“I confess. Last year, something traumatic happened to me, and I felt like such a failure that I kept it to myself for a lot longer than I should have: I lost track of one of my kids.
My three boys and I were with a big group of people from our school, picking up garbage on the beach for a classmate’s service project on the windiest day I can remember. We walked a long way up the beach, trying to fill our garbage bags, then back down, past our home base. Nine, then 8, was walking with an enthusiastic group of his second-grade buddies.
When it was time to head back and see who had collected the most garbage, the huge pack of boys swarmed back to our meeting place. I didn’t realize Nine wasn’t in that running, jumping group.
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As the crowd dispersed after the garbage was weighed, two of my boys walked over to me, but Nine was nowhere to be seen. I looked around and called his name. I hadn’t laid eyes on him for at least 10 minutes — or had it been 20? Almost immediately, everything around me swirled and blurred. The only thing in focus was the bright red flag flapping violently above the lifeguard station. The white-capped waves were deafening.
Horrible scenarios flooded my mind as parents formed impromptu search parties.
‘What if he went down to the water? What if there’s a rip current?? What if he asks the wrong stranger for help and they know he’s all alone… don’t let your mind go there, just keep looking around. Stay put. Pray,’ I repeated to myself.
One dad told to me to give the lifeguards a description of him and stay put so they would know where to find me. They soon jumped onto their four-wheelers looking for my son.
Our PE teacher asked where I last saw him. I gestured in the direction where his group had been collecting trash by the dunes. She took off running.
I stood alone with my fear and helplessness. Then, a short time later, I saw her walking back toward me, hand-in-hand with my son.
I ran to him, Lifetime movie–style.
Nine had gone over a dune chasing a piece of trash blowing along the sand, then on down the beach — in the wrong direction — looking for us. He told me how scared he was when he couldn’t find everyone and didn’t know what to do, so he just kept walking and looking.
I cried to myself the whole car ride home, imagining what could have happened if the wrong person approached him or if he’d gone down to the water. But out loud I said, ‘We’ll make a plan so that never happens again. I’m so glad everyone is safe.’
I didn’t want to relive that day. But parents offered hugs and comforting words at school Monday morning, and I quickly learned that EVERYONE had a lost-kid story: malls, sporting events, Toucha Truck … Name a place, their kid had gotten lost there.
Maybe it doesn’t occur to us because no one is posting about it — it’s not pretty, it’s not funny, and there’s no corresponding reaction button. I’m sharing this with you now because (a) You’re awesome, and (b) My kids and I have a pretty solid plan if — nay, WHEN — this happens again.
Every time we pull into a place with crowds, we have the ‘What if we get separated?’ conversation. Before I’ll unlock the doors, everyone has to respond (with a sigh and an eye roll), ‘I will stay put and look around. If I don’t see you, I will find a trusted adult and tell them my I can’t find my mom, her name is Lindsay, and her number is XXX-XXX-XXXX. Will you please call her?’
Yes, I make them say the WHOLE phone number to make sure everyone’s got it right. And a ‘trusted adult’ to my kids is either a uniformed employee or a mom with a stroller. This quick conversation gives me the same peace of mind as handing my kid a bike helmet, and it will hopefully give them confidence in a scary and confusing situation.”
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This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Lindsay Chamberlin, a Florida mom who writes for College Park Community Paper, where it originally appeared.
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