The Fall

We were at the park.

It was Autumn, but the day was unnaturally warm for the time of year.

We had finally finished playing tag in the interactive game zone, and I convinced him to move on. To let other children have a turn.

I suggested we go down the slide, but he preferred water play.

The buttons to activate the water were too hard for him to press on his own.

I had to do it for him.

For some reason, I looked up at the sky, or something, it doesn’t matter what, it’s not important.

But I only looked away for just a second.

I heard a cry.

My heart started pounding.

I looked back.

He was gone.

I looked down.

He was face down in the sand.

How did it happen so quickly?

I saw the concrete beneath the water play equipment.

Did he hit his head on the way down?

I rushed to pick him up.

He wasn’t squirming and writhing in pain like he sometimes does. Maybe he was okay.

I held him close, still terrified he was badly hurt.

I sat him down. Wiped the sand from his face with the bottom of my dress.

He was sitting still, allowing me to wipe his face. This was so out of character for him.

He never sits still.

In that moment, he knew he needed Mama to take care of him.

He seemed unhurt, and eventually he went back to playing.

Later that afternoon, I found a swollen bruise on his head, and I realised he really did hit his head on the way down.

~~~

This is a true event that happened when I was at the park with my son one morning a few months ago. It was just a small moment in time, but that instant of terror has stayed with me.

I know he remembers it too. I heard him babbling to himself in bed one morning, and he said, "Scared Mama at the park," which was exactly what I said to him with a wave of relief after it was all over.

It also became a stream of consciousness exercise I did at the Margaret River Readers and Writers Festival.

The task was to think about a memory or an event and write about it exactly as it forms in our mind. We had strict instructions not to stop, reread what we had written or make any edits.

I found this a little challenging as I’m always going back and editing previous parts of my writing before I’ve finished the final piece.

It's been a tough couple of weeks for me since returning to work again.

I know I'm only working one day a week, but it has taken all my motivation to write, and I really hate the feeling I get when I'm not writing.

Finally, today I felt a tiny bit of inspiration to write something again, so I decided to start small and share this piece with you.

In July, I'll be working two days per week to help cover someone who is sick, and I'm really hoping I don't lose myself even more.