The Day That Should Never Come

Wednesday, August 11, 2010.  It should've been a fun day.  But it wasn't supposed to be a "normal" day by any means.  It was the first day of school for my 8 year old.  He was starting 3rd grade.  My husband had decided the night before that he was going to go into work late.  He wanted to continue a tradition that he had started on special occasions.  He was going to take Justin to breakfast with Daddy, and after much coaxing from me, he decided to take Spencer (almost 3 years old) along to breakfast too.  Spencer was to start preschool the following day.  We had gone to Back to School Night on that Monday, so all of their school supplies were already delivered to school.  Backpacks were waiting by the door.

Since Adam knew he would be going in to work a bit late, he got up and decided to go for a run before taking the older boys to breakfast.  He came home and told me of his run, making sure to tell me that I shouldn't ever go running early in the morning by myself along the trail he went, that he didn't think it was safe for a girl to be there in the early dark hours of the morning.  Interesting that I remember that now.  He showered, and I got Justin and Spencer showered and dressed for the day.  I nursed Carson (5 months) and then got myself in the shower.  Adam left with the boys.  I didn't kiss him goodbye, knowing that I'd see him later when they got back from eating donuts.  I wish I had.  I remember the last place I saw him--by our dresser in our bedroom as he turned away to leave.  They left the house about 7:15 am.

I went about my morning, enjoying the quiet.  I blowdried my hair, and put on make up. This was Wednesday.  Weight Watchers meeting day.  Also the day that I worked evenings as a nurse.  I had plans.

At 8:15 I started to wonder where Adam and the boys were.  It was getting late and they were supposed to come home to take first day of school pictures, and then we were all planning to go to school together to drop off Justin for his first day.  We needed to take his traditional picture next to the school's mosaic of a Tiger, the school mascot.  Where WERE they?

I got Justin's backpack in my hands.  I got Carson in his infant carseat, all strapped in.  8:20.  We were going to be late.  And on the first day of school!  I was starting to get ticked off.  I opened up the garage door, so it would be ALL READY to go when they came zooming in to park Adam's car and we would all drive over in our minivan.

I had my garage door open and the door from the garage to my house open.  At 8:23 the phone rang.  I looked at the caller ID and got annoyed.  It said "private"  which only meant one thing to me:  telemarketers.  Rrgh.  Even though I had been a telemarketer before, they still annoyed me.  I decided against my better judgement to answer the phone. 

"Hello, is this Melissa Smith?"

"Yes."

"This is _____ from Sarpy County 911."

[At this point I thought that it was the height of annoying telemarketers, you know, the ones that solicit money for the fire department or police?  I'd had some really bad run-ins with those people, cussing me out when I asked to be removed from their list....  I was ready to start in on the "please remove me from your phone list" stuff.]

"The sheriff wanted me to call and let you know that there's been an accident.  They want you to call a friend and come down right away to Creighton University Medical Center, can you do that?"

At this point, I knew what this meant...or a part of me did anyway.  I started yelling into the phone and pacing the garage.  I was certain my neighbors across the street were probably wondering if I was going mad.  And yes, looking back, I suppose it was the start to my madness.

"I'M A NURSE!!!!  I KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS.  ARE THEY ALIVE!!!!!  ARE THEY ALIVE!!!  TELL ME NOW!!!!"

At first she was patronizing and telling me that she just needed me to come to the hospital and not to drive myself.  But flooding back to me comes the words of one of my professors at Creighton nursing school.  "Never tell someone over the phone that their family member is dead.  Never.  AND NEVER let them drive themselves.  Always make them get someone to drive them down to the hospital or they will crash too.  Statistically, this is what happens many times--they will crash."

After trying to get the lady to tell me something, ANYTHING, she finally concedes.

"They're alive.  The boys just might need some stitches.  So have someone drive you down to the hospital ok?  Don't drive yourself."

