Everyone experiences monumental events that “bookmark” their lives. A spot in which you can return to easily, regularly, and even use to gauge the distance between other, smaller events. Usually these big moments are things like the birth of a child, your wedding day, the death of a loved one, or even a career change. Things we expect out of life. We know they are going to happen; it is just a matter of when.
Well, one of these monumental events for me was neither known nor expected. August 19th, 2018, is the day my child was accidentally locked in a non-running vehicle, with me standing right outside of her door.
This is not a stand-still moment for me because she was injured or died, like so many other sweet, innocent babies. This is a stand-still, “bookmark” moment because it changed my life.
Backtrack to August 7th, 2018: one of my long-time friends, Amanda, messaged me, asking me about my new life with two babies under two years old. We small talked back and forth, and she commented on one of my previous blog posts, Unveiling the Mystery of the Mantilla. She mentioned she and her sister, Aimee, had always admired those who wear it, and in fact were planning on wearing their new veils together the following week. Amanda very sweetly asked me and my family to join them at their church, Our Lady of the Rosary, to be with them as they wore their veils for the first time.
I happily accepted, immediately put it on our family calendar, and said a prayer of thanks to Our Lady. How wonderful! One of my friends was taking this leap of faith with me, and I was excited to meet Aimee, whom Amanda had told me so much about and seemed very similar to myself.
Getting ready for mass that morning was surprisingly smooth. Genevieve (Evie) was in a great mood, and Josephine (Jo), only four months old, had nursed herself to sleep for the ride from Slidell to New Orleans. We even arrived to mass early, something we hadn’t figured out how to do with two kids yet, so I decided to take Genevieve out of the car to play on the church steps before settling into a pew. My husband stayed in the running car with Josephine while she napped.
When the church bells started ringing, I went back to the car with Evie and Andy had started to get out of the car. I gave him Genevieve to hold, while I got the diaper bag out of the passenger seat. Jo’s carseat was located behind the driver’s seat. As I stood up with the diaper bag and closed my door, I watched Andy close his door at the exact same time. I even remember giggling because I thought “whoa, what were the chances that the doors slammed shut together when we weren’t even paying attention to one another?”
I walked around to open Josephine’s door. I couldn’t.
Annoyed, I looked at Andy and snapped, “unlock the car, please!”
He patted his pockets, looked on the ground, looked on top of the car and the hood, all in about fifteen seconds. I watched the color drain from his face as he realized he had left the keys on the driver’s seat. And we had closed the doors simultaneously. My car automatically locked the moment the doors hit the frames.
My heart started to pound out of my chest. I was already sweating with the effort of getting the girls out of the car, how long until Josephine, under a blanket, in a carriage carseat, sweats? Five minutes? Two?
“Get her out of this car.” I looked at Andy. He called a pop-a-lock, who said he could be there in twenty minutes, maybe less.
“We don’t have twenty minutes!” I had tears streaming down my face, I was sweating through my dress, and I could see Josephine had woken up, and was whimpering. How long had she been in there? Three minutes?
“ANDY, get her out! NOW!” He looked around, and found a massive metal pipe lying in the parking lot.
“We will not wait twenty minutes, I promise. But give him a chance before I break this window. You can see her. Talk to her.”
I was shaking, my body trembling with adrenaline. I was screaming into the window so Josephine could hear me. I kept telling her I was right there, we were getting her out, she was not alone, she was not forgotten.
A stranger, a member of the congregation I’m sure, came out to “help.” He told me to calm down. I told him to shut up and go away, or break this window for me. I had no time for someone else’s nonsense. He stood there, offering no help whatsoever, taking up space.
I’m not sure how much time passed exactly, but I know it was around five minutes until the pop-a-lock employee showed up. He came in the nick of time, because I literally had the metal pipe in my hands, raised above my head, my face red with anger and tears.
My breasts had leaked through my padding, my bra, and onto my dress, in response to my screaming baby. My veil was askew, my dress drenched in sweat, my makeup smeared. I’m sure I looked like a crazy fool.
I did not give a single you-know-what about what anyone thought of me in that moment.
As soon as the door was opened, I pulled Josephine from her seat so quickly I don’t remember doing it. She was screaming, drenched in sweat, so much sweat it looked like I had dunked her in a pool. I ran with her into the church, where mass had been going on for twenty minutes already. When I made it to the vestibule, I hit my knees.
