But let me paraphrase a question: why is this handbell night different from all others?
The answer is because my daughter, whom shall be known from this night forward as Dr. Sarah, sprang into action.
I'm going to be completely impartial here, but as I was watching my beautiful, poised, talented, smiling daughter play the first song in the set, I along with the rest of the parents in the audience noticed Kaitlyn, the girl playing handbells next to her, was very suddenly in a great deal of distress. She stopped playing, was very disoriented, was trying to find some direction to walk in, the color drained from her face, she couldn't focus on any one thing and she was clearly about to faint.
Dr. Sarah sprang into action. She grabbed Kaitlyn, held her both up and still, speaking comforting words to her while Kaitlyn's father quickly ran up from the audience, scooped up his little girl and took her outside.
The concert continued, but as you might imagine in a room full of parents, most of whom have known these kids since kindergarten, they were very concerned with Kaitlyn's condition even as they listened to the music.
After the handbell choir, the high school orchestra took the stage. But before they begain playing, the teacher/conductor made an announcement that Kaitlyn was okay.
The roomful of parents erupted into relieved applause.
Afterwards, Dr. Sarah told me that Kaitlyn had fallen off the stage before the performance, and came down particularly hard on her ankle. She either severely sprained or possibly even fractured it. What looked like dehydration or the onset of the flu from where we were sitting was actually shock, her body finally surrendering to the pain of the fall.
Thanks to Dr. Sarah and her cat-like reflexes, Kaitlyn didn't fall and risk even worse injury. Thank to her compassionate words, Kaitlyn didn't spiral into any more of a panic than she was already in.
I'm proud of my daughter for the musician she is.
But that's nothing compared to how proud I am for the caring person she's become.
