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Unthinkable Dixie Fremont-Smith Coskie, Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing (page 3 of 4) Page 3 of 4

My husband’s presence as he entered the emergency room startled me, and my Dad no longer existed. Our son was unresponsive. Though my legs were unsteady, I somehow stumbled to Steven’s side. I needed comfort, but Steven was impatient for information. “What’s going on? Is Paul okay? Why is a priest here? Dixie, tell me what’s happening.” Tears were unceasing. I just stared helplessly, without speaking. My husband, usually calm, was frantically pacing and pleading, “Is he okay? Is he going to be alright?” He embraced me, but his confused, shocked eyes were on Paul. With the priest just leaving and anxious doctors and nurses hovering over our son’s body, I knew my husband was terrified. Before I could respond, the doctor in charge interrupted, “The medical transport helicopter is ready to leave.” Without giving my husband a chance to take action, I said, “I’m going.” The doctor informed us that it was against the rules to bring civilians on board the helicopter. They were not able to add any more weight to the chopper. I was adamant and begged for mercy. The doctor hesitantly asked if I weighed 130 pounds. I nodded my head yes; we both knew I was lying. Her strong features softened as she witnessed my overflowing tears. I knew they would not let a hysterical mother on board. I tried to hide my fears, pretending to comprehend what was going on around me. I prayed the doctor had children of her own and would know I needed to be with my son. Reluctantly, she said, “Only one of you will be allowed on the helicopter.” I exhaled, thanked and gently hugged her, as my husband stared at me, knowing he would be the one racing through traffic, unaware as to what would be happening in the sky.

Steven would not leave Paul’s side as the paramedics quickly wheeled our son into the hall and outside to where the helicopter was waiting. Not wanting to be separated, Steven and I fiercely held onto one another. I quickly kissed him as he pried my fingers from his arm. Through the twirling air and howls of the engine, I heard Steven crying. The propellers could not drown out our hysteria. “I will meet you in the emergency room … hurry … oh, my God, Steven, how will you drive, you’re shaking … tears are streaming.” “Dixie, stop yelling, take care of Paul…get into the helicopter, now!” My heart kept pace with the noisy, fast, roaring, beating engine of the craft. Terrorizing my thoughts was the unknown.

The glass doors opened like the Bat Mobile. The pilot spoke simply, making no demands. He explained all of the confusing instruments and explained what to do in case of an emergency. I thought this was odd. Wasn’t this an emergency? Aboard the helicopter it was deafening but muffled. I wore huge padded earphones. It was as if I were listening to the outside world from underwater. I was drowning, while Paul could not even tread water in the rear of the craft. Without the effort of trying to pick up speed down a runway, we lifted up and up, gliding across the cloudless sky. I felt weightless, timeless, lifeless, as if I were trapped inside a polluted bubble. Through tears and the clear glass surrounding me, I was in a haze-like trance, stunned by the changing day.

Crisp images and flashbacks to our summer family vacation came to life before me. I saw our seven children innocently soaking up the glistening rays of childhood. They played together beside the splintered deck of the summerhouse we had escaped to in the White Mountains of New Hampshire just last month. Amanda, our eldest, wore a skimpy bikini, showing off her pierced navel. She was looking forward to exploring colleges and the independence that would come with her driver’s license in the fall. Brianna, our fifteen-year-old, blue-eyed beauty, took advantage of the quiet views, thought- fully painting sailboats as they glided by. Paul had cast his rod intently into the dark water, patiently waiting for the slightest nibble so he could show off his prize, to the amazement of his younger siblings. He had appeared confident, determined, with a slight grin on his face. Caroline had been in the midst of adolescent mania. That day she looked like a peaceful Eskimo child, happily listening to the latest pop tunes, making the splashing dock sway to the beat of the music. Anna-Theresa, our angelic nine-year-old, swam like a graceful dolphin in the heart-shaped lake surrounded by the green and blossoming mountains. We heard her sweet giggles echo through the cove. Kevin and Monica, our six- and seven-year-old Irish twins, played with plastic shovels and pails, pretending to build a world all their own out of shells, rocks, and sand. I had reached for my camera to capture that peaceful day. Now, thinking of that photograph hanging on my refrigerator at home, I saw Paul’s face. His skin. His smile. I could almost smell his breath.

My thoughts were racing quicker than the propellers, yet everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The specks of people below made me think of tiny insects beneath the dirt, under each blade of grass. The endless sky made me think of the infinite stars and galaxies in the universe. I realized God knew how many hairs were on each person’s head. I was helpless. Not in control of any- thing. The day had started out so “normal.” Now, the fading sun would be setting in unfamiliar territory.

From Unthinkable by Dixie Fremont-Smith Coskie. Copyright © 2009 by Dixie Fremont-Smith Coskie. Reprinted with permission of Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing. www.wymacpublishing.com. For more information about the author, go to dixiecoskie.com.

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