To Moms. on life’s (bitter)sweet moments

In my hand, I hold a helmet soaked in blood.
And trying to keep my hand from trembling too much while holding it—I take a photo.
Not for this post.
But for the helmet’s owner’s Mom.
My Dominykas’ friend’s Mom.
Who, yesterday afternoon, receives the photo directly into the ambulance speeding with its sirens—the sound of which still “echoes” in my head—toward the emergency room.
And it will “echo” for a long time.

Medics need as much information as possible about the nature of a head injury, the force of the impact, the location of the trauma.
And the damage to the helmet tells them a lot.

Yesterday.
It was a simple, sunny, fairly warm Sunday.
My Dominykas went out for a bike ride with a friend a year older.
Not his first time on a bike.
Not the first time racing down the hill.
They’ve known each other for years.
Both serious.
Responsible.
Unscathed heads.
Just two boys enjoying ordinary, regular boyish fun.

But fate’s threats are unknown.
One jump for Dominykas’ friend went wrong. Very wrong.
Why? What was different? No one can say.

But the fact is: the landing was such that the boy initially lost consciousness.
Then the seizures began.
“When his eyes turned white,” I thought, “this is really bad,” my Do later recounted.

The kids didn’t panic.
They weren’t scared of the blood.
They called 112 themselves and summoned help.
They informed us.
The medics were incredible.
They arrived fast.
Reacted instantly.

Why am I telling this?
Because after a long conversation Sunday evening with Dominykas’ friend’s Mom,
after the medics confirmed that apart from stitches on the chin, many superficial injuries, and a mild concussion and contusion—more serious head trauma had been avoided.
On the phone, the Moms of these two wonderful boys expressed their joy, which broke through half a day of well-contained fear with double sighs.

“Vika, you know how to reach deep with words!” she asked me.
“Write to all Moms, that only the helmet prevented today’s scenario from being tragic.”

I write.
Because I heard that on the other end of the line was the HAPPIEST MOM in the world.
Who, after a terrifyingly anxious time, learned: THE CHILD WILL BE OK.
Because serious injuries were avoided thanks to the right helmet.
Doctors examined the child and confirmed it several times.

No.
We Moms of boys cannot keep them locked safely at home, building Lego and flipping through books.
We cannot be right there under collapsing pillow forts.

“Do,” I smile after the stress, “I’ll lock the bike away.”
“And what will I do for fun then?” asks my teen.
“Embroider cross-stitch,” I joke.

No.
They don’t grow up without scratches and bruises.
Without broken hands or fingers.
Without stitches.
We cannot cover their adventures with protective soft pillows.
But!
We can buy them helmets and instill in their beloved heads the fact that without them—
not a single step toward adventure!

If you have adventure-seekers by your side—
show them a photo of a broken helmet painted pink.
Tell the story of one Sunday afternoon, “echoing” with ambulance sirens.
Inside was a boy brimming with life, enjoying time with a friend.

The good news: he didn’t forget to fasten the helmet.
And after recovery,
he will return to grasp life’s adventures with his little hands again.
It could have been very different.
Very, very different.

Mua,
V.