We had a freak accident last night that could have ended tragically for my nine-year-old daughter, Ella. I wasn’t planning to write about it, at least not yet, but when I woke up this morning I felt the need to.

My sweet Ella

I suppose it’s my small way of thanking God for a miracle, one I can never repay but will always remember.

It happened around 7:30 p.m., when I was in the kitchen working on the computer. My husband Harry was with the girls, getting them ready for bed. Out of the blue I heard a loud boom!, and immediately I knew a large piece of furniture had fallen. Initially I wasn’t overly concerned, because the sound came from the spare bedroom, and no one was crying.

But then I heard Harry – my laid-back, never-rattled spouse – start to panic.  “Oh my God, Ella…oh my God, oh my God…Kari, come quick…” I kept thinking his dark tone would lighten up, but it didn’t. With my heart in my throat, I ran to bedroom, unable to shake the feeling that the unthinkable had happened to us.