I hang up the phone and hit the caller ID back button on my phone to the last person who called me.  Sherrie had called me the night before and had borrowed our red wagon and red tricycle for her kids' pictures.  She had 4 kids under the age of 5, the youngest 2, twins who were just over a year old.  I had talked to Sherrie recently and thought that she still had her college-aged helper Brittany there in the morning.  I figured that Brittany would be able to watch her kids for her and maybe she could take me and Carson to the hospital.  I looked at the clock and realized that it was 8:30am, right when almost EVERYONE that I knew would be taking their kids to the first day of school.  All of them.  But Sherrie's kids were little and she was in a different school district.  Logically this made sense to me, or at least the best sense under my adrenaline rush.

I threw a few things in my diaper bag-turned-purse.  Made sure I had a pacifier, diapers and wipes, and a spit up cloth diaper.  I started pacing the house again, my mind racing.  What could be going on?  Is my Adam ok?  Are my babies ok?  I dropped to my knees on the rug by the hallway and prayed aloud.  I don't remember what I said exactly, but I know the last part of what I said.  I said, "Thy will be done Heavenly Father."  I remember feeling a great sense of peace, even though I was so scared about what was happening.  I ran to the phone and tried Adam's cell phone, just in case he could answer.  It went to voice mail.  I tried Ame's cell number, no answer, I tried several others.  No answer.  Then I realized that Adam's work would be wondering where he was.  I grabbed the phone book and dialed Creighton Med Center.  I didn't know his phone number, I had NEVER called him on anything but his cell phone at work.  Ever.  I asked the operator to connect me with the radiology department.

I don't know who answered the phone.  But she said "Xray" when she answered.  I said, "This is Dr. Adam Smith's wife.  There's been an accident and I don't know how bad Adam or my boys are hurt.  So Adam won't be in today.  Will you please pass along this information?"  Tears were streaming down my face and I was having a hard time talking.  I called my parents and told them to pray, told them I didn't know what was going on.

I went outside in my garage and waited for Sherrie.  Meanwhile, my cell phone rang.  It was Viv.  She asked where I was, and what was going on.  I figured that meant she knew something about the accident, and I was confused.  Why does she know about the accident?  I started yelling at her and saying that Adam had taken the boys to breakfast, and are they ok, and I don't know what else.  She kept yelling at me like a 2 year old and telling me to calm down.  I wanted to cuss her out and tell her not to tell me to calm down, and I don't know...maybe I did?  She mentioned there was a big accident this morning.  She said something about sending her husband down to find out about what was going on.  Meanwhile, while on the phone with her, I heard the sirens--the fire and ambulance sirens.  They were going down Harrison street.  I looked out the hill, but was in such a daze I couldn't see straight.  I was mad at Viv in that moment, angry with everything.  But mostly just scared.

I don't know how she got there so fast, but Sherrie drove up, with all 4 of her kids in the car.  I felt terrible for making her come, I wondered if I was overreacting and that surely I would be ok driving myself down to the hospital.  I think I started pacing and telling Sherrie that it was ok, I could drive myself so that they all didn't have to drive the 30 minute drive down to Creighton.  She told me to get in the car and I did.  We got out onto Harrison street to get on the freeway, and that's when I saw it.  Harrison was totally shut down, right along the bend in the road that I had driven maybe a bit too fast in the past.  I remembered having had the thought that it would be really bad to get in a wreck on that bend in the road, people get going so fast.  We were re-routed onto Harry Andersen, and it was majorly backed up.  As we could see more of the accident from a distance, Sherrie told me to look away.  I told her that I needed to see it.  I could see Adam's car.  And I freaked out.  I still didn't know anything for sure.  Stitches.  That's what the 911 lady had said.  I was holding onto that.

We sat on Harry Andersen for quite some time, pretty much at a standstill.  I got out my cell phone and started calling people.  I decided this time to call Ame's house, since maybe she'd be home by now.  And she was.  I told her what I knew (nothing) but that I knew that someone, at least one or more of my family members, would need a priesthood blessing.  She said she and the Bishop would be right down to the hospital.  And they actually may have gotten there before me since I was stuck in traffic for a while and they would've traveled a different route.  I dialed a few other numbers with no answer.

