Playground Lessons

Maria pushed her daughter on the playground swing, though her assistance was hardly needed anymore. Lara, she knew, simply wanted the attention, the interaction, and to be able to bend her mother's ear as she pumped her legs and rose higher and higher, feet pointed toward a blue sky filled with puffy white clouds.

"Look, Mama! I am going so high!" The refrain was repeated several times as the morning slipped away, minute by precious minute.

They had the place to themselves, with most children already back in school. It was one of the reasons Maria liked coming here early in the mornings - it was a peaceful place to spend some quality time with her daughter and also a cue that the week was over and lazy weekend mornings were just ahead. In fact, she wasn't sure who looked forward to this Friday ritual more, Lana or herself.

After much discussion of the clouds, the park, and various other random subjects from the mind of a 4 year old, Lana slowed to a stop and said, "You too, Mama! You swing, too!"

This was new, a deviation from their normal late summer routine.

On Friday mornings, before dropping Lana at daycare, Maria stopped for chocolate donuts, milk, and a 30-minute detour to the park where Lana was now insisting that she join her on the swings.

Usually, their short excursion to this playground meant that Maria would play only audience member to the actions of her imaginative daughter - being asked to participate was something new altogether.

Wondering how long it had been since she actually sat in a park swing, Maria pulled on the chains for good measure before trusting them with her adult-sized body. 

"Like this, Mama." and so the lesson began, Lana giving what she was sure was beginner's instructions to Maria on the mechanics of reaching for the sky with her toes.

Maria, for her part, played along, asking questions and feigning surprise at her ability to move herself to greater and greater heights.

Almost without warning, the puffy white clouds began to turn an ominous gray, and the warm breeze began to shift into a wind that gusted so hard at times that it stirred the heavy merry-go-round into motion.

Maria attempted to pull herself into a stop so they could take shelter from the impending storm, but the wind seemed only to pull her legs in the opposite direction from the ground on which she was trying, desperately now, to plant her feet.

Lana continued to laugh and congratulate her on her achievements, while Maria became increasingly more terrified though trying not to alarm her daughter.

And then it happened, the wind gusted so hard it snapped the chains on the swing and Maria found herself flying through the air, chains still taut as though tethered to some imaginary anchor. 

Looking down, she could still see her daughter, happily chattering as though the storm had not just carried her mother high above the playground and into the ever-blackening sky. Maria watched as though in slow-motion, the remnants of their breakfast picnic blew away, her purse blown onto the ground, contents spilling all over the pea gravel. 

Panic gripped her throat, rendering her unable to speak, much less scream, and Maria could only cling to the chains in her hands for dear life as the wind howled and moaned in her ear.

What kind of mother was she? How could she have been so foolish as to get on that swing? Now Lana was alone on the playground, and Maria had no idea how she was going to get back to her.

Slowly, from somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Maria remembered how to center herself. Closing her eyes, she took breath after deep breath, visualizing herself slowly descending back onto the ground beside her daughter. 

She could feel her heart rate begin to steady as she breathed, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Willing herself not to panic, she could feel the wind calming, but before she could make it back to Lana, the chains holding Maria suddenly went slack and she began to fall, hard and fast toward the ground.

Limbs flailing, Maria finally found her voice and woke herself up screaming.

The nurse rushed in, a look of alarm on her kind face.

"Maria, honey - are you okay? Are you hurting?"

"Lana!" Maria cried desperately, "Where is Lana?" 

At that moment, as though speaking her name had spoken her into existence, a bassinet was wheeled into the hospital room.

"I thought you might want to feed her yourself." The nurse pushing the bassinet was going on about adjusting her bed and how many hours since last feeding - Maria heard none of it. In one motion, she was out of her own bed and picking up the child that was looking at her now with suspicious eyes.

The two nurses looked at each other in surprise but said nothing. Maria stared at Lana's deep, dark eyes for a moment longer, and she seemed to finally convey through her own a message that she couldn't formulate into words. But if she could have, it would have been something like, "I am your mother, and I have no idea how to do this or if I will even do any of it right. But I do know that I love you, and I would do anything, anything for you to keep you safe."

Moving back to the bed, she drew Lana close to her chest, and the two of them stayed that way for a long time before the infant began to stir, restless for her next meal.

As the nurses watched through the half open door, they each sighed a breath of relief.

Outside the hospital, the parking lot was dotted with puddles from the storm. Overhead, though, there was a blue sky with puffy white clouds and a warm breeze. Flowers trailing from planters outside the hospital entrance swayed back and forth, like children on a playground swing.