My husband and I grabbed our stuff, loaded up, and headed over six hours to where our son was spending his half birthday – the ICU. His last moment on the ski slopes during the youth group ski trip landed him there. No one knows exactly what happened, but somehow our firstborn, a senior in high school, ended up going over the side of the mountain. Praise the Lord, my seventeen year old was quickly found, rescued, and taken to a hospital.

When I think of ski injuries, I think of a broken arm. Maybe a broken leg. However, my son had a laundry list of fractured bones from his skull to his femur plus, more seriously, bleeding on the brain – in two spots. And let’s not forget about the lacerated liver. The injuries were so severe the first hospital quickly sent my son in a helicopter to a much larger hospital better equipped for the emergency. Meanwhile, my husband and I were helplessly several states away receiving updates and figuring out logistics for the next few days for our youngest children so we could join our oldest who was dangerously close to death.

Around midnight, after driving straight through from Atlanta with only one hurried stop, my husband and I finally arrived at the huge hospital in Roanoke. On the drive, we had the unwanted but necessary conversation to compare if we were on the same page concerning our son’s future. We were. Our son’s quality of life was important to both of us. Neither of us wanted him to be a vegetable. These were not hypothetical what ifs to disturbingly ponder but sobering realities that needed to be clearly understood considering the decisions we might be forced to make in the near future. We entered the hospital with overwhelming love for our son and an utter lack of knowledge of what our future with him looked like.

The student leader, who thankfully had been able to rent a car and drive two hours to be with our son until we arrived, met us at the hospital entrance and showed us to the ICU area on the 9th floor. Was I ready to see my oldest of four? I was not sure how this next step would be. Would I pass out? Cry? Who knows. The student leader offered to show us pictures to prepare us. I declined. We parted ways since the limit was two visitors, and we needed this time alone anyway. The locked doors that read Level 1 Trauma Center opened, and we headed to room 973. Pausing at the door for one final deep breath, I braced myself for whatever I was about to encounter and then entered my son’s room.

My strong third degree Black Belt son was peacefully asleep in the hospital bed. Instantly, I was relieved that he looked like himself. The half of his face that had been badly battered faced the windows and so was hidden from my initial view. I quietly greeted him. Stirring, he immediately turned my way and cheerfully responded, “Hi mom! Good to see you!” His eyes promptly closed and back to sleep he went. All I felt was peace that we were finally together in this unexpected turn of events. Additionally, I was keenly aware that if I lost him, I had just been given a priceless gift with that brief greeting. Some parents never have that moment before being forced to unexpectedly let go of their precious child. I had seen that inconsolable grief up close in others. I did not take his few words of recognition and love for granted. I knew that if my son’s bleeding on his brain ended his life, God had been so gracious to let me hear his voice one final time. These are the thoughts that swirled around inside my head as I found my seat in the ICU and waited to see how this would all play out. I felt like I was in a movie but unable to fast forward to know if I liked the ending. Waiting in realtime was my only option for this tear-jerker.

Eager to hear an update from the doctors, my husband and I ended up waiting hours before actually hearing one. Turns out, our issues were not the most urgent. Wow. What are these other poor souls dealing with in the infamous ICU?

While we waited, thankfully we were allowed two overnight visitors instead of the normal limit of one. So another recliner was wheeled into the cramped space, and my husband and I began a “slumber party” with our firstborn that was hard to comprehend was really happening.

At one point during the late hours in that place, which is a constant reminder we live in a cursed world, I heard sobbing. But it wasn’t from our room. Someone was visiting another patient, which appeared to be very emotionally taxing. Strange to be half-reclined in a dark room with constant beeping noises and murmuring voices at the desk nearby and attempting to rest inches from my son with bleeding on his brain and then suddenly hear a man weeping seemingly right outside my door. Simply put, it was sad. The echo of Genesis 3 ricocheted around me.

Like your typical slumber party, sleep was not the main objective in the ICU. To make this point crystal clear, CAT scans were done in the middle of the night as a rule of thumb. Around 3am, we watched our son be wheeled away, bed and all, to have yet another CAT scan to observe the brain bleeding. About 20 minutes later, he returned to continue the unwelcomed ICU slumber party forced upon us.