Once we got on the freeway, I realized (like I had been hit in the head actually) that I hadn't called Adam's parents yet.  I didn't want to worry them unnecessarily.  I mean, I didn't know anything yet.  So I called.  I started slowly, telling his mom that Adam had taken the boys out to eat donuts, that it was Justin's first day of school.  I told her that I had gotten a call from 911 and that a friend was taking me to the hospital.  I told her that I didn't know anything but that she needed to pray.  She was upset and said she would gather everyone to pray.  I think she hung up without saying goodbye, if I remember right.

I had Sherrie take me up to the emergency department entrance, a place in 8 years that I had never been.  I got Carson and went to the receptionist area.  I told the woman that 911 had notified me that my husband and kids had been in an accident.  I grabbed my wallet and handed her my insurance card since I knew the drill.  She had two papers in front of her, each with a paperclip.  One said Justin and one said Spencer.  She asked their birthdates and last names.  I then asked if my husband was alive.  She had already copied off my card and had had me sign consent to treat forms.  She said that she was unable to discuss that information.  In my head I knew what that meant, but I still hadn't heard the words.  She came out from behind the plexiglass and helped me take Carson (still in his baby seat) to "another room."  Logically I knew what all this meant.  But my head was spinning.  My Adam couldn't be dead.  He just couldn't be.  It made no logical sense, it was just unfathomable.  When we got to the room, I asked her if Adam died.  She gave me a puppydog look and gave me a hug, but never said yes.  Still I didn't want to believe it.  I still hadn't heard the words so it couldn't really be true.  Next I remember, Dr. Forse came in.  I knew his name from Adam as he and I had discussed many doctors through the years at Creighton.  This was the problem.  I knew too much.  Nursing school messed with my head.  Stories of doctors messed with my head.  Hmm, is Dr. Forse one of the doctors that is "ok" and I should trust?  Hmm.  He started walking me to radiology, saying that both my boys were in getting CT scans and they were doing ok.  He asked if I knew about Adam.  I asked if he died, and he said yes.  I remember at some point seeing a security guard.  Again, my own nursing career was kicking me again.  I knew that security always had to be around when family was to be notified of an unexpected death, and sometimes even for an expected death.  People literally go on rampages sometimes when they're told of family members' deaths.  But I was too scared for my babies and sad for my sweet Adam that I wasn't going to go on a rampage.  I didn't have a clue that the one who caused this wreck was probably only feet away from me in the same hospital, nor did I know anything regarding the accident.  It was quite a long while before anyone told me.

The next thing I remember (and this is where I've somehow blocked some things out) I was in radiology, being asked if I could be pregnant.  Justin was about to get a CT scan, he had an IV in his arm and Dr. Forse was telling me that they were checking him out.  Justin was asking for me as I walked into the room.  The next thing I remember, Justin, while lying on the CT scanner wearing a C collar, asked me if Daddy died.  I told him yes and that Daddy went to be with Heavenly Father.  I was still in disbelief.  I was having to tell my 8 year old that his daddy died?  What?  No way.  This is all a bad dream.  I was led into an area of radiology I had been before.  I remember this area from taking a patient of mine (as a student) down to radiology for a CT scan.  I sat there as I watched Kurt run through the scan for an initial read.  I think I was told about his broken clavicle at this point.  Justin was taken back to an ED room because the PICU was getting a room for Justin and one next to it for Spencer.  I don't remember seeing Spencer initially.  I don't know if I saw him before the PICU or not, it's a blur.  Weird that I've blocked it out really.

Someone at some point had taken Carson from me, one of the nurses.  I knew that he needed to eat and that at some point I needed to get him.  I remember my brain flipping back and forth between the needs of each of the 3 boys.  I went back into the ER room with Justin and made sure to tell the doctors and nurses to leave his door open when I wasn't there with him, that he was terrified to be alone and his door kept getting shut.  Poor Justin sat there in his C collar, with his IV in his arm, connected to telemetry to monitor his heart and all.  He didn't like having his blood pressure taken by the automatic BP machine.

Justin started asking me questions.  I had very little information at this point, other than that a man had hit them head-on at a very high rate of speed.  One of the first questions that Justin asked was if I was "going to get a new husband."  I remember laughing and saying no, that that wasn't something we would be worrying about right now.  I think I told him something like I couldn't imagine being married to anyone but his Daddy and that I love him too much.  My Justin, always the thinker.  He's a lot like his dad.

