On the other side of the door

Have you ever had to climb into your house through a bathroom window? I had this unforgettable experience a few years back, when my two older girls were a toddler and a baby.

Around midday, the girls and I were returning home from a play-date visit in a friend’s house, tired out and ready for lunch, story time and a nap. I opened the door, let Shira in, and lingered outside with Tehilla to give the chickens some fresh water.

Just as I had my back turned to the door, I heard an ominous click of the door locking from inside.T ehilla and I were out and Shira was in the house on her own, and there was a locked door in between.

I tried to get Shira to unlock the door, but the lock was stuck. All the windows were locked from inside too (for safety reasons) and I couldn’t quite get her to understand how to open them. Once it dawned on us that we’re separated by a locked door, we both got quite panicky. I heard Shira crying inside and could do nothing – I felt so helpless, my husband had a key but he was at least an hour and a half away.

I called a friend who lived nearby, more for moral support than anything else, and she dashed right over to try and get us to calm down, and to coax Shira to give the key another try from inside. In the meantime, I made a last desperate check of all the windows and discovered – hurray! – that the shower window is unlocked.

Problem is, it’s a small window that opens only halfway, and it’s right near the ceiling. In a stroke of uncharacteristic technical brilliance, I managed to remove the glass panes, which left a square right below the ceiling, large enough for a rather thin person to climb through (I’m proud to say I was even able to replace the panes later, in correct order).

I found a ladder behind the garden shed, took one of the plastic garden chairs and slipped it through the window into the shower stall so that I would be able to step on it once I swing my feet through the window. I then realized there’s no way I’m going to be able to do this in my long denim skirt. Sincerely hoping no one can see this, I slipped out of my skirt, immensely thankful that at least I was wearing long pants underneath. I then climbed to the top of the ladder, swung one foot over the window, then another (in an acrobatic fit I had no idea I was capable of), then I climbed down to the plastic chair – and yes! I was in!

I hurried to my frightened child, comforted her while telling her never, never, never to mess about with the lock again, and swung open the front door, admitting my friend together with her little ones and Tehilla, who was sitting in her stroller all the while, enjoying all the attention and oblivious to anything exciting going on. With a deep sigh of worn-out travellers, my friend and I settled on the couch and sofa to nurse our babies. Finally, rest was at hand.

Later, when I was at leisure to think it all through, it occurred to me how this whole situation illustrates something bigger – the feeling of helplessness, the frustration, the fear; separation from our dearest ones; knowledge of being very close to something precious – so close, yet unable to reach it. And finally, the miraculous discovery of a way to get to it – doing things you didn’t think you could do, climbing up a steep ladder, a dangerous squeezing through a narrow gate, and finding yourself, finally, at the peaceful place your heart so desired – your home.