiences through personal trials that give us strength, sympathy, and courage to face other difficult situations. I understand that when a potential client calls the firm, it is because they are facing what may be the metaphorical trial of their lives. I don’t take that trust lightly, knowing first-hand how life can flip on its head in a second.
