Sunday, October 3, 2004 - The Worst 5 Minutes Of My Life

After I posted earlier this evening I took a couple minutes to look at a couple other blogs and read about Lioness's encounter with a lost little 2-year-old boy.

Now I am awake in the middle of the night because I keep thinking about a similar situation that happened to me in one of my moments of less than ideal parenting. And when Rascal fell out of bed a few minutes ago (and I was up and in his room in a microsecond), I decided that it would ease my mind to tell this story to you. So here's the story:

Rascal was 20 mo. old at the time. It was a lovely August day, and as usual, we were outside. I was sitting out in front of the garage reading while Rascal played nearby. He wandered off behind the garage, and I thought nothing of it until I realized that several minutes had passed without my seeing or hearing him. I walk behind the garage and there is no Rascal.

OK, he couldn't have gone far, right? I run around my house and then through the yards of the two neighbors next door (who do not have fences, so it was a real possibility). I look up and down the street.

No Rascal!!!

At this point I am in panic mode, screeching his name out at the top of my lungs, trying to compose myself well enough to decide what to do next. Of course all the worst case scenarios are running through my head - he'll try to cross the street, we're right by the elementary school and if someone's looking to kidnap kids, that's where they'll be, what if he gets down to the other end of the street (where there is a very busy road).

My screaming draws my (other) next-door neighbor outside, and she inquires as to what is wrong. I told her that Rascal was gone but don't wait for a repsonse because I have decided what to do - to go to the end of the street and see if he went around the corner, then call the police and enlist the neighbors' help.

When I get to the end of the street, much to my relief I see a couple walking Rascal back toward me. He had wandered around the block, not crossing the street (good boy, I trained him well) and was on the next road over, and this kind couple who were out walking saw him and followed the panicked shouts back home.

I can't remember if I thanked the couple (so, thank you, whoever you are!), but I do clearly remember them asking me what Rascal's name was. I replied, "You mean you couldn't tell from the screaming?" They said, "No, not really, but we figured he was yours."

After that I whisked Rascal inside and cried for the next couple hours. I am still affected deeply by it.