A Death Defying Love -- We Often Only Know How Much We Love When We Almost Lose -- My daugther and my Son  Written in 1998, The Event Occureed in 1982

 Why is it we never know how much we love someone until we almost lose them, or more tragically, until we do lose them?  Part of the reason may be that bonds are forged in crisis.  As my son’s birthday approaches, and as I reflect on what a joy and delight he has been to his mother and me, I remember when we “almost lost him.”  Fashioned from an essay, which my daughter, Mrs. Carrie Holly McMahan, wrote in 1988, the following relates our near tragic experience when my son fell through a glass shower door and severed his radial artery.  My daughter relates the story:

“On this day, I was most aware of my love for, and a peculiar camaraderie with, my brother.  We were both in my parents’ bathroom.  He was in the bath and I was on the other side of the wall rolling my hair, so I could go meet friends at the mall.  The bathroom was designed with separate areas so more than one activity could go on in modesty.  When I recall these events, they go by in slow motion, like a movie producer creating a dramatic effect.

I knew my brother had stood up, because I heard the water rushing back and forth, then I heard a noise like a wet foot rubs across a dry tub...a splash...glass breaking...  My first thought was, ‘Oh, great!  He has broken the shower door and Mom is going to kill us both.’  Then I heard shrieks of pain and fear from the other side of the wall.  Richmond was screaming, ‘Oh, Jesus, oh God, I’m bleeding!  Carrie, help me!’  I rushed around the side of the wall, and he was sitting in a tub full of blood.  The water and blood had so mixed together that it reminded me of a horror movie.

I watched in growing terror as the water drained off and became more blood than water.  I grabbed a towel and threw it on the place he was holding with his hand.  He had stopped screaming, and I realized he was going into shock.  He got out of the tub, and blood was running down his bare legs like a fountain.  In fact, that is the exact thought I recall having, ‘It was like torrents of blood.’

My mother’s bathroom was pink and white.  It had a relaxing, comfortable effect with plants here and there, and little bows on the flower pots.  Think of the stark contrast between that tranquil scene and blood pouring off my little brother.  He and I both feared he was dying.  He began to sob softly and showed me the wound.  When he pulled the towel off the cut on his right wrist, blood shot up in a perfect arc about a foot from the wound, much of it hitting me on my white shirt.

All the neighbors were gone.  My parents were eating somewhere and hadn’t left the name of the restaurant.  Both cars were gone and it never occurred to me to call an ambulance.  My brother was dying.  I had to stop the bleeding.  I needed to stay clam.  Although Richmond is almost three years younger than I am, he was already much taller than me and weighed much more.  I knew that if he got to the point where he was too weak to walk, I was going to have difficulty helping him.  All that he could say was, ‘I want Dad; just find Dad.’

I left him holding the wound and ran to the phone.  On a guess, I called a restaurant, which they frequented.  When the lady answered, I said, ‘There may be a Dr. Holly in your restaurant; this is his daughter and I need him immediately. This is an emergency.  Tell him, “Stat!”’   She didn’t say a word, in less than a minute my father answered.  I told him, ‘Dad, Richmond has fallen through the shower door.  He is cut badly.  Come quickly!’  He told me to apply pressure, and I heard the phone drop and hit the floor.

When I got back to the bathroom Richmond was gone.  I found him by following the footprints of blood on the beige carpet.  They led into my parents' bedroom, where I found him lying on the floor.  At first I thought he was dead, until I got close enough to hear him moaning quietly, like I remember doing as a child when I was sick and just wanted to hear myself.  He had feared loosing consciousness and had layed on the floor with his arm under his body, so that he would still apply pressure, if he passed out.

We got him dressed and sitting in a chair.  I knelt down beside the chair and held his head next to my chest.  I hummed and rocked him, praying to God to see fit to spare his life.  It was as if I could feel his strength ebbing away.  He held onto me, begging me to pray aloud, almost as if to gather strength from me.  It was not an emotional strength he needed, because he was very calm now; but it was a physical strength that was steadily draining away with his life’s blood that he sought.  His trusting voice hurt me when he spoke, for he spoke with a confidence in me that I didn't have in myself.

I remembered when we were in school and I was the ‘big sister’ that could fix anything.  He was small and frail as a young child, and I would beat up on kids that would make fun of him and tease him.  A love for him, like I have never known, came over me.  I wanted that moment, that tender, intimate moment, to last a long time, not the pain and fear, but that close feeling, the trust and love we both felt so strongly.

My father arrived soon after that.  He had a diesel car and we heard him coming, so we met him at the back door.  I think it is here that I should end my story, for I became nothing more than a mere observer at this point.  I had done what I was supposed to do.  We had made it.  Daddy was here and would take care of it all.  The relief of passing on the responsibility of my brother’s life to one I considered more capable, cannot be expressed in words, so I will not attempt to do so.  The relief was complete.”

For all those who have lost children to tragic accidents, I ask God’s comfort, and I give Him thanksgiving that my son was spared.  Life is filled with opportunities to discover that ultimately life’s value is found in family, faith and friends.  For our family this was one of those occasions.  The memory of this occasion reminds me to treasure by son, my daughter, my wife, my grandchildren, and my son-in-law.  Happy Birthday, Richmond.  Your mother and I love you, and, don’t forget, Beau, Hannah Catherine and Holly Victoria love you, too.