Kneeling on a metal doorframe, I waited. A gloved hand appeared in my peripheral vision. Fingers counted down…3…2…1…whoosh. I fell into a wall of air that rushed against my body at 120 miles per hour. Adrenaline surged through every cell and synapse. My pulse throbbed inside my ears.
With one jump, grief over my perception of normalcy lost was gone. The guilt I carried for two years, five months and twenty-nine days dissipated. The unrelenting debate – wondering if it would happen again or not –
silenced. It was in that moment I found courage.
Skydiving is not the usual way most women prepare for a baby. Typical preparations often involve a prescription for prenatal vitamins, daily doses of folic acid and several candlelit dinners. As a mother of a son with Down syndrome, I looked for a way to overcome fears associated with my first pregnancy. Skydiving was my antidote.
So, why not get a cup of coffee and talk
with a girlfriend about my concerns?
Why did I choose to plummet 14,000 feet toward the earth – trusting only nylon fabric to return my feet to terra firma?
Constructing a logical explanation for my emotional responses is not my strength – just ask my husband. The simple answer: my husband and I always wanted more children. Yet, my experience of having an unexpected diagnosis handed to me in the delivery room restrained me from pursuing our dream of a larger family. Skydiving was on my list of things to do, but fear of injury kept my feet on the ground. Finally, I planned a tandem jump with an
experienced skydiver, resolved that fear would not inhibit my family or recreation.
On a beautiful, sun-laden September afternoon, I confronted my fear of falling…of failing…of disappointment…of embarrassment…of the unknown…of another pair of chromosomes colliding and creating a beautiful, hilarious, intuitive life. What was I afraid of?
My son is a chronic optimist. He laughs easily. He makes friends wherever we go. Even while we are in our car at the bank drive-thru window or waiting in traffic, I often hear giggles from the backseat. He has attracted the attention of another driver and is laughing with his new acquaintance. My son is strong. He has endured multiple battles with life-threatening bouts of pneumonia, twice requiring a ventilator and heavy sedation. He forgives offenses and is generous with his affections. My son is determined. He does not perceive the risk of failure – he simply tries again.
Skydiving taught me to take a risk. Some might think that it was an unnecessary risk, especially considering I had a toddler at home who needed his mom. While the concerns are substantiated, the risk for me was vital. As I was falling through the sky, I let go of circumstances I could not change and embraced a new perspective. I allowed myself to fall in love with a little boy whose persistent love and example gave me the courage to try again.
Eighteen months later, we welcomed another little boy into our family. I remain grateful for the fall.
Jennifer Parsons lives in Mechanicsburg with her two sons and husband.
Photo taken by James Griffith