The morning of October 12th started off like a normal Fall Saturday. Gus got ready that morning by dressing in his ranch clothes. Stormy Kromer hat, cowboy boots and sweatshirt. While he watched one episode of Disney, I made him some cheesy eggs and packed his diaper bag for the day. I asked Gus as we got into the car, "Do you want to go to Grandmas house while Mom and Dad do cows?" "Oh, yes!" Gus replied quickly. The half hour drive to Grandmas is something we share often. We listened to music and looked for big trucks on the freeway as usual. Daddy was waiting with the horses saddled in the trailer as we arrived. Gus's eagerness ran him to the house and in to find Granny. He barely voiced out a "bye mom" before his quick hands shut the door.
At this point in my life, Gus was my everything. I loved my baby and I could not live without him. That is all I was thinking when Curt and I were racing off the mountain. Gus was being life flighted and we did not know why. What felt like the longest minutes of our life, lead us to our baby surrounded by a busy medical team. Honestly, to this day I don't know all the accident details. I don't know how cold the water was and if that helped Gus's body. How many life-saving procedures or CPR rounds were used is something I have not asked. Even though I'll never ask the details, I do know that all the right decisions were made to give Gus a chance. Curt and I realize that the right people were there to help Gus from the moment he was found in the slough to arriving to Primary Children's Hospital.
Those painful feelings and reactions were ones we all shared that morning when the helicopter lifted off the ground. For those of you who only heard "Gus is being life-flighted!" as we left in a hurry, probably felt anxious and scared. For those of you who first responded to help Gus, you probably felt nervous, or helpless. Hopeful, is how those of you who quickly heard about the accident felt. Doubtful, is how the doctors felt after Gus was admitted into the PICU as a Trauma patient. Shock. Curt and I went into a black, narrow, feeling of shock when the doctors said that he might not make it. Numb, is how I would describe how my body felt as I watched my baby in his hospital bed.
A minute felt like an hour, yet the day felt like a blink of an eye. So many thoughts ran through my mind, yet only one was there. "I love you," is all I told my baby over and over again. "I love you," as I watched everything change around me. "I love you," as I witnessed the miracle. When Gus's body was warm again, the doctor performed an exam. Expecting nothing, yet we saw everything. Gus's hands reached up and touched the doctors. Gus was still here. A small precious movement, yet enough power to fill our souls with faith. 'I love you' is only three words, yet more meaning than any other.
With love, more miracles to come.
