This time the blow was delivered by telephone, not lab report. A paramedic delivered the unimaginable news that would forever change our lives: My second-to-oldest child had been struck by a hit-and-run driver just minutes from our door. It didn’t look good. We rushed to the scene, and an ambulance whisked us to the hospital. There, somber doctors delivered the heartbreaking news: Chaya* was on life support. Her heart was beating, but the impact of the trauma had left her brain-dead. They gave her a maximum of 48 hours. She was just 12 years old.

The pain and shock were unfathomable, and all we could do was sit there, stunned. And then, at 1:30 a.m., I made a decision. I’d left one kid at home sick. I left one kid who’d watched her sister get hit. I left a two-year-old. I left a nursing baby. If these children woke up in the morning and their mother wasn’t there, they’d be traumatized. And I made a conscious decision: I wasn’t going to forget my other children. I decided to go home.

A lot of people were shocked. I overheard nurses talking about me, saying, “She’s so amazing that she can think logically right now.” It was a brachah that I didn’t feel guilty going home.

It was good that I made that decision. The 48 hours the doctors had given us stretched into almost three months. Three months of ups and downs, of crises and shock. Three more precious months of Torah and tefillah, three more months for our daughter’s neshamah to accrue countless zechuyos.

Three months in which my family needed me.

When people ask me how I did it, I don’t really know what to say. I’m not trying to sound holy, but if you want something, and you know it’s good for you, and you know it’s right for your family, then Hashem will give you siyata d’Shmaya. I was already “experienced” with medical crises. I knew how this sort of experience could damage children, and I resolved to do whatever I could to protect them and keep them from being traumatized.

Throughout my husband’s illness and my daughter’s hospitalization, we tried to give our children a sense of normalcy. Not all of my children understood what was going on, but even little children who don’t understand what’s going on need their mother — sometimes even more so. During my daughter’s hospitalization, we took shifts. I spent mornings in the hospital and usually went back at night with my husband. I was there to send my children off in the morning and to pick them up from school.

It didn’t always work perfectly, of course — sometimes we had important appointments, and I’d need to make other arrangements for my children, and sometimes there were just unexpected things, out of my control, that came up. I remember sitting in traffic, gritting my teeth when I realized I’d miss my kids’ bus, and frantically calling my neighbor to ask her to meet them. I always say that my wonderful neighbors were a brachah from Shamayim; one special neighbor agreed to be on call, so that even our backup plans were consistent.

Normalcy and routine are so, so important when you’re living in crisis mode. It’s not going to be your regular schedule, obviously. But if your schedule is predictable, your child will feel secure.

Call in the Troops

I’m not the type to take help — I don’t like getting meals or babysitting help, even after a baby — but when we were in crisis, we called in the troops. I had cleaning help almost every day, we got suppers, neighbors did my laundry, because during those hours that I was home, I wanted to really, really be with my children. I’m so grateful for my amazing family and neighbors who provided us with  the emotional and practical support we needed and made it possible for us to get through these crises.

When there’s a medical crisis, you need to take care of yourself so you can be there for all your children and give them that sense of security. There’s so much going on when crisis hits. Family members come to visit the patient, so you may be hosting. There are people going in and out of the house. There are endless phone calls to make and appointments and consultations to book. And there’s always, always paperwork. Take whatever help you can get. All that extra help will allow you to really be there for your kids. If you’re home for just a few hours a day, those are crucial hours. You don’t want to spend them doing laundry or making supper.

People have asked me, “How can I do this — be there for my sick child and for the rest of my family? I’m collapsing.” It’s true. You really, really do collapse. I remember a friend once called me and asked where I was, and I just thought, I’m so tired I don’t even know where I am. I put one foot on the floor, and then the other, and said, “I’m standing on the floor, that’s where I am.”

I tried to have one day a week when I didn’t go in to the hospital, or went in a bit later. And this sounds funny, but when you’re in the hospital, if the patient is sleeping, try to lie down. Turn off your phone, relax, take out a blanket and rest. When you’re tired enough, you’ll fall asleep.

In addition to establishing routine, bring the children into your world. Mommy’s always in the hospital? They should be able to picture it, they should know where you are. You don’t want the hospital to be a secretive, scary place where Mommy spends all of her time. When my husband was sick, we made it fun, took the kids to visit, and showed them: “This is what the hospital looks like, this is where Tatty sleeps.” When my husband was up to it, they visited with him on the hospital grounds. My children weren’t able to visit my daughter since they were too young to go into the PICU, but there’s always a gift shop, there’s always balloons. We told the nurses we’d be bringing our family, and they met with them and gave them extra medical stickers and extra enormous syringes. My children also sent things to the hospital — treats and pictures they’d drawn, and toys. Sometimes, we’d send them back “extra” treats from the patient.

When the children know what the hospital looks like, they feel part of it — and the more they feel a part of things, the less scary it is, the less hesitant they are when you go.

