A Sudden Realization
I Knew the Day Would Come
Never Quite Prepared
In One Brief Moment
Looking Back, Looking Forward

Monday, October 20, 1986, was my 35th birthday. By the end of the day, my life was changed forever. As birthdays go, it had been a pretty good day. When I arrived home after work, my husband, Rod, was not there. He was off from work for the week and around 4 p.m. left a message at my office that he was going to run some errands and meet me at home later. Since it was my birthday, he had invited some friends over for dinner. When I arrived home, our friends were there, but Rod wasn’t. Our six-year-old son, Justin, was involved with the party preparations.

By 8:30 p.m., Rod was still not home. Since it was a school night, our friends left. I was furious Rod could be so insensitive. About 20 minutes later, the phone rang, and I was sure it was Rod with an excuse regarding his whereabouts. However, when I answered the phone, it wasn’t a familiar voice; it was a police officer. The caller very matter-of-factly stated there had been a serious automobile accident, and Rod was in the emergency department at a local hospital. He informed me I needed to go immediately. This is the kind of call others receive. I would have never dreamed that I could be on the receiving end of something like this. In 30 seconds, our lives were profoundly affected by some stranger whose name I didn’t even know. Without having any details at all, I immediately sensed the urgency of the situation and began making arrangements to get to Rod.

I walked into Justin’s room and watched him playing very quietly with his toys. He was so content with his world. I wanted desperately to hold him and protect him from any potential danger or harm, but for the time, I had to remain calm so he wouldn’t be alarmed by my leaving.

The initial minutes in an emergency department waiting to know if a family member is dead or alive are torturous. When we finally received word Rod was alive, I was extremely relieved. He was stopped at a stoplight and teenagers in a stolen car, running from the police, ran into him at a very high speed. His condition was extremely critical, but the word “alive” sounded good to me. When the neurosurgeon arrived to talk with me, he stated that Rod had a severe head injury and sheared brain stem. He was in a coma and probably would not survive the night. All I heard was sheared, not severed and alive, not dead. Words like head injury and coma had no real meaning to me at this point. I quickly assumed his ability to survive meant there was a miracle in the works. After all, Rod had been spared.

When I got to see Rod, he was motionless. He didn’t look different or even hurt. I joked with him about every hair being in place, which was typical of him. I could only hope that if he had any awareness, he knew I was there.

After a few minutes, we were escorted to the intensive care waiting room. Funny how intimately entwined the lives of perfect strangers become once you enter that waiting room.

Rod did survive the night, although the prognosis was bleak. I still clung to the miracle theory. For the weeks to follow, we waited for the minutes we could visit during the designated visiting hours. Our lives revolved around those times.

Trying to make sense out of a senseless situation is difficult to say the least. When I went home for the first time and walked into our house, it was also the first time I had allowed myself to consider Rod might not come back or that he would never play with or hold his son again. I was overwhelmed by the realization that I would be on my own. I was married soon after college and had no experience at this. All of a sudden, I had to handle everything, and I was very frightened. Justin tried hard to understand, but he missed his daddy and the special times they routinely spent together. He and Rod had a very loving relationship. Rod was a great dad. Although I tried to balance all things. I could not fill the void left by this tragedy in Justin’s life.

After two months, Rod was transferred to the Baptist Rehabilitation Center. A hospital room at the Rehab facility now became a normal way of life.

Justin continued to visit his dad regularly for the first year. It was very touching to see him sit by his dad’s side and pat Rod’s arm or wipe his face. He would tell his daddy about school and his activities, but Rod couldn’t respond. He was trapped somewhere inside and not even Justin could make a difference. As time went on, Justin began detaching himself from his father. He was the first to let go. Although I was deeply saddened, I understood and supported my child’s decision not to go back.

During this time I relied upon a few close friends for strength and support. I was very grateful for these special friendships; my life was so tumultuous, these relationships became a primary source of stability and security, especially since Rod’s condition fluctuated constantly. I learned to sleep with the phone on the bed so I could quickly respond to an emergency call in the middle of the night. Although Rod had periods of wellness, his condition was apt to change without any notice--resulting in digression and unresponsiveness. Forwards--backwards--we never knew what to expect. I was emotionally exhausted. Where was this miracle I believed in--obviously a worthless concept all along.

I knew Rod was not going to recover, but was determined to control his care. I needed to feel in control of something. Despite my best efforts, Rod didn’t progress. Week after week he lay silent and helpless and there was nothing I could do to alter the quality of his life; this was it. With the support of a close friend, I requested the doctor stop all life prolonging measures. Although this was the right choice, I was angry that life had dealt me a bad hand. Why were we undergoing this senseless ordeal? I felt spiritually abandoned--why wasn’t there some divine intervention so that I wasn’t left to make the final choice?

In June 1989, Rod acquired an infection which resulted in a high fever. We watched as he drew his last breath. Rod was finally at rest.

The first four to six weeks following Rod’s funeral weren’t bad at all. I socialized without dread of some emergency situation arising. My friends were attentive during this time frame. By August, however, many of the people I had come to rely upon were no longer around. I found that many people felt that I had ample time to grieve, and I had...for Rod. I hadn’t counted on the other things I would mourn. After being the caregiver for so long, I was at loose ends. I couldn’t go back to my former life, because it no longer existed. I mourned the passing of friends and family who would no longer play a role in my life, and ultimately I grieved for myself. I had never experienced such incredible loneliness. I tried to internalize my feelings to avoid criticism or the traditional editorial comments from well-wishers who didn’t have a clue to what I was experiencing. Justin and I spent time together, but I was careful he didn’t become my sole outlet; it would have been easy to do. He needed to feel loved, safe and secure without assuming undue responsibility for my losses. He had enough to figure out without taking on my burdens as well. After all, he had suffered too.

However, in order to help him, I had to help myself. I sought the assistance of my minister, who was a well-trained counselor. He was wonderful and non-judgmental. He assured me that recovery was complex and took time. Over time, almost every relationship in my life was impacted by change. As I evolved through the recovery process, relationships which endured (and some didn’t) found a new place in my life.

Recovery for me was like a long distance race, and it took hard work. While I haven’t crossed the finish line yet, it is clearly in sight. Justin is a great kid--now a teenager, active and well-adjusted. As for me, I am much stronger and have accomplished things I never thought possible. My life is certainly difference from anything I had ever envisioned, but despite the obstacles, I not only survived, but am doing fine on my own. In retrospect, who knows...maybe there was a hidden miracle after all.

“And the peace of
God, which
passeth all
understanding,
shall keep your
hearts and minds
through
Christ Jesus.”

(Philippians 4:7)