Missing My Munchkin

She was 7 years old, a curly headed imp, my bringer of joy. Our first grandchild. I feel at fault for her death. I was there watching her climb the tree, even taking pictures of the little monkey way up high. I was proud she was such a good tree climber. It was Memorial Day. 

Her last words were “don’t be silly Grandpa” when he told her she needed to get down out of the tree so she wouldn’t hurt herself. He went inside. I was standing about 15 feet away where her little brother was sitting in the car pretending to drive. The monkey started climbing up the tree again. I can see it slow motion in my memory but I cannot remember hearing any sounds. Her foot slipped at the V barely 6 feet up. She fell straight back between the brick planter and hit the back of her head on the edge of the deck.  No breaking branches. 

I ran to her, screaming for my husband to come, and felt for a carotid pulse. It was strong, but she was not breathing. The space she fell into was about 12 inches wide. Squeezed next to her I did rescue breathing, carefully doing a chin lift without movement of the neck. Concentrating on the rise and fall of her chest and her pink warm skin. Dim recollections of sirens, cops’ feet on the deck, Someone touching my shoulder and taking my spot, then someone else helped me up.  

My manly man was crying, begging one cop to arrest him. They had her on a board by then and intubated, carrying her past the car in the driveway and loading her into the ambulance. One cop took Grandpa with him, then they were gone.

I was standing on the deck, her little brother beside me. Total silence. I was not in the habit of carrying my phone so I doubt I had it on me. Someone must have called my son because I knew they were on the way to the medical center. She had been life flighted. I heard the helicopter.

Her brother was not talking yet. I tried to explain what had happened but wasn’t sure he understood. We sat side by side on the porch swing, my arm around him. Finally a friend came and took him to his house. 

My next memories were of being in the hall outside the pediatric ICU. Only immediate family was allowed. Grandpa didn’t come in. She had IVs everywhere and her head was wrapped in bandages. I know she had a skull flap and multiple brain procedures and scans, but that is a curse to know what goes on medically to someone you love. 

We talked with her, and felt she was still present with us. One time I was absently checking for a reflex, running a finger down the sole of her foot. The toes curled. I checked again, and again before I asked  “can you feel Grandma tickling your foot?  If you can, curl your toes again”. Her parents and I all saw it happen. Again. Several times. Of course that brought the team running. They ran scans again, but nothing. No more movement. Then we were alone again with her machines. 

Sometime later It felt like she was leaving. I was talking to her about my mom (whose birthday it was that day). I told her Great Grandma was in heaven celebrating her birthday today with Jesus. One lone tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. I don’t know if anyone saw it besides me. When I talked to my other son, he told me “Jesus is with her in the room. He says her body is too broken for her to come back”. It was a comfort to my heart to know Jesus took her home to the birthday party and my mom was waiting for her.