Much like others, my family loves celebrating over the July 4 holiday. Each year, we make plans to celebrate it together, exactly the way it should be.
July will always carry difficult memories for me though. My first husband, Nick, passed away on July 8, 2019, when he was only 28 years old. I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. I was about four months pregnant at the time, making the grief even harder to process. It was only by the grace of God and the support of my family that I was able to make it through.
Since then, the July 4 weekend has felt even more poignant.
On July 2, 2020, almost a year to the day since Nick passed, my grandparents and I were discussing our plans for the upcoming holiday. I share my home in Joshua, Texas, south of Fort Worth, with my grandparents and we had just got a new above ground pool installed in the backyard. There was a large plastic ladder that could be removed, so any time we got out of the pool, we took the ladder out too.
Once we were done larking around, we removed the ladder from the pool and went to sit on the porch to talk about our Fourth of July plans, in particular, what we were going to cook.
While we thought we were taking all the necessary safety precautions, someone put the ladder back into the pool without me knowing. To my horror, my 2-year-old son Ezra discovered it before I could act.
‘Like Something Out of a Horror Movie’
My grandmother and I noticed that Ezra was not around, and as soon as we did, we looked toward the pool.
That’s when we saw him. My grandmother had recently begun teaching Ezra how to swim, but he was still in the very early stages. I just remember this blurred image of him lying at the bottom of the pool. Words can never do justice to how a mother feels when she sees something like that.
Everything around me became muted, and everyone’s screams and voices sounded distorted. Fear completely gripped me.
Without thinking, I leaped over the side of the pool and swam to the bottom. I pulled Ezra out of the water and lifted him over the side, where my sister was waiting to catch him. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion.
Ezra was limp and blue, with stomach acid coming out of his nose and mouth. It looked like something out of a horror movie, only it was my son. I tried to recall the CPR steps I had learned years before, but I was frozen. Thankfully, my sister began CPR immediately and took turns with neighbors who rushed over after hearing the commotion. Someone called 911, and we helplessly waited for the ambulance.
I was in complete shock and horror.
I’ve read that when people experience traumatic events, they either freeze or jump into action. All I could do was scream, “Jesus, please save my baby!” at the top of my lungs.
In that moment, I genuinely believed Ezra was gone. No longer did I see my vibrant, sweet little boy with his long blonde hair. Instead, I saw a lifeless little body. I was completely hopeless that I would ever see my son alive again.
Before he was loaded into the ambulance, we were able to get a faint pulse. Even so, the EMTs seemed somber. It was as if they already knew what the outcome would be. For the entire ride to the ER, all I could do was plead with God to intervene and save my son.
When we arrived at the ER, they immediately hooked him up to monitors, gave him a breathing tube and a neck brace. I just had to watch in despair as doctors and nurses did everything they could to stabilize my son. After what felt like an eternity, there came a point where they had done all they medically could, and all that was left was to wait.
Eventually, everyone stepped out of the room, and it was just my grandmother and me with Ezra. They brought us a chaplain, and I asked for a Bible, so he dutifully ran across the hospital to get one for me and then quietly left us alone to pray.
It felt like we were sitting by his hospital bed for hours on end. In fact, it was long enough for a large group from our local church to arrive at the hospital and begin praying outside the building. It was during COVID, so no one else was allowed into the room, but they still wanted to be there in whatever way they could.
After a while, my grandmother stepped out of the room to speak with some friends from church. One of them, Mendy, asked if she could come back inside with her. As much as my grandmother insisted that they weren’t allowing anyone else inside, that didn’t stop Mendy.
Mendy had no idea where we were, yet somehow, she found us and walked straight into Ezra’s room. She put some music on her phone and began to pray over Ezra and rebuking the spirit of death.
Miraculously, right after she prayed, Ezra suddenly sat up, ripped his cords off, wrapped his arms around me, and said, “Mommy!”
I was in utter shock, and my heart was instantly filled with joy and amazement. Until that point, I had believed the best-case scenario would be severe brain damage, but the fact that he sat up on his own and spoke meant his brain was functioning.
‘There Is Hope on the Other Side of Tragedy’
That night, we were moved to the ICU where Ezra was under close monitoring. He woke up the next morning, ate breakfast and, to our astonishment, he just wanted to play.
The doctors performed every test and scan they could to confirm that he was in fact OK. They were amazed that he did not even have any broken ribs or collarbone from the extensive CPR treatment. His brain scans and X-rays all came back completely normal. One of the ICU nurses looked at me and said, “This was a miracle. He’s lucky to be alive.”
Once we returned home, my grandmother taught him to swim, and he spent the rest of that summer enjoying the pool. My grandfather also built a secure enclosure around the pool entrance with a lock to make sure nothing like that could ever happen again.
Ezra has no long-term injuries whatsoever—it’s as if nothing ever happened. Believe it or not, he is now an avid swimmer.
At first, I wanted to get rid of the pool completely. For a long time, I had nightmares and felt extremely anxious whenever Ezra was around water. But thankfully, I have found healing and I see now that the pool is part of Ezra’s redemption story.
Of course, an experience like this makes you incredibly alert around water. Whether we’re at a lake or a public pool, my eyes are always on the small children nearby. I hope our story reminds parents how quickly drowning can happen. If your child cannot swim, keep a properly fitted life jacket on them anytime they are around water, and don’t remove it until you’re completely away from the pool. Teach your children to swim as early as they’re developmentally ready.
After losing my husband so tragically, I knew God never left me. I leaned on Him, trusted Him, and He carried me through. Miracles do happen, and there is hope on the other side of tragedy.
Lisa Jean Patterson, 33, resides in Texas with her husband Matt and their blended family. She homeschools their children and shares her experiences on social media (@lisajean933 on Instagram). Lisa was inspired to write her memoir, Yet, God, in which she recounts how her family persevered through tragedy as well as Ezra’s near-fatal drowning incident.
Contact Newsweek editors for this story: Charlotte Nisbet and Anthony Murray.
