An Open Thank You to an Anonymous Good Samaritain
The store is on the second floor above a garage and after a successful shop, we came down in the elevator. Kaylee was in my arms and the doors opened and I heard an unholy screech of pain. Eric had managed to wedge his fingers between the elevator door and the wall as it was opening. Don't ask me how. I didn't actually see it happen. He. Was. Stuck.
I couldn't put Kaylee down because the elevator opens right to an alcove that goes to the parking lot. And Kaylee would have made a break for it. I was desperately trying to free Eric with one hand, either by pulling open the elevator or pulling on his hand. Neither tactic was working and I screamed "Help!"
A guy roughly my dad's age dropped his grocery bag on the ground and help me wrestle with the elevator door. He quickly dropped that tactic and gently yanked Eric's fingers from the door. He picked him up and held him because by this time Kaylee was hysterical over her brother's ordeal.
I was too freaked out to say much more than thank you. I put Kaylee in the sling that I had thought to bring and took Eric from this kind man. And I went off to search a quiet place where we could sit down to assess whether there was anything seriously wrong with Eric's hand.
So, I said goodbye to this really good man. But I don't think I thanked him properly. I really don't. I was so freaked out.
I asked Eric if we needed to go home, or if we should go to the park. (There is an AWESOME park across the street from that Whole Foods.)
"I (sob) want (sob) to (sob) go (sob) to (sob) the (sob) park!" More sobs. But he was fine emotionally and physically by the time we crossed Putnam Ave.
So, I called Rich and cried on the phone while I watched the kids play. They were both fine. Truly. But I don't think I thanked the guy who helped me properly and I don't feel good about that.