Lost at Disney

It happened last night. One of every parent’s worst nightmares: we lost a kid.

At Disney World.

It was right after the park closed, and we were turning to head back under the castle and down to Main Street. The girls wanted to throw pennies in Cinderella’s fountain, and as we veered off, Gabe just kept walking with the huge group.

We didn’t realize he wasn’t with us. Until it was time to throw the pennies in.

And he didn’t realize we weren’t with him. Until he had made it all the way thru the castle and halfway down the ramp.

I froze all emotions the moment we knew he wasn’t with us. We looked around to make sure he wasn’t at the Sword, trying to pull it or watching others try to show they were “worthy.” And once we saw he wasn’t there, Daniel went one way, mom stayed with the girls, and I went another way.

I yelled his name. No one batted an eye.

I said, “Excuse me. I’m so sorry. Excuse me,” as I made my way down to the front of the castle. A few people huffed and puffed, but I honestly didn’t care. I was searching for a little boy in a knight costume with a glow stick necklace and bracelet. I prayed to God to keep me calm and focused and to keep Gabe safe. (Apparently, the girls were praying to keep Gabe safe and help us find him. )

As I turned my fourth circle to scan the front of the castle, my phone rang.

“Mommy?” Panic and fear I’ve never heard laced in that one simple word.

“Gabe? Baby, where are you?”

“Mommy, I lost you. I’m sorry. I got lost.” Crying and hyperventilating began.

“It’s okay, Gabe. But I need to know where you are. Gabe, tell me where you are, so I can come get you.”

Muffled words I couldn’t understand.

“Gabe, I need you to calm down and tell me where you are. Take a deep breath.”

“The carousel, mommy.”

“Okay, I’m coming, Gabe, baby. I’m coming. I’m on my way.”

“Okay, mommy.” More crying.

“Stay on the phone, Gabe. I’m coming right now. Just stay on the phone til I get to you.”

At this point, I’m weaving in and out the crowd, saying “excuse me, I’m sorry, please let me thru,” while still trying to keep Gabe calm.

But then, the line goes dead.

My heart stopped.

And I ran.

Through the throng of people, bumping into two people, one so hard I knocked my earring out, I ran. I ran as fast as I could to the carousel. As I got close, I heard my name, looked to my left, and there he was, safely in Daniel’s arms.

Safe.

That’s when I felt my heart skip. When I took my first real breath. When all the anxiety, the realization of what could have happened rolled over me. When the “calm under pressure” demeanor went poof! I felt the tears forming as he reached out his arms, the look of remorse, fear, and relief mixed together. And I knew my tears would only make it worse. So I kept it together as we made our way to the girls.

Both girls were crying. Sutton saying, “Gabe, I’m so glad I taught you mommy’s phone number! We almost lost you forever!“ And Eva, “Gabe, I’m so glad you’re okay,” then to me, “It’s 870……., right?” Mimi, telling him how brave he was for staying calm, going up to someone, asking to use their phone, and remembering my number to call it. And for the rest of the night, they didn’t leave our sight—none of them.

7 minutes. I didn’t time it perfectly, but from the photos on my phone to the phone call, that’s about the time I estimate we were separated.

It’s officially the SCARIEST and LONGEST 7 minutes of my life.

Every mile that brings us closer to home,

every giggle that comes from the backseat,

every “mama!”

“Don’t kick my seat!”

“Can I have a snack?”

“Where are we?”

“Can I see your phone?”

every single time I glance over my shoulder, I think, how blessed we are.

Life can change in an instant. Hold them a little tighter. Squeeze them a little longer. Love them a little more than you ever thought possible. And never take them for granted!