Somewhere in this appeared Bishop Burton and Brandon Ellison.  They gave a blessing to Justin.  The only thing I can remember was the phrase that he would "fully recover."  I remember feeling comforted by this amidst all my worry.  We then went up to the PICU to Spencer.  There he was given a blessing too.  And again, the only thing I remember was the same phrase, that he'd "fully recover."  I was grateful for these men who dropped everything to be at the hospital with us.  And Ame too, who was up singing to Spencer in his room, reading him books, doing everything to make him comfortable.  I remember being so grateful for her beautiful alto voice, singing to Spencer, it comforted me that she was comforting him.

I kept going back and forth from room to room that day, seeing various doctors.  At some point early on in the day in the ED, maybe before I'd seen my kids even?  I saw Minh and Lincoln, Adam's work buddies who were all in their last year of residency together.  Minh started to introduce who he was, and I interrupted him and yelped out "MINH" and gave him a big hug--of course I knew them.  And Lincoln started to do the same, and again I yelped "LINCOLN" and grabbed him and hugged him too.  It was good to see a couple familiar faces amidst the chaos.  I was so grateful to be at Creighton where everyone knew Adam and our family.  I realized how glad I was that this accident happened on a Wednesday, since Wednesdays are Creighton's trauma day.

Much of the rest of this day is a blur now.  Various doctors in and out, med students, residents, PAs.  I have thought about this whole thing over and over and how grateful I am that I went to nursing school and that I understand the chain of command in all this--I can't imagine how much more scared I probably would've been if I didn't already understand that Justin wouldn't need surgery, since clavicle fractures very rarely require surgery.  Or that I knew exactly why Spencer's oxygen monitors were beeping, what numbers constituted something real to worry about.  I could look at his IV and know what meds and fluids he was getting, and know that it was at an appropriate rate for him.  I knew what blood pressures and heart rates were appropriate, or why when he would cry out in pain and his monitors were alarming that it was his heart rate going up and that he definitely needed more prn pain meds.  I remember asking a couple PAs who came in and were explaining something about Spencer, when I saw that they were PAs what their role was, and I was glad to know that it was ok to say things like, "YOU won't be doing surgery--you're only assisting because you're a PA, RIGHT?"  It's nice to know who is really "in charge" in these situations.  Amidst it all I knew there were small blessings to pay attention to and cling to, and certainly I was grateful that I went to nursing school.  It helped a ton.

I was also thoroughly grateful to have Cari, Paula, Heather C, Heather S, Ame, Kasie, Jeralyn, Sherrie and Vicki by my side during the day/evening.  Days in the hospital have blurred together so I'm mixing up who was there which day and when, but the outpouring of visitors and kindness while I was trying to be 3 places at once was so important to me.  I can't even list the names of all the visitors, but they were all important (even though there were a lot of them) and I appreciated their support.

My parents arrived around 9pm after driving 8 hours to get there.  My dad and Bishop gave me a blessing.  I was so grateful.  My mom and sister stayed the night with me.  It was the worst night of my life.  Spencer cried out every 20-20 seconds saying "Owwwwie" or "Daddy."  I've never hurt emotionally or physically like I felt that night--I felt his pain, and my own.  I wanted it all to stop for this sweet boy.  Nothing made him feel better.  Nothing.  The only thing that he figured out was that if we left his feet covered by his blanket he knew we weren't going to mess with him, move him, change his diapers, give him medicine.  Even though he was so sweaty and hot, he wanted his "fuzzy blanket"--the one I sent my friends back to my house to rummage around my disorganized mess of a house to find, among a list of a million other things I asked them to bring to the hospital.  The same blanket that my sweet former visiting teacher had given Spencer as a baby.  I couldn't believe all that we had done that day--a surgical procedure that now had my baby in a body cast, my other baby in a sling and sleeping sitting up...but not really sleeping--none of us did.  If only they could've given us all sleeping medicine, but no--that's not quite how being in the hospital and medicine works.  I got nothing but my sorrows to drown in that night.

