One of those moments- when it rains.

Be Strong: Facing Adversity.

This week’s theme left a pit in my stomach.  I wanted to write about something meaningful to our readers. I wanted to share something personal.  I wanted them to know they are not alone and even with all the little things add up in their minds and weigh on their shoulders; or the big things slap them in the face and hit them in the gut…  that it’s going to be ok.  Maybe not the same…and probably not any easier… but they will be ok.

So… this is long.  But this is what happened.

It was 1999.  It was raining.

On August 19^th my brothers and I were lined up on the couch watching a video- Pinocchio.  I was ten years old; my youngest brother, Ben, was five, and our middle brother, Josh, was turning eight the next day.  My dad was running late coming home from work. 

He had taken a new job a few counties away and he had been commuting while my parents were house-hunting.  The drive was long and my mom was irritated that he hadn’t come home yet.  We had somewhere to be.  I didn’t pay much attention as she tried calling his work to make sure he’d left.  After a few more phone calls I noticed she went into the garage.  Sometimes she would go out there and walk in the driveway so she could talk on the phone alone without three kids hanging all over her begging for snacks. (Sound familiar?)

But, of course, as the dutiful oldest child- I noticed her absence and after a few minutes I took it upon myself to follow her.  I walked through the kitchen and opened up the door to the garage expecting to see my mom casually leaned against the car or the opening to the garage chatting to one of her friends about the day or Josh’s birthday or what she made for dinner.  But before I could open the door all the way- it hit something.  My bare feet had barely touched the concrete step below the door when I found myself being quickly ushered back inside by the source of the blockade- our neighbor from across the street.  I remember her saying “Go back inside honey” and I remember looking out in the driveway to see another one of our neighbors standing with her hand on my mom’s shoulder.  Something wasn’t right.

I protested for a moment, but she insisted.  The door clicked behind me and I stood in the quiet kitchen processing what I’d just seen- and what I had heard.  Who was it my mom had been asking to speak to on the phone? Highway patrol?  What was that? … and why did I suddenly feel so scared?

I walked in a stupor back to the living room and sat on the couch next to my brothers.  Pinocchio was getting close to being over.  I think they were at the part where he gets swallowed by the Whale.  Like Jonah being swallowed by the big fish; right when everything in his life had turned upside down.  When he was afraid.  I let my mind relax as I focused back on the cartoon. 

Not too much longer after that I heard the garage door open and I stood to greet my mom as she came back inside.  But she wasn't alone.  Our neighbors had come with her.  What was going on?  They never came inside our house.  We didn't even know them that well.  And why did my mom look so pale? 

And now came one of those moments.  You know the ones.  When the air gets sucked out of the room and everything sounds a little muffled like your ears are about to pop.  When you feel cold and hot all over- and you start to wonder if time travel really is possible.  If you can go back to just a few seconds before when everything was normal.  If this feeling would please just go away because something bad just happened and it makes your head pound and your blood hurt. 

My mom knelt on the ground in front of us.  I can’t remember if I was standing or sitting- but she was definitely kneeling.  I remember because it seemed very strange.  Her face was serious and she had a sense of calm to her voice even though I could tell she was holding back tears.  There had been an accident.  Daddy hydroplaned on the high way and his car was hit by a truck and a trailer.  He was in the hospital and someone was coming to get us.  My mom wasn't coming with us- she was going to go to the hospital to see him, and no sweetheart you can’t come with me.

[ My Daddy and I ]

My memory of that time feels like a movie filmed with time-lapse photography.  I think I blinked and we were being loaded into a mini van.  Our bishop’s wife and her kids had come to pick us up.  I remember the image of seeing my mom with a white bag over her shoulder.  I can’t remember if it was hers or one of ours.  She was getting into the front seat of a car or a truck and seeing her face when she didn’t know I was looking.  It was like stone.  Pale, smooth, sad, and determined.  Her back was straight and there was pain in her eyes- but I didn't see any tears. 

I didn't understand what was happening.  I felt like when you’re a child at the beach and an ocean wave knocks you over- with the water rushing in your ears and tumbling your body around and around until it beats you up on the shore.  But now, I know what that face means.  Quite fear.  The kind of a fear a young mother feels when her husband is running late for work and it starts to rain.  Florida rain… hard and powerful.  When she calls his work to find out he’d already left- hours ago.  When she calls high way patrol and gives a description of their car only to have the voice on the other end pause and ask… “Ma’am? Do you believe in miracles?”

