I made him wear these shoes. He hates these shoes. They fit alright, but they make him trip. His other sandals are just too small. There were no other options and we needed to hurry to just run a quick errand and get back for lunchtime.
He was talking about silly things, chattering alongside me through Target. He tripped. Suddenly he was flying through the air beside me and his face smacked into the metal shelf. He laid still on the cold linoleum and I saw blood. Wils was screaming, Jeff was calling me. Dozens of people ran towards us. Angels, every one.
One took Wils. One took Jeff. One picked Harrison up and cradled his head. He took his shirt off and used it to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. He scooped up my shaking little man and ran him to a clinic inside Target. His name was Gabriel. He is one of our angels today.
We sped to the ER. I stared at those shoes. I should have just let him wear the brown leather ones that clashed horribly with his now bloodied Star Wars t-shirt. I listened to the doctor and nurse talk. If he had landed a little lower on his face it would have been much worse...much, much worse. I don't want to entertain that thought.
Harrison is given a cape. It's really a pillowcase used to restrain his arms. I know they won't need it. He's brave beyond words. He is perfectly still as they load his eye with lidocain and begin closing him up. Five internal stitches, 17 external. He cracks jokes about maybe his face bone is broken too and they should x-ray him just in case.
He is thrilled his sewn-up eye is stitched with blue. He chows down on his popsicle reward and I'm given a moment to count the angels. The 10 Target employees that entertained my other two amazing boys. Gabriel who literally gave the shirt off his back. The paramedics called to the store and drew a map to the hospital for me.
I know there are worse injuries. I know the ER had life and death cases in the rooms around us. I know the floors of the hospital above us are filled with rooms of grieving families. I know a busted eye is trivial, stitches are routine, and this is a part of life with boys. But I count my blessings. I count every person today designed by God to be there when this Momma's sense flew out the window when my hurt little boy crumpled to the floor.
This is a proud boy sporting his war wound. This guy now has a story he can't wait to tell over and over. This kid has got some angels looking over him because I saw them today. This kid told me angels helped him fall. He said if God hadn't sent them it would have been worse. I'm thankful it was just stitches. I'm thankful it was just a busted eye. I'm thankful for people willing to hold babies, give their shirts, and be angels unaware. But now I hate those shoes too.