I hope she doesn’t remember any of it.
That was my first thought, my first wish, my first prayer on learning about the 18-month-old baby who was rescued from her upside-down car.
Her young mother, the driver of the car, had died long before the barely-alive baby was found.
Her life is forever changed; her mother gone from this world.
Maybe, just maybe, she will be fortunate enough to not recall the hours of cold and hunger, the dreadful alone-ness, the witnessing of her own mother’s death.
May she always remember her beautiful bright and alive mother and their tender first months together.
As more of the story was revealed, a new detail emerged.
When the firemen responded to the call from the fisherman who found the car and noticed someone was in the car, something amazing happened.
All four men heard a voice calling for help.
An adult voice. A voice that clearly said, “Help me. We’re in here.”
There’s a chance they acted faster because of this call. I don’t know for sure, but perhaps that acting faster saved the life of that little baby who was given CPR after being handed from one man to the next across and out of the river.
The thing is, there was no one there who could have spoken the words.
The mother was long since dead.
The baby was not conscious – and it was not a child’s voice.
And yet all four of them heard it.
Beautifully, this is making the news. The story is being recounted and shared. There is a gentle awe, a sacred wondering that is happening in those who hear it.
So many of us want to know who it was. Where did this voice come from? How could all of these men imagine it?
Some of us have our own theories – that this was the mother’s spirit, so determined to save her child that she could make herself heard in our world.
Or perhaps it was an angel, or a being of light – taking care of one of its own.
There is something in this not-knowing, in this knowing that we probably won’t ever fully know what happened – and in the questions that it leads us to ask.
This not-knowing feeds us in ways that answers cannot.
As we search and question and open our hearts to beautiful possibilities, our souls are nourished.
I love the not-knowing, even as much as I long to know all of it.
And now my wish has changed.
I see this little baby held in the arms of light, kept alive by the will of the Universe until this sacred moment. I imagine this light becoming sound to guide these men to her rescue.
Light. All around her. That’s what I see now.
And now I hope she remembers it.
May she feel this held, this cared for, this celebrated for all of her life.
May she know that she has been through the dark, cold aloneness.