The most dreaded phone calls I have received as a mother have thankfully been few, but also very, very stressful. I remember them all still very clearly. They were times when my children were in places where I couldn’t be with them.

I remember when one of my daughters was on a field trip and slid on a gym floor and received a gash on her head. I was at work when I received the call and was told she was okay and being cared for but would need stitches. I also was told not to come until after I received another call from them. I imagined all kinds of things…that she was crying for me, bleeding profusely, and they were downplaying the situation. I contacted my husband who said he would pick her up when they called since I was the only person in the office at the time. Anxiously I waited for nearly an hour before getting the call to pick her up. Then I worried continuously until hearing from my husband that she was fine and kind of proud of the stitches. When I saw her she wasn’t upset at all. Of course not. My tomboy daughter now had a battle scar near the back of her skull, hidden beneath her hair.

The next call was worse. I received a call from my ex-husband who lived in another state. My son was living with him. During the night, my son had a candle burning and had knocked it over causing a fire. My ex burned his hands opening the door and was able to grab my son’s arm and pull him free. However, he was in the hospital in a burn unit! I was so anxious and frightened. My son ended up having skin grafts due to the severity of the burns, mostly on his torso.

The next call was from my daughter in law calling to tell me that same son had tried to kill himself by slashing his throat. She had left him bleeding in the garage where he worked on cars while she came in to call me. She was upset that he was going to die and she would lose her house! They lived in a different state. He didn’t die that night and his sisters drove to pick him up from the hospital and bring him home to us where we could nurture him mentally.

Next call was from a coroner. That same son was dead. He had successfully committed suicide. I was in shock. Honestly, I still have difficulty believing he is gone. With suicide, there is no closure. No mother should have to bury a child.

Monday evening I received a call from my dearly loved daughter in love who lives several states away. Another of my sons had suffered chest pains and then blacked out while on a tow job at an accident scene. He was rushed to the hospital. Anxiously I awaited news and so did she. Due to COVID, she was unable to be with him and had to wait in the parking lot of the hospital in her car while waiting for an update. They ran several tests and one was for COVID. He tested positive. He is still in the hospital because his cardiologist wants to continue to observe him due to his irregular heart rate. All his vitals are normal which is good. They believe everything is COVID related, but once he tests negative, he will need to have a heart catherization just to make sure he has no blockage.

All of these calls have been where I, as a mother, had no way of being with my child. How helpless I felt. We raise our children and take care of all their injuries ourselves when we can. We hold their hands, talk to them, tell them how much we love them, and kiss away boo boos.

Sometimes we can’t. And those times leave deep scars within us that never really heal. Those are the times we have to place our children in the hands of God and trust Him.