Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness

On Monday Susan almost got ran over by a minivan in the parking lot of Costco. It was lunchtime, I had just picked up the girls from preschool, Susan was in dire need of the potty, I was in a rush to pick up some photo prints and get back up the hill (nine miles) to run the carpool for Sally’s early day at school. I held Spot’s hand and walked steadily between the crowded aisles of cars. Susan lagged behind as my thoughts ricocheted.

(What should we have for dinner? Spaghetti? I should plan next year so that I have no shopping, even grocery shopping, to do the last week before Christmas. Why did Hillary Clinton promise climate change aid to countries like China when we have a huge trade deficit with them, and surely this has already been discussed and pointed out online, or could I write a post and be brilliant? I really need some caffeine today, better grab a fountain coke here after I get my membership card replaced. Why have I not had a period in two months and yet I’m not pregnant? Early menopause? I wonder what the samples are today. Maybe we won’t be able to do any shopping besides the prints and churros, to make it in time to pick up Sally.)

A lady in a blue minivan shouted, not terribly unkindly, “Ma’am!” and I stopped. “I almost hit your daughter. She was out in front of me and I would have felt terrible (hand on her heart) if anything had happened.” I was struck a little bit dumb by this, as I often am when suddenly confronted by a stranger in public. I turned at the first sound of her voice and saw Susan a couple feet behind me, angled closer to the moving cars than Spot and I were. I guess I didn’t react with enough visible horror, because the woman turned to Susan as I moved to take her hand. “Little girl, you have to stay right by mommy because I can’t see you out my windshield and I could have run you right over. You have to be more careful.”

I thanked the lady, and marched on, impressing on Susan the seriousness of the near-accident once we were safely inside, making our way to the bathroom. I was glad, obviously, that the lady didn’t hit my kid, and though it irritated me a little that she would take it upon herself to instruct my kid in front of me, insinuating that I wouldn’t have done the same once we were away from an audience, I might have done the exact same thing, especially with the rush of adrenaline that such a close call often floods the body with.

I really couldn’t tell you the number of times my children have been lucky enough to cheat death. We have forgotten to fasten seat belts or car seats, turned our backs on full tubs of water, left electrical outlets unprotected, crossed the street without benefit of a crosswalk, read a book while children played freely at the park, looked over the precipice at the Grand Canyon, and flown in airplanes.

I think most mothers (if they’re honest) could relate similar terrifying near-miss stories. But sometimes children die as a result of accidental, temporary parental inattention or distraction. Like the recent drowning of Military Mom‘s two-year old in the family pool. Shellie Ross was vilified online for having tweeted right before her son was found in the pool, and then again later asking for prayers as she waited in the hospital.

The saddest instance of accidental, preventable death I’ve ever heard of happened in my sister’s old neighborhood. A family with six small children came home from church, and the kids played in the family room while mom prepared dinner just a few feet away in the kitchen. The baby, a six-week-old, was in her baby carrier car seat on the couch while a toddler played nearby. Somehow the car seat got knocked off the couch, and the baby strangled in the unfastened straps.

I think it’s easy to assign blame or fault in these cases, just as if Susan had been struck and killed by the car in the parking lot two days ago, it would have been my fault.

It clearly would have been, because I was distracted, I was not holding her hand, I was thinking  my own thoughts. I don’t think I would ever get over the guilt of such a death. Ever. I don’t imagine that the censure of others would even have an impact because my own sense of shame would be overwhelming.

And yet, it hurts me to think of Shellie Ross or my sister’s neighbor feeling the shame that I project myself feeling. It seems grossly unfair and mysogynistic that anyone would blame them for making a mistake, for being inattentive, for having the audacity to entertain a thought outside her children for the few seconds it takes for death to snatch a child.

Is it even possible to focus and concentrate a mother’s every thought on the safety of her children? And if it were possible, is that what we require of a mother? That she have no thought or concern or desire outside her children’s every breath, waking and sleeping?

Is that what God requires?

Motherhood is hard for me because I feel tugged, most moments of the day, between what I want to do, what I need to do, and what my children need, what my children want from me. Accidental death of a child is an extreme example of this, but in every moment, I choose (unconsciously or not) whether to entertain my own thoughts or subsume them in service of a childish plea. Even many of my own thoughts are about my children (or about being about my children!).

If and when we criticize a mother who has lost her child as a result of momentary distraction, we deny her a human right more inalienable than anything the Founders ever codified: that of having her own thoughts.