Fixing the Unfixable
When facing insurmountable challenges, there is but one solution.
The harsh sound of an incoming emergency text alert ripped me from sleep. I checked the message: “Inbound ballistic missile. Seek immediate shelter. This is not a drill.”
I ripped the phone out of the wall so hard it bent the charger. The potential threat of a ballistic missile from North Korea had been discussed but largely laughed off. As a precaution, they’d reinstated the state-wide warning sirens. They’d tested them before, but I’d never heard them in my area. “Don’t worry if you can’t hear the warning sirens,” the Hawaii State Government had said, “if there is ever an actual inbound missile, we will also send out an emergency alert text. That’s how you will know it’s real.”
And here it was. The unthinkable. A ballistic missile was inbound to Hawaii. I had no supplies. I was unprepared. The idea of such a thing had been the subject of jokes, yet now it was happening. I recalled the few pieces of information I’d read — They said I would have between 8–15 minutes from the text alert until impact.
Whenever my brain is faced with a problem, even a potentially life-threatening one, there is no place for panic. Something inside me clicks and I become focused on how to solve the problem. In this situation, the problem I had to solve was how to respond to an inbound ballistic missile.
My family lives on the mainland, so first things first, I texted the family group chat. I informed them of the situation, and I told them my location. After impact, communications would likely be down. I wanted them to be aware of my location so that the news reports would help them know whether or not there was a chance I may still be alive.
I then began putting on clothes. As many clothes as I could find that would cover my extremities. This was surprisingly difficult, considering I’d lived in Hawaii for four years. Most of my clothing consisted of tank tops and shorts. I managed to find a pair of long pants and a hoodie. It was a stretch, but I wanted to try to protect myself from burns and fall out.
I grabbed any and all empty water bottles I could find and with the chaotic spurts of the wide-open tap, I filled them to capacity.
I glanced around my tiny matchbox of a studio. It would collapse on impact for sure. I chose what was likely the sturdiest spot — the closet in the center of the room. I ripped the pillows and bedding away from my bed, huddled in my closet, and buried myself under the bedding. My reasoning was that the sheets and blankets would provide additional protection from burns/fall out, as well as helping to provide some eye protection from debris and/or the flash from the explosion, depending on how close the bomb hit. The pillows would hopefully help cushion and protect my head from the rubble that was bound to fall — or smother me under it. 50/50 chance.
Water bottles within reach, clothing on, huddled in my closet, sheltered under what was essentially a pillow fort, I was faced with another decision — Do I sit and wait for the inevitable by myself?
Could I face death alone?
My childhood instincts kicked in, and all I wanted to do was hear my mom’s voice. But could I force that on her? Could I make her listen to my final moments? Was I selfish enough to etch the memory of my dying screams into my mother’s head?
Recalling that decision brings tears to my eyes, even two years later. Words cannot express how I agonized over that thought.
Ultimately, I wasn’t brave enough to die in solitude. I called my mom, who is an absolute champ at keeping a cool head in chaotic situations. She was, and still is, my hero. Her voice broke only a few times when the fear verbally manifested in remarks of, “Mommy, I don’t want to die.”
Dad called, and we conferenced him in. Together, my parents and I talked and waited.
The fifteen-minute mark came and went. Then, 30 minutes. Finally, after 38 minutes, another text alert was received stating that the first alert had been a false alarm.
It was a surreal experience that I’ll never forget, and it provided insight into how my brain operates.
When I am faced with a problem, no matter how impossible that problem might be, I immediately go into “fix-it” mode. Even when facing a potential missile, my first reaction wasn’t panic. It wasn’t to give up. I wasn’t confused. I was faced with a problem, and my brain instantly began processing potential solutions.
This doesn’t just apply to my own problems. It applies to the concerns of my friends and family as well. If you’ve earned a place in my heart, your problems are my problems in that I put just as much effort towards fixing them as I would my own.
I am a problem-solver. A fixer. A healer. It is as simple as that.
But what do you do when you’re faced with a problem that you aren’t meant to fix?
Someone who I deeply love, who has transcended earthly friendship into soul sisterhood, has been faced with a problem no person should ever have to face — a sick child.
Her beautiful, sweet, newborn baby has faced illnesses I never knew existed. These illnesses threaten the life of my beautiful soul niece before I have even had the chance to meet her.
Much like it did when faced with the missile crisis, my brain searched for ways to fix this problem.
For the fist time in my entire life, my brain’s search returned zero results.
Nothing? Nothing?? Unacceptable, Brain! This is the most important problem you’ve ever encountered. This is the life and well-being of your soul sister’s child. Search again. Find a solution!
Nothing.
I turned my face to the heavens. “How can I help?” I asked, “How do I fix this?”
“You don’t,” came the reply.
Indignant, I demanded, “How do I fix this?”
“Not all problems are meant to be fixed.”
Upon that response, a sense of peace filled my chest. But I didn’t want peace. I wanted answers. I wanted solutions to this problem. I wanted to save these people from this pain.
Yet instead, I get peace?
I fought against the peace. I fought for answers. My ego kicked and screamed and eventually begged for a solution. Yet the only response that came through was, “Not all problems are meant to be fixed,” followed by that insufferable sense of peace.
Nothing about this situation makes sense to me. I see only undeserved pain, misery, and hurt. I do not understand how or why or what could possibly justify this.
Oh, how little I know.
My tiny, one-sided perspective does not allow me to understand the reasons for this unfair tribulation.
The only solution for this problem is faith.
Faith is hard. It is scary. How can you take comfort in faith when the outcome is so unclear?
Yet, isn’t that the definition of faith? Trusting that, no matter what, there is a source that is bigger than us conspiring for the highest good of all of those involved?
Simple in concept, difficult in application.
It is okay to be afraid. It is okay to not know the answer. It is okay to not understand the answer you do know.
“Today, I put faith in a source larger than myself to fix the problems I cannot.”
