In the blink of an eye your 6-year-old son could be soaring through the skies in a makeshift balloon. Alone.
In the blink of an eye, it could all be a lie.
In the blink of an eye, you watch a train smash your baby.
In what feels like billions of blinks of the eye, you discover your baby is okay.
But do you ever recover from that? I am not sure I am ever going to recover from simply watching the video. I am now avoiding it at all costs. I will not link to it here. It is too hard to see. To feel. Feel what that poor mother felt. I have only watched one news story on it but they replayed that tape of that baby rolling, falling, smashing over and over and over again. I can not get rid of the scene. The stroller rolling, then falling. Right there my heart was broken. Seeing that stroller crumble. The mother reaching, slipping, lunging. Then gasping. Stop breathing. As that train comes barreling in. I want to cry now. I can not get it out of my head.
In the blink of an eye, I am in a minivan spinning around and around on the top of a mountain in the Peruvian Andes. “This is not happening.”
I think this is my only thought but I have blocked out much of that day. This is not happening. The van stops. We are back facing the right way. Did that just happen? In the blink of an eye.
I imagine that mother thinking that thought if she could think at all. ‘This is not happening.’ As her hands fly to her face and she wants oh so desperately to jump in front of that train but primal human instinct prevents her from doing so.
‘THIS. IS. NOT. HAPPENING.’ Said in prayer. In manifestation of a miracle. Which is exactly what happens. A miracle.
In the blink of an eye.