Lost in green and brown.
For somewhere between four and six minutes today, Sam was lost.
We decided to go and check out the new Please Touch Museum this morning. It was rainy and gross out. That combined with it being a Saturday was an assurance that the recently opened museum would be packed. We figured we’d try it anyway. We hadn’t done anything very fun last weekend and really regretted it, so it was time to drive further, pay lots of money, and brave our way through crowds of children and parents to try and scoop plastic balls with mechanized diggers. I dressed the boys in matching shirts, just to be one of those parents. Robby’s was blue and red striped with a hood. Sam’s was the same but in green and brown. They always have their matching curly blond hair.
The place was packed. The drive took longer than expected, so did the lines. But finally we made it in and to our first stop, the area of vehicles, with cars, diggers, and a life sized bus for the children to climb in. That’s where Sam went first. He sat in the driver’s seat and pushed all the buttons to see what noises they made or what lights they turned on. He drove the bus with the steering wheel. When his turn was done he headed down the ramp, the alternate escape route from the bus, while I took the stairs in order to see where Hubby and Robby were heading so as to make sure we could join them momentarily. I planted myself at what I thought was the base of the ramp that Sam was coming down and continued to watch Hubby head off.
After a few moments I realized Sam should be with me by now, but he wasn’t. I looked on the ramp, around the bottom, through the activities in the immediate area. I thought, “That’s not possible.” I turned around several times and walked back and forth 10 feet or so. Then I waited for that moment where I realize that he’s right in front of me and I’m just overlooking him somehow. But he wasn’t. No green and brown striped hoodie. No blond curls.
Upon closer inspection, I realized the ramp actually curved around and ended on the other side of a wall that blocked my view of the base and was behind the huge bus structure. I ran around to that side expecting to find him. Not there. I was sure he must have joined Hubby and Robby, since that was where they had gone. So now I just had to find them and confirm that I was correct. But when I found Hubby’s face through the crowd and across the room, and he saw my expression, we both knew the other one did not have Sam.
I was standing at the base of the ramp, but by now it had been several minutes. And there were so many directions he could have gone in.
Would he have headed down that hall and into that other section-Or the restrooms are over here, would he have gone through the door-That way-What is that way-Is that another exit from this section-Why didn’t I see him come around- The elevator-Would he get into an elevator without me-Where does it lead-Could that be an exit from the building at the bottom of the elevator-where is Hubby-I have to go down the elevator-no, I have to go back into that other section-no, I have to check the bathrooms-no, I have to get to the front of the bus where he last saw me in case he goes back to check-what if he got by me somehow and is near the main exit though and is getting closer-who’s in this museum-do they let people without children in here-why would those people be here . . .
Hubby had been approached by an employee and was in the process of describing Sam and what he was wearing: a shirt like Robby’s but in green and brown. And as soon as that person got on the radio to the rest of the staff he found out that Sam was at the front with another employee.
Yes, I realize you think I was exaggerating this story, that I’d lost him for 18 seconds and freaked out over nothing. But no, we were the parents running up to our child who was crying and in the care of the Please Touch Museum staff member, a kind, purple-shirted woman who had assured Sam that she would help him find his mommy and daddy. I was the mom who ran up to my crying son and scooped him up in front of a line of people still waiting to get into the museum, parents who, I’m sure, thought to themselves how they’d never, ever let their child out of their sight.
I still don’t know where he went. I don’t know how he came into the care of the employee. I don’t know when he realized he was lost. I don’t know where he was for that whole time.
I know he looked younger to me today. His cheeks appeared to be a bit more full, like when he was a baby. His skin felt softer too. I know, because I touched it a lot. And his hair smelled good. His laugh was extra sweet today. And he laughed a lot as well. I flew him like an airplane tonight and he laughed so much he almost couldn’t keep his balance. And we told each other we loved each other many, many times.
I can’t even imagine how scared you all were. Losing my child is one of my biggest fears, as I’m sure it is for most parents. I’m so glad everything turned out okay. And now that we know the day ended happily, tell us more about that Please Touch Museum. I was thinking of taking Shorty on one of Big’s vacation days.
Been there. Done that. I know your terror. Love ya.
Oh good heavens. ACK!!!!!!