Shabbosim is a topic unto itself. If you need to be in the hospital for Shabbos, I advise people to take their family with them and have them stay locally, if it’s an option. Throughout my husband’s whole hospitalization, I only spent Shabbos in the hospital once, and I left Motzaei Shabbos. Baruch Hashem, we had wonderful family members who were able to spend Shabbos with him — and when they couldn’t, he had bochurim spend Shabbos with him. We had amazing friends and relatives who spent Shabbos in the hospital with my daughter.

If you do feel you need to be in the hospital over Shabbos, try your best to come home quickly after Havdalah. If you tell your children that you’re going to the hospital for Shabbos, but then Motzaei Shabbos rolls around and they’re still at the neighbor, they’ll feel abandoned. Obviously, children can be flexible. They can forgive and forget. But if it keeps happening, over the long term, it will affect them.

Guidelines in Crisis

And then there were all those times when crisis hit. Here’s the thing: When you’re already in the middle of a crisis, and crisis hits, you know it’s bad. But here’s the other thing: There are going to be a lot of crises. If you fly to the hospital every time something happens or changes, you’re going to be doing a lot of that — and how will that impact your children? There were times the hospital called me to say they thought my daughter was going, and I didn’t run in. I couldn’t run in every few seconds; I knew that. And they stabilized her.

You really need siyata d’Shmaya and guidance from daas Torah. When my daughter’s situation deteriorated even further, we spoke with daas Torah, who told us it’s important for the child that the mother be there when the child is niftar. He gave us clear guidance on when I needed to be in the hospital.

My daughter’s condition deteriorated before Yom Tov,and I didn’t feel I could handle being in the hospital over Yom Tov. But our rav told me I needed to be there, so we made sure we had good accommodations for the kids, places where they’d be happy, and we went.

You need to ask, and you need to keep on asking. You might be surprised — what you think is right might not be. When things got to be too much for me, we asked again, and the rav told me I don’t need to go. We’d gone for Yom Tov and then the following Shabbos. Two weeks after that, people were pushing me to go back for Shabbos, but I felt like I was at a breaking point. We went back to our rav that Friday morning and he told me to stay home. When you really feel like you can’t, ask again.

But once you get that guidance, you need to place your trust in Hashem. I’ve had people ask me, “But what if I don’t go in, and this is it, and I miss it, and I’m not there?” As our rav told us, you need to live. You can’t live like that.

And so, if the worst happens and you’re not there, you need to accept that that was what Hashem wanted and that was His plan.

Going through tragedy can give you a dark sense of humor. We used to joke about it: “So, what’s going to happen if we miss it? Will someone die? Oh, wait….” My husband is makpid not to have his phone on him when he’s learning, and, with the guidance of our daas Torah, he continued this practice throughout my daughter’s hospitalization and he left his phone at home each morning for his seder at the shul across the street.

When the hospital called us one morning to say that this was really it, my daughter’s body was shutting down, I sent someone to call my husband and raced to the hospital alone. I was with my daughter for yetzias neshamah, but my husband wasn’t. While he left just a few minutes later than I did, he got stuck in traffic and  missed it. It was so clear to us that this was part of Hashem’s plan. This is what Hashem wanted. My husband wasn’t meant to be there.

And — no matter how many close calls we’d had before — Hashem made sure I was there.

They Need You

It can be very hard when the crisis involves a child who’s sick. When my husband was sick, we made the decision together. My daughter was obviously unconscious throughout her hospitalization, but I’ve had people ask me, “What can I do? How can I leave my sick child? She’s calling for me. She’ll be scarred and resentful if I leave her.” Yes, that first time will be hard. The second time will be hard. But they’ll get used to it. Make sure there is someone capable and sensitive there with them that first time — and my husband has generously volunteered to pull that first shift with the child.

You can also tell your child straight out, “I won’t be able to sit with you in the morning — when you’re up and you need me more — if I’m here all night.” Yes, it might be hard, and your child might be sad and might be upset, but they need a mother. And your other children need normalcy, they need to see that mommy comes home at night to sleep. You can explain that to your child, too. “Your brothers and sisters need their mommy too. It’s better for everyone. Healthier kids, healthier mommy, healthier you. Mommy really wants to stay with you, she loves to be with you at night. I have a cell phone. You can call it anytime. I’m sending you only the best people to stay with you. But in order for me to be able to take care of you, I have to have a good night’s sleep, and I need to be there for your brothers and sisters, too.” Your child will probably understand that. But maybe they won’t. Maybe in the here and now they’ll be upset. But it’s important.

It’s hard to leave your family member in the hospital. They’ve been through a trauma. They need you. But the other people at home also went through a trauma, and your disappearing will make things even more traumatic. Don’t forget there are children at home, too.

Making these decisions isn’t easy — it’s gut-wrenching and painful. But you need to tell yourself: I’m doing this for my family’s future. I’m doing this for the family we’re building together.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 927)