One of those Moments: A Missing Girl

I suppose my friend and I should have known the beach was going to be crowded yesterday. Spring Break. In Florida. I mean, c’mon. A crowded beach is a given. We arrived with our kids – four of them – and pushed through the crowds with our chairs and bags and stuff that seemed not to be all that much back home. After corralling and coaxing kids to keep up, we finally found a spot and settled in. Wall to wall bodies or not, the beach is always a welcome day of activity for our kids.

So we set up our chairs, slathered SPF on our kids, nervously trained our eagle eyes on all four children and sat back, watching, biting into our homemade sandwiches. Ok. Ah. Spring break.

Would the couple RIGHT in front of me blocking one of my children please move, for crying out loud? Wow, its crowded. Well. Ok. I see him. Pass the cheetoes.

And it was about then when I heard that certain tone in a mother’s voice somewhere behind me. I know that sound: panic. I caught sight of a mom near us, wide-eyed, pacing in circles. And then she moved down to the water.

“Where is she?!?!? ELLLA!!!!! Where is SHE??? ELLLLLLAAAAA!!!! OH MY GOD WHAT IF SHES OUT THERE SOMEWHERE?!?!?!!!” And she pointed out to the water.

By this point other mothers, friends, people were surrounding her, touching her elbow, reaching out, eyes searching too, questioning, holding their breaths, just as panicked.

“What was she wearing?”

“How old is she?”

“What color hair?”

My friend and I leapt up. She called the boys in from the water and kept them at our seats. I started moving down the beach.

“A four year old girl is missing. Blond hair. Purple shorts. Floral top. Four year old girl. Blond hair. Purple shorts. Floral top. Four year old girl. Blond hair. Purple shorts. Floral top.”

More parents leapt up. More people yelling her description. Children were gathered close. All eyes were searching.

And Ella’s mother behind me. I could hear her panic. Her voice. She was screaming her name. My heart pulled tight.

“Four year old girl. Blond hair. Purple shorts. Floral top.”

Ella’s mom tore past me, she was crying now, searching searching searching down the beach.

“WHERE IS SHE?????? ELLLLLLAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!”

I couldn’t help but stop and turn around. I looked out into the water. Lots of people. Did I see blond hair, purple shorts and a floral top? What was that!?!? No. Birds.

I moved back to our spot on the beach. My friend and I looked at each other.

“I’m shaking.”

“So am I.”

The kids were confused.

“Why can’t we go swimming?”

“Stay RIGHT HERE.”

It could have been one of ours. Ella’s mother could have been either of us. Just like that. In one impossibly fast moment. A child could be gone.

So we stood there. We couldn’t SIT. A little girl was missing. I’m not sure how long we stood there. It reminded me of Zebras I used to watch in Africa. During danger, they gather their young and surround them, pointing their rumps to them, facing out, stopped, searching, ready for anything. And that’s what we did. She looked one way and I another, with all four children sitting at our ankles.

“…..they found her!”

Someone yelled in the distance that they found her.

“Really?”

“That’s what I heard. Someone just yelled it down the beach.”

“Did they find her?”

“That’s what I just heard.”

And then, in the distance, I saw Ella’s mother. In her arms, wrapped around her body, was a little girl with blond hair, purple shorts and a floral shirt. Ella’s face was buried in her mother’s neck. Her mother had her hand on the back of her little girl’s head – pressing Ella to her – and was walking slowly back down the beach. Sobbing. Smiling. Nodding to people she passed.

“Yes. I got her. Thank you. Yes, I am very relieved.” Shuddering, crying, laughing.

When she got to us, I fought back tears. Along with all the mothers around us, we stepped forward to reach out again.

“Ella, are you ok?”

She lifted her face from her mother’s neck, her big wet blue eyes stared back. She nodded. She held tightly on to her mother.

Oh thank God. She was ok. Oh thank God.

My friend and I started breathing again. We laughed nervously. Regrouped a bit. We herded the kids back down to the water, gave them back their shovels and sat gratefully back into our seats. Eyes locked on all four heads.

“I’m shaking.”

“So am I. Holy crap.”

“Where are those Cheetoes.”

Children go missing on beaches all the time. I am not sure what it was about this moment that struck a chord so deeply. Well, maybe I do. I couldn’t help but think of Maddie for some reason. Not another little girl. Gone. Just like that. I couldn’t help but put myself in that mother’s position, like I have with Heather. But like the events after Maddie’s passing, I was amazed to watch mothers in action. Those moms dropped everything to get the word out Ella was gone. They searched, they comforted, they worried. Yesterday and since Maddie has passed, my heart has been so touched to watch the incredible act of mothers taking care of other mothers. It is a powerful and stunning example of beauty, kindness, empathy and love.

So once again, I know to bring my boys closer and appreciate their craziness and all that comes with it. All is well in our life. We are fine. No zebra circling today. And since all is well with our lives, we can look out for and reach out to other mothers who need our support right now.

Heather Spohr’s family must raise $7,000 for her daughter Maddie’s funeral. Donations may be sent to a paypal account in her name at: formaddie@hotmomreviews.com . Services will be held for Maddie on Tuesday, April 14th at 2:30pm at Old North Church, Forest Lawn, in Hollywood Hills. All are welcome to attend. Please wear purple in her honor. Also, a website with links and information about Maddie have been set up here.