Spring in Texas often consists of heavy thunderstorms and flash floods. However, Tuesday, April 2, 2002 was a beautiful day.  The temperature was tolerable, the sun was shining brightly, and the only storm on the horizon wasn’t weather related.  A typical day in our household consisted of me running home from work, picking up 7-month-old Andrew along the way, throwing together something for dinner, and seeing to homework and baths.  We lived the hectic pace of a modern day family, with two adults working full time, a teenaged daughter, Charis in high school, 9 year old Hannah in elementary, and the baby at day care.

            As I sat the Beef Stroganoff and Green Beans on the table, Charis jabbered as she plopped dishes around the table, and Drew grappled with a squirming Andrew and managed to strap him into his high chair.    “Where’s Banana?” Drew asked, using one of our affectionate terms for Hannah.  “She’s at that choir party, and someone needs to pick her up at 7:00”, I replied.  In between shoveling bites into a little boy that was in constant motion, I managed to eat a little bit myself.  It had gotten difficult to carry on a conversation of more than a few sentences with an extremely active baby that didn’t want to be confined.  As we finished eating, I looked at Charis and said, “If we’re going to walk, now would be a good time before the sun sets”.  Who needs to convince a 16 year old that mundane chores like cleaning the table and washing dishes can wait?  She jumped right up and pulled on her comfy tennis shoes. 

            I had grown to anticipate our walks together.  My original motivation for walking was because I had developed high blood pressure during my late in life pregnancy, and still battled it.  Charis had become my walking partner.  She had always had a fairly volatile personality, and was not one to freely give hugs or share feelings.  She was very loud and boisterous, outgoing and outspoken.  When she wanted to be sweet, she was such a joy, and if she was in a bad mood, everyone knew it and suffered for it!  I would usually walk along with her as she jabbered about her typical teenaged day.  Sharing with me the funny stories of her friends, and how sweet her new boyfriend, Cody was.  Her frustrations with teachers and her disgust over other’s fashion choices poured out.  We would giggle over tricks she would play on someone, and jokes that were overheard.  Mostly we talked about everything and nothing.  I tried hard not to interject too many words of wisdom, lest it squelch her enthusiasm.  Occasionally, I couldn’t help myself and she would get a carefully placed “I told you so” or “some day, you’ll learn your lesson” lecture.

            As we walked down our little cul-de-sac that day, she began to loosen up.  My attempt was to keep the pace fast enough to accomplish my goal of exercise and slow enough to maintain the sense of camaraderie that we had established as Mother and Daughter.  It was one of those beautiful spring days that make you want to stop and breath deeply.  The air felt so clean, a symbol of the end of winter and a reminder of new beginnings.  Being Texas, it was warm enough to be in short sleeves and still be comfortable.  Charis would step-hop down the road, stop and wait for me, or come cantering back to me.  Then she would walk along beside me as she shared her stories.  This particular day, she was pouring out her frustration with her geometry teacher.  She got one of those well-placed lectures about “Charis, you’ve established a reputation with this teacher, and now you are paying for it”.  Then she recounted a story from history class about her teacher making a wisecrack about her.  She pretended to not understand why her teacher would do that, but in reality she loved it.  Sprinkled throughout were tidbits about Cody, her new boyfriend.  “Mamma, he’s just like me”!  I would laugh and say “Oh no!  We’re changing our phone number”!  In my mind, it was very much a typical walk in the countryside on a spring day in Texas, a Mom and daughter walking along, laughing and talking.

            The bridge over the creek was the halfway point.  She ran and jumped on the bridge as I turned and crossed the road for the trek back.  Approximately 15 yards ahead of us was a tree with a low hanging branch.  I pointed to it and said, “I wonder how far someone could swing on that branch”, knowing the whole time that it was a challenge she couldn’t and wouldn’t resist.  She went skipping up to it, grabbed hold of the branch and swung out on it.  I walked on past as she gave it a few more tries.  She came running up to me keeping pace long enough to make a few more comments about Cody, and then bounded on ahead of me.  What a hyper mood she was in!  She turned and came back and kept pace as we continued talking about her day. 

We were less than a quarter of a mile from home when I noticed she had fallen behind.  I assumed she was looking at something on the road and would catch up.  I got perhaps twenty steps ahead of her and turned to see what she was doing.  She was standing in the middle of the road, halfway bent over with her hands on her knees, like someone who is winded from a long fast run.  I asked her what she was doing.  She said “Momma, my heart hurts”.  This didn’t alarm me; since I have Mitral Valve Prolapse, and often have heart palpitations I figured that she was experiencing the same thing.  I stopped and said, “Take a few deep breaths and you’ll be ok”.  She stood like that for a minute, and then sat down in the middle of the road.  I was starting to get irritated.  The middle of the road was not a place for a rest.  This was a fairly well traveled country road.  I tried to prompt her into getting up, but she said, “I can’t breath and my heart hurts”, and then she lay down on her back.  My irritation was turning to concern.  This was a girl that had a very high pain tolerance just like me, and rarely complained.  I knelt in front of her and said “Charis, you cannot lay in the middle of the road!  Let’s move to the side and I’ll go home and get the car.”  She had broken out in a fine sweat and her skin was even paler than normal.  I reached down my hand for her, and she grabbed it and pulled herself upright.  She staggered a few steps toward the side of the road, her arms flopping limply at her sides, as she collapsed at the side of the road, I managed to grab her upper arm and kept her from hitting too roughly.  My “concern” turned to fear at this point, and I started shaking all over.  She lay there with her eyes rolling, lids half open, staring at nothing.  She was moaning, so I knew she was breathing, moaning over and over.  I was kneeling beside her begging in a quivering voice “Please stop, please don’t do this, please stop, you’re scaring me!”   Everything would be just fine if she would only listen to me!