Easter

When people hear my story they are usually moved to tears. I see the pity in their eyes—the shock, the sorrow. They cannot believe that someone so young, so good, and so full of life could have died such a horrific, agonizing death. For nearly five hours Woody suffered before the trauma of the fall caused every organ in his body to shut down. I can still see his blood-caked, swollen eyes, blood flowing from his nose and mouth; and his scalp hanging from the back of his head, uncovering a skull that had been bashed by the granite rock. His body was covered in lacerations. He was dying the minute we reached him, yet we still prayed for a miracle. “How awful!” you may exclaim, and you mourn for my loss. It moves you in a way you never expected. You realize how short life is and that every day is a gift. Some people have told me it has made them want to be a better parent or spouse. Something about Woody’s death leaves an impression on every one who hears about it.

So why do we treat Easter like any other day? We dye eggs and fill Easter baskets full of goodies. We may attend a Good Friday service and walk through the Stations of the Cross, but we do it with as much zeal as we do any other religious activity. We take communion without a tear in our eyes. It has become so routine that we have become desensitized to what it all means.

Jesus was only 33—ten years younger than Woody. You want to talk about good? He was perfect. Yes, Woody’s death was horrific, but Jesus’ beating and death were ten times worse. And whereas Woody did not choose to die, Jesus did. This is not a fairy tale. Jesus was a historical figure whose beating and death can be proven. Four eyewitnesses recorded the whole gruesome flogging and crucifixion in great detail. Tell me, why are you moved by my account of Woody’s death, yet are completely complacent about the death of the One who gave His life in order that you might have eternal life? His loss was just as real to His mother, brothers, friends, and co-workers as Woody’s death was to everyone who knew him.

I have witnessed a dreadful death. It scarred everyone who was there that day. However, the death and resurrection we celebrate this weekend should be much more impactful than what I experienced on Mother’s Day 2015. Please, think about that this Easter 2016.

There Is No Way To Explain It Adequately

There is no way to adequately portray what we endured that fateful day on Mount Yonah. The trauma was too great. Your imagination will not allow you to reach the depth of emotional suffering that we endured that day. It was surreal. I remember thinking the whole time, “This is not happening! I will wake up. This cannot be real!” The nightmare was far worse than any drama I had ever seen on the big screen. I just knew that God could not possibly allow something so horrific to inflict our family. And yet, it did.

I will never get the look in Woody’s eyes out of my head, as he slid belly first down the granite face of the mountain right past me. I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do except scream. “No! No! No! Woody! Please, Lord, no!” His hands and legs were outstretched as he tried desperately to find a hand or foot hold. His eyes were full of fear, yet his voice was silent, and then he disappeared over the ledge. Haden, our youngest son, was at a higher vantage point and watched as his dad tumbled head over heels approximately 100 feet until hitting his head against a stump which stopped his fall. I heard Haden’s cries, but they sounded as if they were travelling through a tunnel. He immediately started running down the mountain to reach his dad. Hunter and Haley, who rejoined us once they heard the screaming, started down the mountain, too. Hunter kept shouting, “Someone call 911!” I couldn’t move. I looked over the edge and saw Woody’s body in a crumpled heap and was stricken motionless. I sat down. I wanted to cry but was completely numb. My mind reeled.  “Where is the trail? How do I get down the mountain? I don’t know what to do.” I could not even call 911. My mind could not communicate with my fingers.

Haden had reached Woody by time I started to come out of the fog. “He’s unconscious but he’s still breathing. It sounds like he’s snoring!” I yelled down not to move him in case of spinal cord injury. My brain started to compute the information. I immediately thought that either Woody’s trachea had been crushed or was blocked. I stood up and slowly, recognition came back to me. By time I made my way to Woody’s side, all three of the kids were there along with two women hikers who had been in the area. Allison was one of them. She stayed during the duration of the ordeal. After Hunter and I quarreled, he agreed to make his way down to the trail head to meet the EMT’s. He had wanted me to go, but I explained to him I was not going to leave my husband under any circumstances. Emotions were raw. We were frightened and Hunter was trying to control a situation he had no control over.  Allison, Haley, Haden, another woman and I stayed and tried to hold Woody. He was still on a steep incline with about 60 more feet to fall. By this point, he had become combative as he regained consciousness and was attempting to escape the pain. His visible injuries were severe, especially his head. His eyes were swollen shut, he was bleeding from his nose and mouth, and blood was gushing from the back of his head. He was attempting to stand up although he was not cognitive of his surroundings. We kept shouting at him, hoping he would hear us—hoping he would understand; but there was no recognition. I noticed that Haley was downhill of him, putting the weight of her body on him trying to keep him still. I made her trade me places, immediately recognizing the danger she was in. I held onto Woody’s hand. I prayed. “Woody, I love you! Please stop moving! We will all fall down the mountain with you!” It was intense. We were all in jeopardy of falling every time he sat up and groaned loudly. He was strong and he was fighting—fighting the intense pain, fighting for his life.  I looked down and noticed the steady flow of blood. We were all covered in a mixture of blood and dirt. I tried to discover the source. At that point, Woody lifted his head in such a way that I finally caught a glimpse of the back of his head. His scalp was completely removed from his skull. Allison asked, “Does anyone have an extra shirt?” No. Haden took off his shirt and handed it to me. I feebly tried to piece his scalp back together and then applied pressure with the shirt to the back of his head.

I’m not sure how long this went on. We heard the sirens long before anyone ever arrived. “When will they get here?” Haley repeatedly cried. Haden wept as he tried in vain to keep Woody’s head from bashing against the granite slab as he continued to wrestle. And we all struggled to keep him from taking us down the mountain with him.

I could go on, but I won’t. When I think about how harrowing that day truly was, I am grateful because I know that God has protected us from the full force of the blow. If he did not, we would be crushed. There is no way to survive that sort of trauma without His protective shield. We are truly loved. However, when you are wondering why I’m not over this yet; or why I struggle to sleep; or why I do not want to be alone, reread this. Try to live that nightmare with us and ask yourself, how quickly would you “get over” it?