Louder than Audible

Note: I love the Chicken Soup for the Soul books.  I enjoy reading the stories in them, but I especially enjoy writing for them.  This is my first submission to Chicken Soup for the Soul that was accepted.  It was published under the title “Saving Jordan.”

Washing dishes has always been my pondering, preparing and praising time.  The winter of 1987 was only different because washing dishes was not a choice, but an everyday reality in Kitzingen, Germany because we did not have a dishwasher.  Evenings tended to be very quiet after the boys were down because we were also television-less and basically radio-less since our apartment was out of signal range for the American AFN station, and I didn’t speak German well enough to bother with the German stations.

This particular winter evening, I was looking out the window, washing the day’s dishes and thinking about our life and how grateful I was for it.  My husband, Jesse, was a U.S. Army tank company commander on maneuvers in the south, and his job allowed us the opportunity to live in a beautiful village in Germany and it gave me the privilege of staying home with our sons.  Just that day, I had bundled both boys up in their winter gear, strapped them in to the stroller, and we had rumbled over the cobblestones, down to the village to buy our seasonal vegetables.  The ladies at the local greenhouse twittered over Jacob, the 2 year olds rosy cheeks, and admired Jordan, our newborn.  Both of our boys loved the local ladies, and the ladies enjoyed spoiling the boys, teaching them German words just as I taught them in English.  We came in from our errands, warmed up from the cold with wiggles, giggles, and snuggles, then settled in for a peaceful evening with dinner over and the boys asleep.  Lowering the stack of plates into the hot sudsy water, I breathed a tired yet satisfied sigh, anticipating a cozy evening with a current novel.

“Check the baby.”  It was just a fleeting thought, as I put plates in the drain board.  Curious, but random, I supposed.  I loaded the sink with the glasses, and started to swish.

“Check the baby!”  This time, I felt it whispered in my ear.  Even though I knew that I was alone, still I turned around to check who had spoken.  No one.  A still small voice, easily brushed aside as imagination.  I picked up the first glass, swishing the cloth inside to clean it.

“CHECK THE BABY!”  Crash! I dropped the glass on the floor as the louder than audible voice thundered in my heart.  There was no ignoring this messenger.

I ran into the nursery, turned on the light to see that six week old Jordan was still, and blue.  I checked his breathing and his chest was not rising, nor was any precious breath coming out his nose.  Picking him up, checking his airway, I started infant CPR while running across the hall to my neighbor’s apartment.  Jordan took his first gasp as Anita opened her door.

When living in the United States, I knew that in a medical emergency to call 911.  In Germany, I had no idea how to call for an ambulance.  I knew that we needed to go to the hospital, but the fastest way to get there was to drive.  Anita kept watch over Jordan, prepared to start CPR again, as I raced through the cobblestoned villages to the American hospital in Wurzburg.  All the while, the same louder than audible voice whispered, “Peace, peace, peace.  I am with you.”

Arriving at the emergency room, the medic took one look at my listless baby and whisked him away to a triage room.  As I watched medical personnel work over Jordan’s small body, giving him oxygen, and taking his vitals, “Peace, peace, peace, be still” was murmured into my soul in the same louder than audible voice.  Every syllable was like a reassuring blanket wrapped around my frightened mama’s heart.  Eventually, Jordan was transferred upstairs to the neonatal ICU where I was allowed to put a mattress under his crib and sleep.  All the while, a refrain being sung deep within me, in that same louder than audible voice, “Peace, be still.  I am with you, I love you, and I love Jordan even more than you do.”

Jordan was diagnosed and classified as a SIDs baby.  Sudden Infant Death, even though he did not die.  He was and is a survivor, going on to play football, marry his high school sweetheart, serve his country in Afghanistan and Iraq, and graduate from law school.  Through many instances in his life I continued to hear the louder than audible voice whisper to me, “Peace, peace, peace.  I love him more than you ever could.”  Now, I listen the first time, and I am thankful.