I will never forget the face of the EMT who broke the
devastating news to me that Woody did not survive the fall. His eyes were full
of regret, his brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry.” That’s all he said. No more, no
less, but the meaning in those three words was communicated effectively. My only response was a weak “no” as I fell to
a heap on the ground. A couple, who had just come upon the scene, picked me up
and held me. They walked—carried really—me to the waiting ambulance where more
medical personnel waited, anxious to tend to my needs.
Everything was a blur. They had to be wrong. I asked the EMT’s
who were in the back of the ambulance to check again. Someone was mistaken.
There had to be more they could do! No. No mistake. They did all they could for
him. He was dead. “Pray with me,” was all I could muster in that moment, and
awkwardly they complied. My only thought
was for my waiting children whom I had promised hours before that their daddy
would not die. And now I must break my promise. I would be responsible for
relaying the news that would turn their world upside down.
White County had a chaplain waiting with Hunter, Haley and
Haden. By the time I asked one of the EMTs to drive me to my waiting children,
I was calm, a miracle really. I do not remember the words I used. I do not
remember their response. I only remember that we stood in a circle holding
hands with the chaplain and we prayed. Before we began, the chaplain looked
around at the circle of blood- and tear-stained faces before him and said, “I
have done this a lot, but never have I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit
like I do with this family. You will be okay.”
And here we are. Nearly eight months later, we have survived
our first holiday season without the life of the party. We gave thanks for our
blessings, picked out the perfect Christmas tree, decorated for the season in
which we would celebrate our Savior’s birth, and opened presents one by one in
front of the fire place and gave thanks because we were together. We all wrote
letters to Woody and placed them in his stocking Christmas Eve and prayed that
God would read them to Woody. We wondered what it must be like celebrating
Jesus’ birth in His presence. And other than hitting a wall mid-afternoon, I
survived being mom and dad to our children and kept everyone cheerful and
grateful. We did it!
Somehow God keeps us grounded. Somehow He has brought joy
and peace when in all reality, standing in the parking lot at Mt. Yonah nearly
eight months ago with my children and a nameless chaplain, I never thought we
would ever have again. We have survived a nightmare too terrible for words. We
lived through the most traumatizing experience we will ever know, and yet we
are sane.
I do not know what the future holds for me, but I do know
that I am healing. I now know what the chaplain knew that day—we will be okay.
