Still Can't Believe It

After three years, I still can't believe that Sam survived his terrifying miracle. Not only that, but he walked away after 7 hours in the ER. He only had minor scrapes, bumps, swelling, a hematoma, a concussion, and some awful memories (and some lost memory). When I think back to this exact night 3 years ago, I am still haunted by what I was thinking, what could have happened, and how fragile life is.

I still remember picking up my red Rant phone, seeing an unusual amount of missed phone calls and texts, and hearing my brother's voice as I answered the incoming call while about to leave the end-of-year faculty party. I just knew something was terribly wrong, but I am so grateful that what I really thought was wrong wasn't. I was sure my husband was dead. I was sure I'd never speak to, hear from, embrace, kiss, make love to, laugh with him - my best friend, the love of my life. I was certain my brother was going to give me news that would change my life forever. Thank God I was wrong. I've never been more relieved and thrilled to be so incorrect. But, honestly, I still didn't know that what Brock was telling me was the whole truth. I didn't know what he knew, what information he could or would actually share with me. When he insisted on meeting my friend, Emily, and I on our way to the hospital, I was certain he had more information than he let on. After I hopped in the front seat of my mom's car - with her right behind me rubbing my shoulders, I was terrifyingly suspicious that they were hiding the truth from me. When I had spoken to the EMT who called me on my cell phone, he told me that Sam was in and out of consciousness but that he knew my cell phone number to call me. I held on to that as Brock drove over 100 mph to get to the same hospital that held awful memories for me.

It took an eternity to get news once we got there. They were still running tests. I couldn't see him yet. Family members started showing up. I'll never forget seeing his mother walk in through the ER doors, desperately needing her embrace. She was the only one who would die along with me if something had happened to him. It was a hard place to be, though, since the nurses and staff wanted information from me, his new bride - when his parents were right there. While I was proud of myself for knowing all this information (having memorized his social security number, his work number, any meds he was on, etc), I kept thinking this nightmare was about to start where none of that would ever be repeated again. I kept thinking about my life as a widow so soon after being married. I thought he may never practice law again, he may never speak again or look at me again, he may never remember who he is or who I am, he may never walk again. I had NO idea what to think.

Once I saw Sam, he immediately started crying. He was very beaten up - blood coming out of his ears, gashes in his head, dried blood on his hands and arms, even gravel in his teeth. He still had a neck brace on, which made his whole head turn red when he cried harder as he told me he loved me. I panicked when he would turn so red. I wanted him to calm down immediately. I stayed calm and as unemotional as I could while he looked at me with tears streaming down his face. I needed more than anything for him to calm down. I was still terrified that I could still lose him at any moment, overwhelmingly worried that he had a brain bleed or some internal injuries we still didn't know about that would cause significant damage. I didn't know we were "out of the woods" yet, so I just kept trying to relax him.

I also remember the ER room vividly and all the feelings I had while there. Seven hours in there, and it flew by in a blink because I was overjoyed with each passing moment that Sam was breathing, was alert, was making jokes, was holding my hand and looking at me. Every now and again, he'd start crying and telling me how much he loved me. We did a lot of just looking at each other that night. We did a lot of holding each other. He let me take care of him - cleaning him off, holding him up, wiping the blood, the dirt, the gravel, the tears. It was a very emotional night, week, month that year - and every time we talk about it, we still get emotional now.

We lost a lot that night. We lost his beloved Ford Explorer Sport. He lost some nice jeans and a belt that the ER had to cut off. He lost some memory of that night. We lost hope in ever finding the a$$hole who hit and ran. We lost a feeling of safety and security. But, we could have lost a whole heck of a lot more. Because, really, for all that we lost - we gained so much more. We gained at least three more years of time together. We learned not to take each other for granted. We learned that, when pushed to the limit, we are each others' best medicine and that we CAN do it, we can be each others' crutch, support, advocate, healer. We learned how fragile life is and to thank God every day for the time we have together.

I still can't believe it. That we were hiking Mt. Vesuvius two weeks later on our honeymoon, that we got pregnant 3 months later, that we met our baby boy a year after the accident, and that three years later, we are pregnant with yet another son. I know my life would be significantly different if Sam didn't make it that night, or if he had major medical issues as a result. I don't even like to think about it. I know his friends and family would miss him and mourn him. But, I'm beyond grateful that Sam's life . . . well, IS. He is blessed. Since this night three years ago, Sam has met his son, two nephews, two brothers-in-law, and several cousins. He has started a law practice, strengthened his family during times of loss and grief, celebrated weddings, enjoyed holidays, graduations, birthdays, and anniversaries, and helped create another baby. He's smiled and laughed, hurt and cried, learned and taught. He's felt great pain and great joy. He's alive and well. And, for every moment of the past 3 years, I am grateful. I am blessed.