I was fumbling with my dress, trying to nurse Josephine on the floor in an attempt to calm her. I was crying, shaking, trying my best to say a Hail Mary out loud, but my voice kept breaking. I could hear the choir singing, the music playing just beyond the massive wooden doors. I sat against a wall, a screaming, wet baby in my arms, and thanked God for that scream with every ounce of my being.
I had left Genevieve and Andy in the parking lot. All I could focus on was this tiny, completely dependent human, and how I had failed her. She needed to nurse, she was dehydrated, and I could not, for the life of me, get her to calm down enough to eat.
And that is when the wooden doors burst opened and my friend Amanda, came running to me. She knelt down, asked me what happened, and I don’t even remember what I said. She left to find some cold water, and as she came back, a veiled woman came down some stairs from behind me. She stopped, stared at me and Josephine, and said “hold on, I’ll be right back.”
She quickly returned with a second veiled woman. One began to pray over me, the other stroked Josephine’s head and spoke calmly to her. The first veiled woman reminded me to breathe, to do my best to calm myself. She reminded me that Josephine would only relax if I was relaxed. She held my hand, and Jo’s head, and breathed with me. The second veiled woman continued to pray over me, her gentle hand on my head, and Amanda came back. She placed a cold, wet napkin on Jo’s forehead, and one on mine.
I had three veiled women kneeling around me and my daughter in a circle, working, praying, whispering together, in a vestibule of a church.
It was like an out-of-body experience. When I think back on this moment, I see myself, exhausted and red, sitting on the ground with a wailing infant at my exposed breast. I see three women kneeling around me, all wearing the mantilla, all working with their hands to calm the storm. I see my husband enter the vestibule with Evie in his arms, staring with amazement, with awe, at the scene.
He told me it was one of the most powerful things he has ever seen.
Josephine began to calm, and started to nurse. I caught my breath, and held tight to this stranger’s hand, staring into her eyes and breathing. She was my calm.
I looked up at the second veiled woman, also a stranger, and thanked her for her fervent prayers. Her voice, carrying messages to the angels, her eyes shut with concentration, will forever be etched in mind.
A man came through the doors and informed me he was a NICU nurse, and he would gladly look over her for me to make sure she didn’t need a trip to the emergency room. I said yes, please look at her, but how did he know she needed to be seen?
He told me the very unhelpful man from the parking lot came into the church and informed him. So maybe he wasn’t so unhelpful after all.
The nurse watched Jo breathe, felt her tiny pulse in her tiny wrist, and checked her fontanels. He said she appeared to be just fine, but to watch for any unusual behavior for the next twenty-four hours.
Amanda helped me up, and brought me to her family in one of the front pews. The other two veiled women climbed back up the stairs, into what I later figured out was the choir loft.
I sat through the remainder of mass, tears welling up every five minutes, thanking God above for keeping my Josephine safe. My body didn’t stop shaking until mass was over.
I realized at the end of mass that Amanda and I were the only veiled women in the pew. Where was her sister, Aimee? Wasn’t she supposed to be here, too? I had looked forward to meeting her so much!
Amanda told me I already had–she was the first veiled woman from the choir loft. The one who had held my hand and told me to breathe. My calm.
I cried all over again. That was Aimee? She hadn’t hesitated to help me, and neither had her friend, who I was later introduced to as Elizabeth.
Elizabeth is a consecrated virgin.
Wait, what?
You know how as Catholics, we are taught to see Jesus in everyone? And Jesus uses us to do His will, if we allow Him?
Jesus came, calmed my storm, and walked on water. All through Amanda, Aimee, and Elizabeth.
He sent three holy women, who were all in the same place, at the same time, to take care of my baby and I. He is so, so faithful.
I will never forget this life-altering experience, for obvious reasons. But the main reason I won’t ever forget it?
Aimee is now one of my best friends. She is someone I call on easily, regularly, much like this bookmark of a moment. And she is always there, ready to come to my aid. Elizabeth and I have seen each other a few more times at the same church–each time a moment of pure joy.
I can never thank Amanda enough for inviting me to mass that day. Four veiled women knelt on the vestibule floor, Christ working through them, to keep a baby safe in her mother’s arms.
Women veil for many reasons in the Catholic Church (see my previous post for more information), but one of my main reasons is to honor Mother Mary.
I find it impossible to not believe Mother Mary was present with us that day–four veiled women prayed and worked together over an infant (whose middle name is “Mae,” in honor of Mary) in a church named after her!
And just to make sure you, reader, don’t cough this all up to coincidence: August 19th, 2018, was the first Sunday following the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
I know, I get goosebumps every time I think about it, too.
A Surge of the Heart 