One of our dogs got into a fight today which necessitated a visit to the vet. Seeing your dog in a fight and your husband wrestling a Husky to the ground and off your twenty-two pound dog is NOT the same as losing your child for a few minutes. But it’s the closest I can come to the horror you must have felt.
Ugh, ugh, ugh. I’m glad he was found safe and sound. ACK!
I don’t think there is a parent out there that hasn’t felt that panic over not finding their kid where he/she was supposed to be. I know that panic and my arms are hugging you through the net, hon. Glad he’s ok. You did everything you were supposed to do.
I can’t even imagine the fear. I think the longest I’ve ever lost a child was about 3 seconds, and I flipped. It was one of those “I thought she was walking on my left side, but she’d meandered over to my right side” deals. Horrible!
So glad that you’re all safe and together again.
Scary. 18 seconds, 6 minutes, any amount of time it’s terrifying. If I’d seen you in line picking him up I would have felt happy for you that you found each other.
We have actually had Targets exits shut down for five minutes as the whole store looked for our then two-year-old Birdie… who, as it turned out, had hidden herself in the middle of a rack of lingerie to get some privacy to poop in her diaper.
Longest five minutes of my life… but I am glad to know that a store will really do that, shut down the exits, turn out the bathrooms, make everyone’s shopping experience stop for the sake of one naughty little girl just on the offchance….
have that happen and you are not likely to be a-judgin’ other mothers too fast.
That. would. be. awful. I am sorry. I know I would be imagining Miss A in the middle of a busy street. Because, that is what I would expect of her. I’m glad everything turned out okay and that you had one of those special ‘appreciate every minute’ days afterwards.
Oh, Beth, that’s so scary. I had tears in my eyes just imagining your panic. I’m glad you found him relatively quickly, and that he was ok. And it seems you got to enjoy the museum, as well.
Oh, how scary. I am so so glad that it all turned out and everyone was fine. It is true, this could really happen to anyone! We are going to the PT Museum tomorrow. I am hoping it will be far less crowded. Hugs!
Oh gosh, how terrifying! I am sure those minutes seemed like hours. I wandered off from my parents once in Sears. I remember seeing a big Winnie the Pooh display and wanting to go check it out and being confused that my parents were so upset when they found me. Ugh! I never want to experience that!!
I’m so sorry — that’s awful! My youngest has a tendency to RUN away from me and it’s just terrifying.
Oh no. That is probably the most awful feeling in the world. Your stomach hits the floor for sure.
So happy it all worked out. And this is further proof of why I use the kiddie leash on my hyper youngest!
That is so scary! We have lost the same child twice in her lifetime. It does truly happen in an instant, and you definitely age about ten years. The first time was at Sea World–she was four. All I could think was that she would get caught up in the crowd exiting the show and end up in the parking lot without realizing it. Thankfully, she was by the concession stand with no idea she was lost. The second time was just this past month, and she is now six. We got up to our seats at a football game and realized she wasn’t with us. As we were racing down the stairs we heard an announcement for a missing child and realized it was our girl. She was fine, not scared at all, but my heart didn’t slow down for an hour. We kept her extra close that night. There is nothing like losing a child for even a moment to make you feel like the worst parent on the planet. I’m so glad everything was resolved relatively quickly.
Hi, Beth, your story reminded me of the time I lost Caroline at the Metropolitan Museum in NY. The feelings of panic and helplessness were indelible. One minute she was with me, and the next minute she wasn’t. I described her height and little white dress to a museum staff member, retraced my steps and returned to the entrance to the building, where Caroline was sitting on the front steps talking with another museum staff member. When I raced up to her, the staff member made me show ID to prove I was who I said I was - which was actually reassuring. The episode lasted all of 5 minutes, but it felt interminable. Loved the pictures of the boys, and I recognize that Bilus headlong quality, which I rely on all the time to get me past my tendency to see reasons why things won’t work. It can be scary, but it’s also a blessing.
I’m almost in tears! I don’t know why exactly. I’m probably just hormonal.
But, I haven’t had this happen to me (yet) and I can’t imagine what it must feel like. It reminds me of how much I really do love Jude, even if he does yell at me all day. Because I have to remind myself that I would care if he disappeared. It doesn’t feel like I would sometimes. 
But, of course I would.
[...] we were on the way home from the Please Touch Museum recently (No lost kids this time!) (Probably where we picked up THE ILLNESS!), I was asking each person what their [...]