Five years ago today, I woke up, got my coffee, broke out my glitter, my paints, glue sticks and other pretty and shiny things that I love to use. I was setting up to make a 3 year anniversary card for my guy. It was a quiet, and soon to be very hot morning. Rich had gone on an early bike ride to beat the heat, and to be able to then get on a work call at 8:00am. Three years since we went on our first NOT a date, date. It was perfect that he was going on his ride, so I could spread out my art materials and create something before he got back.
At some point while writing his card, I got extremely anxious. That is not unusual for me (if you know me, you know that). I felt sick. Like an overload of adrenaline was slowly boiling up to the surface. I did all of the things- deep breath, move a muscle, change a thought, self talk, keep focus on the card, etc. But once this anxiety trigger had been tripped, there was no way back to homeostasis. What is this? What time is it? Should he be back yet? I actually remember hearing a voice and feeling a push to get in the shower and get dressed. WHY though? Just do it.
After getting ready for something I had no idea was coming, it was about time for him to be home. He can be late for a lot of things. Maybe he got on his call outside. I call. I text. I call. I text. I call. I text. Straight to voicemail. Text delivered in green. Now my mind is in full blown worst case scenario, the what ifs are rapid firing. I have the internal fight with myself- just calm down, there are many reasons why he is not home……vs……I know he is dead. The horrible, long winded rally of the ping pong balls in my brain continue. I call his best friend’s wife and ask her to talk me of the ledge. She tried. I did what I knew I was going to do, knowing there was nothing that could calm my tweeked out neurons at this point. I called all of the hospitals in the area, asking if Rich is in the ER. No. Nope. No, he’s not here. I keep calling him, texting him…no new results from that. I decide to walk around our building, to see if maybe he is on his call on a bench outside. No. He is not. I call his work partner to ask him if Rich is on the call. No. He is not. And in the middle of that call, I got a call from an unknown number. I answer it. And I hear, “This is Dr. <can’t remember his name>Do you know someone who went on a bike ride this morning?” I screamed out, “I KNEW IT!” I told the Dr. I had just called that hospital and they said he was not there. And he said something like, “He is listed as Falcon Trauma because he had no ID on him. He has been in a serious bicycle accident. You need to come here. And please be careful driving here.”
The things I remember about getting there, were…calling my dad, pulling up to the ER parking area and there were no spots, and screaming, “I have to go inside, here are my keys.” And just dropping my keys. When I get inside, two very young doctors come to talk to me. I have no idea what they said. And then a hospital chaplain comes in to my little, tented ER area and introduces herself. I do remember what I said to that, “What is going on here?!?!?!”
At some point when he was cleaned up and in the ICU, I was able to see him. I talked to him, I stared at him, I put my ear on his chest to hear his heart beat, even though I knew the machine was pumping out these beats; I just needed to hear his heart At 7:00pm, visiting hours are over. I have to leave. The nurse was extremely empathetic and told me I could call her anytime to get updates. Ok, thank you! Then I was sent to pick up his belongings at the ER sign in desk. They hand me a clear bag with bloody shoes, socks, a broken and blood soaked helmet. And now I have to leave? I walked out in shock, saw my car was still sitting in the same place I left it, with keys on top. I drive home. And the next 2 weeks were literal hell on Covid-infested earth while he was in the hospital.
Sometimes progress felt fast and incredible and sometimes it felt so slow that it had to be a slow-mo video that went on way too long…that I was watching, but also in. Each day was different. A blur, but also imprinting scars. And somehow, each day, we made it through. There is just too much to say about the aftermath, but the hopeful moment was when we got married on September 10th. <we were already engaged before the accident…for background information>
Cue up the cliche music, because yes, I am about to say…. there is “before the accident” and an “after the accident”……a time stamp of the severing on path, the creating of another. An “us before the accident” and an “us after the accident”. I will never be the same. He will never be the same. We are different people now. Even with all of the excruciatingly painful parts of recovery/progress, we are here. Inch by inch, bird by bird, all of that.
Anyway, I am writing this year on the 5 year anniversary, because I just realized something. Clubs. You know the kind of clubs you are a part of but didn’t sign up for? Like. I think of when Ella was diagnosed with severe food allergies when she was 5, and how I dove into getting educated and then educating others, learning about 504 plans, laws, changing school policy, etc. Then came the melanoma club. Same thing. Dove in. Created something (see Farewell, Respect the Rays). Then alcohol use disorder. Same thing. Dove into AA. Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. Same. A mother of an adult child with SUD. Same. These were all life situations that felt painful, intolerable really. BUT. Finding my community within each of these unchosen clubs was life saving. And I do mean life saving. We are better as WE, with those who understand, who have the lived experience that we have. There is a bond, a life jacket of sorts.
One of my favorite people on this earth (from one of my “clubs”) gave me a book a couple of months ago. She told me it was meant for me. That the book is written by a woman whose husband had and accident, a traumatic brain injury, and their life. And I’m thinking, “That is so sweet, but I can’t read books anymore, my mind is too fucked to follow the words on a page for more than a page…I can’t stick with it, whatever the excuse…I had many.” She told me the author’s husband’s name is Rich too. I took the book. Squeezed it, really…sort of knowing this is something I need to hear, and thank G-d it has arrived in my hands. I read some pages at home. I immediately felt a form of relief that I feel when I go to an AA meeting…..that connectedness. It’s a feeling of being held, buoyancy, something that lifts you up. The KNOWING you are not alone in this (whatever this may be). I savored the words on the page, and kept turning pages. I was actually amazed that I couldn’t put the book down. This author was writing down on paper everything I have felt for the past 5 years, and have never engaged in a conversation with someone in my situation. It was truely transformative.
Why is that so impactful? Because I soon realized that this was what was missing from my club membership list. I don’t know anyone who is married to someone who has suffered a traumatic brain injury. Except for Abigail Thomas, the author. I have never sat down for coffee with anyone and discussed this and felt a cellular connection. I tried to reach out to her (of course), but she hasn’t gotten back to me…..yet.
I find myself not wanting the book to end. Especially since she hasn’t emailed me back. Lol. But guess what? I will either find a support group for this, or create one (and anyone who knows me, knows this is a fact). So here we are, 5 years post-accident, and so much progress has been made, so much has changed, so much love is here. It is time to create something to meet a need. And once again, I find myself a part of a universe that is so connected, spiritual, unexplainable, and amazing, as a direct result of the deepest pain, fear and wounds.
Thank you, Jen and thank you, Abigail, and thank you, ALL of my G-d sent people. I LOVE YOU, RICH!
Little Truth Tales 