The Ducks Made it

I was in a bad mood. I can't even remember why.
Brandon and I were at the intersection of 900 east and 6600 south, heading somewhere, I can't remember - it doesn't matter now.
The intersection is a big one. It's a four-lane road, and the speed limit is 45 mph, so naturally, most go around 55.
We were the first in the left-hand lane, waiting for the light to turn green.
And then I saw them.
A mama duck, with six little ducklings.
They were trying to cross the massive intersection.
The babies followed their mother unceasingly, that silly imprinting on their brains when they were born told them that no matter what, they will follow their mama wherever she goes - even if that be to death.
And they walked right into the middle of oncoming traffic.
I watched for a moment, horrified for these defenseless animals who had no idea of the insurmountable task ahead of them: crossing four lanes on a highway at rush hour.
I screamed, covered my eyes. I wanted to cry.
My husband watched, horror-struck, giving me a play-by-play of the situation, as if I was listening to a sporting event on the radio.
--Ooh! A car swerved! They're still okay-
--They're past the first lane, still crossing-
--Woah! No way! The car managed to stop-
--They're still okay, Breezy-
My eyes were tightly shut. I was horrified for these innocent duckies.
And then something happened.
People started to stop. People who were probably in a rush to get to the grocery store, or to get to their kids soccer game, or maybe to the dentist, these people stopped.
These were people who would otherwise not let you in their lane if you put on your blinker; or perhaps they would begrudgingly let you in, then give you a dirty look as they passed.
But we all...stopped.
Just stopped. And watched.
We all stopped to help something that needed help.
And we all cheered those ducks on.
As they all made it safely to the other side of the street to a ditch that was on the side of the road, we all clapped and whooped for joy.
YEEEEEAH! I screamed. YOU MADE IT! I was no longer in a bad mood.
It was unbelievable. A miracle, that not one of those ducks had been harmed on the massive, busy highway.

Fast forward six(ish) months.

I am in inpatient treatment for anorexia for the second time.
I am in the depths of despair.
The world around me is black, and there is a heavy fog that surrounds me, suffocates me.
I want to die.
I am sitting numbly on the couch, and a nurse walks up to me.
In her hand is a yellow post-it note.
She hands it to me, and says, Your husband called, and he wanted me to write down this message for you.
I look down, and hastily scrawled in blue ink are four words:
the ducks made it
I look up at her, my eyes fill with tears.
She says, He said you'd know what he meant.

Those ducks made it despite every odd stacked up against them. They lived, and people stopped to help them. They made it.
And if they could, despite every thing against them,
perhaps
I could, too.
For the rest of my four month stay in treatment, I kept that post-it note with me everyday.

Fast forward three(ish) years.
It is Thursday, June 19th.
Brandon and I are in a nearby neighborhood, taking Cade on a bike ride.
We get to a busy street and prepare to cross the road and make our way back to our home.
We look to our left, and about ten feet from us, are two women.
They're huddled in the gutter, looking down into a storm drain.
They acknowledge us, and say, There are several baby ducks trapped down here.
I look up, and see the mother duck, with two chicks following her, in a frenzy, agitated and worried about her babies.
The woman says, We can't get them out.
Tears burn my eyes behind my sunglasses.
and
it hurts too much, so I push my bike ahead, cross the road, and coast into our driveway.
My husband is just behind me and says, Should I go back there and try to save the ducks?
No, I say. No, you can't save them. There's nothing you can do.
I feel helpless and angry that these ducklings are going to die, but it hurts too much to think about.
I walk into our house, and flip on the TV.
Twenty minutes pass by, and I think, Where is Brandon?
I call his phone. No answer.
I call his parent's house. No answer.
I'm a little worried now. But mostly angry.
I pick up Cade, and walk outside with him. Brandon's car is in the driveway, as is mine.
BRANDON! I yell. Bwann-on! Cade yells.
I can't find him. And I get angrier.
Why would he just leave, I fume? He knows I need him right now. He knows I'm depressed and hurting and shouldn't be alone.
Ten, maybe twenty more minutes pass.
And then Brandon walks in the house, goes straight to the sink.
I need to wash my hands, he says.
I regard him cooly. I am angry with him.
He says, casually, I saved the baby ducks.
What? I say this unbelievably.
Yeah, he says. The women weren't strong enough to lift up the sewer grate, but I moved it. And it took awhile, but I was able to get all seven chicks and take them back to their mother.
Those other women had been out there for a couple hours. They'd even called the fire department and animal control and no one ever came. But I saved them, Brie, I saved them. He seems to be saying, I can help save you, too, if you'll let me. And then: I knew it would make you happy to know

the ducks made it.

I thought to myself later that night, You gave up on those ducks. Those silly, stupid, resilient creatures. How could you give up on them?
And then
How could you give up on yourself?

Yesterday it was Saturday. My mom came to my house in the morning, intent on getting me out of my bed and my dark, all-encompassing depression.
I open the door to her knock.
You've got to come out here and see this, she says excitedly.
I wearily pick up Cade and walk out to the backyard with her.
And there, floating in the midst of the fountain being built in the backyard, is
the mama duckie, with all nine of her babies, safe and sound.
The ducks made it, I thought.
I smile for what seems the first time in a long while.
And I knew she had shown up to tell me that she and her babies had made it,
and
I could, too.