The day is ending, and so is the year 2021. One event stands out for me, and that is my son’s brush with death.
Jerry had gone out with his father but had chosen to stay on the compound to play with his friends. I had my misgivings but I did not expect anything to happen to him. In my mind, I would go out and call him soon. As I engaged in my other chore, I heard the cry of distress. Poking my head out to figure out the reason for the call, I was met with the news that my son had fallen into the well on our compound. Nobody knew how it happened.
Quickly, I called his father who rushed to the well. He was helpless, and so was I with a ten-month-old baby, and neither of us could swim. We were going to watch our son, Jerry drown. I was numb. No tears could come from my eyes. I just couldn’t believe I was going to lose Jerry so soon when he had not even lived yet. But there was nothing I could do.
I don’t remember praying, but I remember regretting letting him stay outside to play. Then I hazarded a look into the well. He was floating, a plank under his arms. I heard his father tell him to stay calm and hold on to the plank, and that help was going to come. I couldn’t stand there. I had given up. All the solutions offered were insufficient. We were going to watch my beloved son die a slow and painful death by water.
Then I saw a man who had been at the well running back to the well with heavy coils of rope. That was when I felt the glimmer of hope. At least, the men were trying to do something. My husband was so distraught he couldn’t have done anything on his own. The men tied the rope around the waist of one man and let him down into the more-than-6ft-deep well. Slowly, slowly, he descended, his life and my son’s on the line. Then, after a while, I heard someone say, ‘He’s got him! Now, pull!’ I rushed again to the well where the men had succeeded in letting down one man who had grabbed my son by arm and got himself and my son pulled out of the well. My husband could not hold back his tears as he held his son once more. I was just numb. Perhaps I was still in shock.
This happened on Sunday, 27th June, 2021. We spent the night in the hospital, making sure Jerry was all right through and through. The following day, when the doctor was assured that he was fine, we carried our son home. Actually, Jerry walked by himself to the house, happy and cheerful as usual. Perhaps childish oblivion had taken over quickly.
Every time I look at him, I recall how close we were to losing him this year and thank God for him. We could say buoyancy kept him afloat till his father got to the well, but who taught him to hang onto a plank to keep him above water? Who taught him to stay calm and keep his head above the cold water?
I won’t take for granted that God is with and in my son, and the fact that he’s a survivor. Many people have told us his time to die is not yet, my favourite being that death had one chance to take him but failed. I’m entering the new year with the confidence that all the elements of the universe will forever rise in defense of my sons, that while they exist, no harm shall befall them, and by extension us. I believe.
