Just Help Me Up Already

I'm sure it's probably safe to say that most, if not all, parents have experienced the feeling of complete and utter helplessness that washes through your gut when your kid is just beyond your reach and you realize they are about to take a nasty tumble. If you're a parent and that never happened to you, kudos to you for being one of two things ... superhuman or the most overprotective parent in the entire universe. Which, I suppose, since each one of my three kiddos took more than one or two rough spills in their day ... while I was within arm's reach of them, I might add ... must mean that I am indeed far from being superhuman or that I must have been the least overprotective parent in the universe. Just so you know, my children would adamantly argue my "least overprotective parent in the universe" statement ... they often remind me of just how overprotective they thought I was. Though I stopped short of encasing them in bubble wrap, I was indeed the queen of overprotective moms for sure. But guess what? Despite all of my best efforts to protect them, my children still fell and got hurt from time to time. Even if I was standing right next to them, there were times when I just couldn't quite get my hands on my kids and they fell.

When my son Brad first told me during a phone conversation about one of his favorite Maine discoveries, I tried to picture the structure in my mind ... a several-hundred-year-old walkway composed of hundreds of large granite stones that stretches a mile out into the ocean. As I listened to my son describe the path that leads through the water to a man-made island that is just big enough to hold the old brick lighthouse that rests upon it, I attempted to imagine the sheer strength and determination of the men who set about to complete such an unbelievable undertaking. It's not like they had powerful machines to cut, move or place the enormous granite slabs ... far from it. The stones were cut from the ground by hand using chisels and hammers, transported to the waterfront by horse-drawn sleds and placed into the ocean using a system of ropes and poles. What later became known as the Rockland Harbor Breakwater Light was a monumental task that began with the construction of the breakwater walkway in 1881 and completed in 1899. That's 18 years of chiseling, hammering, cutting, transporting and placing those hundreds of massive stones into the ocean ... by hand. The present lighthouse and keepers' structure was completed in 1902 ... yep, I said "present lighthouse" and yep, that means the structure is 114 years old. I tried to picture and imagine and conceive all those things in my mind as Brad and I talked on the phone that evening, but it wasn't until I stood on the rocky shoreline a couple of weeks ago and saw it for myself that I realized I was gazing at a very real and important piece of American history.

The day Brad took me to visit the breakwater lighthouse, it was a balmy 40 degrees and the sky was the deepest blue color of sky I've ever seen. It was late afternoon as we began the mile-long walk across the giant slabs of granite, and I mentioned to Brad that it appeared to me we were the only folks heading out toward the lighthouse while all the other visitors were making their way back toward shore. I voiced my concern about getting caught on the granite breakwater after dark, and Brad assured me that he would keep an eye on the time and get us back to shore before the sun went down. We were clipping along at a fairly steady pace, chatting about the beauty and craftsmanship of the stones beneath our feet and discussing how the slabs seemed to have been so carefully placed. Other than some decent-sized gaps between them, the placement of the giant granite stones reminded me of a carefully designed puzzle ... which only served to increase my amazement and wonder as to the skill and tenacity of the designers who had created such a masterpiece. I was almost skipping from rock to rock as Brad and I made our way toward the lighthouse ... it was an absolutely perfect day to be on such an absolutely perfect adventure with my son ... well, an almost perfect adventure anyway.

Ever since I had some problems with my balance a few years ago, I'm always careful to look down at my feet when I'm walking ... I'm not sure why, but that seems to help me to maintain my balance and keep me from swaying or stumbling. I was being extra, extra, extra careful that afternoon on the breakwater as I kept my eyes glued on my feet and the granite slabs beneath them ... the last thing in the world I wanted to happen was for me to get tripped up and lose my balance and fall off the rocks into the ocean. Brad and I were about halfway on our journey out to the lighthouse when it happened ... he said something funny, and I turned my head to glance at him. I can't remember for the life of me what it was he said, but it was enough to take my focus away from my feet and even more important, away from my focus on the cracks between the giant rocks. Though it was only for a moment, I looked up at Brad just long enough to catch the toe of my boot in one of those cracks which in turn caused me to lose my balance and fall. Yep, that's right, friends ... I fell right in the middle of the breakwater stone bridge thingy in Rockland, Maine ... I did indeed. It was one of those falls when it felt like everything was happening in slow motion, you know? Like if I could just get my hands down in front of me, I could stop myself from smacking the rough surface of the granite beneath me and save myself from wounding both my pride and my body. No such luck, however, as I fell face forward and hit the stone hard ... hard enough that I probably should have broken my wrists or my knees or both. Thankfully, I didn't break anything ... bones, camera or glasses ... but I do still have a couple of honking bruises on my knees even now almost three weeks later.

I'm not sure how long I laid there stretched out like an eagle on that slab of granite, but it surely felt like it was a long time. Brad hovered over me asking me if I was okay ... I think he was afraid to touch me in case I was seriously injured. Sharp pains shot through my hands as I tried to push myself up, and I quickly realized that I wasn't going to be able to get up off the rock without some help. I could hear Brad telling me to move my wrists and asking me if I thought I had any broken bones as I said, "I'm fine ... I'm fine ... nothing's broken. Just help me up already." He hesitated for a minute or two, still worried that I had to have broken something for as hard as I hit the granite slab, but my sweet son finally reached down and helped me get back on my feet. The first thing I said in response to his repeated questions asking me if I was okay was, "You don't tell anyone about this ... you hear me? This stays right here on the breakwater!" It probably goes without saying that the minute he could, Brad texted his brother and told him I had fallen and it was the first announcement he made to Shelby when we got back to their house. To his credit, however, Brad didn't laugh at me until he was certain that I wasn't hurt ... but you can bet he's had more than a few hearty chuckles about my tumble on the breakwater since that day, and I'm sure he'll remind me of it for many years to come.

See here's the thing, friends ... I've thought a lot about the fall I took that day in Maine, for lots of reasons. I've thought about how lucky I was not to have broken both of my wrists or to have fallen into the ocean ... I've thought about getting distracted and taking my eyes off of my feet ... I've thought about how in the world I would have gotten up had I been alone. And in thinking about all of those things, I thought about falling in another way ... I thought about how every single one of us falls down now and again, maybe not physically, mind you, but we all fall. We fall emotionally ... we fall mentally ... we fall spiritually ... every single one of us falls at some time or another in our lives. And when we do ... not if, but when ... when we fall, we need someone to help us up. That's especially hard for me, you know ... recognizing I need help to get back on my feet and then actually asking for that help. Falling is easy ... I can get tripped up and fall before I even really realize I'm falling. It's asking for help to get back up that's hard ... telling someone else that I can't stand up on my own, asking them to reach down and help me up, admitting that I need help to get back on my feet ... that's the hard part, friends ... maybe even harder than accepting the help after I've asked for it. Go ahead and think about that for a bit, and while you're at it, think about this, too. If I had been alone on the breakwater when I fell ... if I couldn't manage to get back up by myself ... if I didn't have someone to help me ... most likely, I would have spent a long and terrifying night on a pile of ancient rocks in the middle of the ocean, and there's a pretty darn good chance I might not have been able to hang on until morning. Think about it, friends ... really think about it.

"I'm fine ... I'm fine ... nothing's broken. Just help me up already."