I don't remember a ton from one day to the next--I just know that it was the most miserable days and nights of my life.  All I wanted was for Adam to be there to look at the scans of the boys, to comfort me, to help me feel alright about things "eventually" getting better.  I didn't want any of this.  I was in shock, denial, unwilling acceptance, and more shock all at once.  This was all just crazy.

Adam's parents arrived, I don't know, after midnight sometime.  They were angry.  I wasn't to the angry stage yet--I was just mourning over the loss and devastation that I felt.  This was not about justice for whoever caused this, it was about the fact that I had been robbed of the only man I ever truly loved, and my babies were hurt.  I was heartbroken that Adam wasn't standing by my side listening to Carson babble for the first time on the day of the accident (while in the hospital) the words "Da-Da."  Adam's parents wanted to see the boys when they got in.  I let them peek into Justin's room carefully, he REALLY needed sleep--as did Carson who was in there asleep.  I showed them in the darkness Spencer.  And I sent them to their hotel.  There wasn't a whole lot anyone could do at this point.  It was tough.

10/30/10

In a little over a week I'll be coming up on the 3 month mark of Adam's death and the crash.  It's still just as disturbing to me as it was then.  Some moments I think I have things processed, life figured out how we'll go on and make it.  And other times I just totally don't.  I'm still angry, sad, mad, full of rage, full of sorrow, irritated with the entire universe, in mourning for my family.  I'm fairly self-centered in all of this and the only people's anguish I truly care about is me and my little boys.  I feel guilt for that, and for a ton of others things.  Guilt for having been on Weight Watchers and not having tagged along on Adam and the boys' morning breakfast--otherwise I would've been with them likely, however that would have affected things.  Guilty that we are moving on in very small steps.  Guilty that the only things I've been able to get rid of were Adam's toothbrush and his razor in the shower--Spencer asked me yesterday where daddy's toothbrush was and I felt bad that I did throw it out.  It all doesn't make sense.  I wonder when people will look at me normally again, like the same old Melissa they always knew.  When will the "shiny new toy" factor of interest wear off?  Will I really have to move away, somewhere where no one knows us, to really move on and not have that kind of pity-feeling?  How do I go about really getting a job, being really ready emotionally to leave my children with other people so I can provide for us?  Do I need to go back to school to better provide for us?  It would seem fitting Adam would want me to be a "doctor," even if it's a doctor of nursing.  As LeAnn Rimes sings, "How Do I Live Without You?"  That's how I feel most days.  Spencer seems most outwardly emotionally affected by everything, although Justin is just as (and maybe more) messed up emotionally.  They both guard me like hawks.  It's a good and bad feeling and I worry.  I worry worry worry.  How will things ever make sense.  Can't Christ just have his Second Coming to earth soon?  Is it bad that I don't care how imperfect I may be but that I'd rather just be gone from here and have him come again to end the pain I feel?  How do I raise Carson without his daddy around?  Do I put up MORE pictures on the walls of our house of Adam with us just to keep his memory alive?  I can't possibly take down pictures of him!!  When will I make the quilts that I've told Justin we will with Adam's clothes, particularly his shirts?  I can't possibly cut up those clothes, and yet I know Justin wants me too, he's asked about it quite a bit.  Will I be more healed in a year?  Will I regress and just be bitter and more angry?  Will I stop having crazy thoughts and dreams about everyone and everything?  Will I ever stop being annoyed by all the well-meaning people with their advice?  Will I ever not be annoyed that I'M the one who has to take out the trash now, or put away the laundry--it's Adam's job!?  When will I not be sad everytime I see notes or paperwork that I come across that is Adam's writing.  Handwriting that is just like his mother's.

Or when will I get over the fact that the indentation in our bed will never house my sleeping husband again.  The bed that we picked out together before we got married.  At that store (it's no longer there) on Shaw by Fresno State by the Jack in the Box.  How do I sleep every night without his nightly backscratches?  I need them.  I need him.  So many memories, it's so unfair.

When will I not be stuck?  Will I be able to find my new life or just be stuck forever?  I just don't know.  For now, I'm still just heartbroken.  Shocked.  Sad.  Emotionally drained.