On June 30, 2012, the storm reached landfall, the tidal wave surfaced with immense force, and then the water subsided leaving heavy hearts and destitution in its wake. All of the struggles throughout the past 15 years of marriage and raising three young boys, paled in comparison to what would befall upon that day. Many lives would be forever changed.
Travel back in time with me to a day when the world seemed right. The afternoon embarked as the boys from the 8U baseball team arrived to celebrate the closing of their season. They didn’t win any trophies, but they were a close-knit team and shared many fun times. The boys ran around the yard shooting water guns, played on the swing set and swam in the pool throughout the day. And, now and then they surfaced to snatch a bite to eat. I captured many photos of their fun-filled activities and witnessed many magical moments on that hot summer day.
Then as the evening was coming to a close, shortly after 7:00pm, as parents were packing up chairs and coolers to leave, it happened. I heard my oldest son yelling for help. As I ran toward the pool, I saw him passing a little limp boy to my husband as I silently prayed he wasn’t mine. I will never erase that image from my mind, and I struggle right now to write this story. The tears just won’t stop falling. My son handed this young boy to my husband who laid him on the ground so another could start CPR. CPR was performed non-stop as we anxiously waited on the paramedics. What was probably minutes, seemed like hours, while our friends tried relentlessly to breathe life back into his still body.
As people and emergency vehicles were coming up the driveway from every direction, I dropped to my knees and begged and pleaded with God to spare this little boy’s life. We were all praying so diligently so I just knew this little boy’s life would be spared. I recall his dad standing with the team of emergency responders as they worked on his little boy, and his mom walking to the front of the house to gain her composure. I followed her to the front yard, placed my arms around her to provide comfort and continued to pray. I recall reassuring her that her little boy was going to survive. I kept saying, “he is a tough guy…he is going to be alright…we have to have faith that he will live.” Over 30 minutes went by without any response, and our faith began to grow weary.
Then, a loud rumble sounded above, and as I looked out across the field I saw the life flight coming down for landing and thanked God for its arrival. As I watched them carry the stretcher down the drive way, I kept repeating, “He is a fighter. He is going to be okay.” I just knew he would be okay because I knew that the alternative meant no one would be okay. They took him up in the helicopter, and then several families gathered inside our home to wait. We waited and prayed for his healing for what seemed like days. Then, the call came, the news had arrived…he didn’t survive.
Again, life as we knew it had changed forever. The numbness set in and none of us knew how to move from the gloom and doom of this tragic moment. Where would we find comfort and answers? How would we find rest and rise again to another day? How would we help our children through this dreadful tragedy? There were no answers, only heartache and tears in the aftermath of the storm.
By Jeanette Lytle