While I typically associate bad news and undesirable outcomes with the ICU, good news also slips in now and then. Around 6:30am we started the morning off finding out that the 3am CAT scan had looked the same as the previous one done at 9pm, and so – praise God – no surgery was needed for the head injury. The bleeding on the brain had stopped. This was very good news indeed, and I immediately felt my appetite increase enough that I could now accept the kind breakfast offer from the student leader, who had sacrificially waited all night in the hospital waiting area so we would not be alone during this darkest of times. I cannot imagine if the brain team had brought different news that morning, requiring my husband and I to make decisions regarding brain surgery for our firstborn. But 24 hours before, I would not have been able to imagine an ICU “slumber party” either.

A stay in the ICU is not on any sane person’s bucket list. Do I wish my son had not gone skiing? Do I wish we had strived to eliminate all risk so we could have avoided such an undesirable experience? Actually, no. One unexpected comforting thought I had during that long, quiet ride to Virginia was that if my son died, he had died living. I had no regrets whatsoever having let him go skiing, which surprised me. I was totally at peace with how he had ended up in the ICU. His accident only solidified my belief that we must accept risk and choose to actually live.

Prior to COVID, I had been so fearful. However, those crazy, uncertain days in 2020 helped me begin to realize we cannot avoid all risk but must instead learn to overcome our fears and choose to live, let come what may. Once again, I was having that very same realization. If my son died, it was truly while living and that brought me tremendous and unexpected comfort. Risk always coexists with everything we do. On that long ride, I realized for the first time how important it was to me that my children die living. Not clinging desperately to perceived safety. Not paralyzed by overwhelming fear. But courageous. Daring. Willing to take calculated risks.

I know the last thing we want is for our kids to be hurt in anyway. But I realized when my son was in the ICU that maybe the last thing I personally wanted is for my children to cease living while still breathing. I want my kids to fully embrace life, risks and all.

How much do we allow our kids to take risks?

It’s ironic that I am the one asking you this question since I have always viewed myself as a bit of an over-protective parent. But I did let my son go skiing and I didn’t force the issue of a helmet this year after he refused to wear one the previous year, which I had paid for. (By the way, unsurprisingly, he is now finally pro-ski helmet.) Additionally, I am the one that signed the waiver that included the word DEATH in all caps. Really? You had to put that in all caps? Got it. Irritated, I had signed the waiver a few days before the trip.

Why did we allow our son and daughter to participate in this dangerous activity that could lead to, as the waiver put it, DEATH? My husband and I both know firsthand from our own high school days that youth group ski trips can lead to treasured memories for a lifetime. We eagerly supported our children’s current opportunity to make similar memories. These same two kids had already had an absolute blast the previous year on their first youth group ski trip. They knew full well what they were getting into and couldn’t wait to experience it all again. Skiing is risky but also priceless.

Life in general is risky to one degree or another. Will we be obsessed with the risks and paralyzed by fear? Or will we bravely choose to actually live in a cursed world?

Please do not assume I have mastered this mindset. Within a week after the skiing accident, I was faced with needing to sign two more medical release forms so my youngest two could participate in an overnight middle school youth group activity the following weekend. Too soon. Way too soon, I thought. Later that day, I mustered enough courage to finally sign those two undesirable forms. I don’t want anything bad to ever happen to my kids. But that is an unrealistic expectation. Risk is part of living. I want my kids to learn to truly embrace living. I want my kids to be brave. I want to be brave. And so I assess the risk and then sign yet another medical release form, leaving the results in God’s hand. Our Heavenly Father has numbered our children’s days (Psalm 139:16). The question is how will we encourage our children to live out that number? How much emphasis do we put on risk avoidance? How much to we encourage risk assessment and acceptance?

I do not want to leave you hanging concerning my injured child. With time and rest, my son is expected to make a 100% recovery from every injury. Miraculous.

I would never recommend an ICU “slumber party,” but it has definitely deepened my appreciation for life. The simple ability to walk, talk, think, and hang out with each other. Yes, it’s a very scary world out there. But it is also a fascinating world full of adventure and priceless moments found both in the ordinary and extraordinary. Let’s fully live as long as we have breath in our lungs, embracing life, risks and all.

Someone asked me if I would let my son ski again. What do you think?