We went to the house and our bishop’s family welcomed us with open arms.  They pulled-out their camping gear and we laid on the living room floor in sleeping bags watching another video- Lady and the Tramp.  I remember they had a little dog.  It sniffed around my sleeping-bag-cocooned legs and peed.  I didn't like dogs.  They got me a new sleeping bag and put the dog up.  I wanted to go home.

The next morning Sister Hadderly (our bishop’s wife) made us pancakes.  Josh got a special one shaped like the number “8” for his birthday.  We went home later that day but my mom didn't come home.  There were other ladies there- ladies from church.  They cleaned the house (the kind of anxious cleaning church-ladies do when something sad happens and they’re trying to be helpful.) while my brothers and I felt like guests in our own home.   There was a tornado that night.  We were still living on the Air Force Base and the bomb-siren went off so we huddled in the hall closet with these women who were nice- but were not our mother.  They smiled and made jokes and told us to not be afraid.  And sometimes we weren't. 

My mom would come home now and then- tired and distracted.  Our Aunt Linda flew in from Utah and helped us make a blanket for our dad to have in the hospital.  We still hadn't seen him.  He was in a coma.  I don’t remember how long the coma lasted, but eventually he woke up.  My mom pulled down the Tupperware containers she kept the pictures in and asked us to each choose one of ourselves for my dad to have in the hospital.  She didn't tell us at the time- but later we found out the pictures were to remind him.  He had forgotten who we were.   He forgot he had children.  He thought he and my mother were newlyweds.   I wanted to send in three pictures- but my mom told me I could only send one.  I chose one of myself standing on a bridge at a wooden playground and made a card to go with it. 

After a little more time had passed my dad’s memory started to come back.  We went in to see him.  And there was a moment within the moments.  We walked into the white room- it felt strangely sterile and was full of wires and flashing lights that beeped.  There was a man sitting up in the bed.  But he was not my father.  This man was hurt badly.  His eyes were swollen like plumbs and the side of his head was shaved with staples in it.  There were cuts and stitches all over the bruises that colored his mottled skin.  He looked confused.  I was afraid.

We didn't stay for very long.  I remember my dad trying to grab his cup and take a drink of water.  There was a straw and he kept missing his mouth and my mother quickly helped him.  When he got up to use the restroom the back of his gown hung open and she grabbed the edges and held them together to cover him as he leaned on her to walk.  It was alarming to see him like this.  My dad was in the Air Force.  He was strong.  He wore a uniform to work.  He came to my school in kindergarten to kill a spider in the bathroom when I was too afraid to pee.  He wrestled with us on the floor and lifted us on his shoulders when we couldn't see.  He made us elaborate forts in the living room and cinnamon toast when we were sick.

And now he couldn't even take a drink.  Now he couldn't walk to the restroom on his own.  Now things were different.

That was over ten years ago.   My dad healed amazingly.  Things were a little different- he is legally blind in one eye and has some short-term memory troubles, but he healed.  He can walk, he can talk.  He can make jokes and he still kills spiders when someone is afraid to pee.  He can wrestle with his grandsons and lift them on his shoulders when they can’t see.  I do believe in miracles. 

[ Dancing with my Dad at my wedding.  He chose the song and we both cried all the way through. ]

Almost five years ago Brandon and I were married.  Like my dad- I had long since healed from his accident.  I did not expect the scars to bother me again.  However, only a year earlier, before Brandon and I had even met,  my future husband had one of those moments. 

You know the ones.  When the air gets sucked out of the room and everything sounds like you’re swimming underwater.  When you feel dizzy and empty- and you start to wonder if time travel really is possible.  If you can go back to just a few seconds before when everything was normal.  If this feeling would please just go away because something bad just happened and it makes your blood pound and your heart hurt. 

Brandon was serving a two-year mission for our church in Colorado when he learned that half-way across the country his dad had passed away unexpectedly.  When I met him, he’d only been home about a month.  Six months later we were engaged, and six months after that we were married.  Our lives were a whirlwind of college classes, apartment shopping, and getting to know this new person we were going to spend the rest of eternity with.  For Brandon, there was not much time for processing.  There was not much time for healing. 

Now and then there would be another moment.  He would see something. Hear something.  Feel something that reminded him.  I would find him lost in a memory, of sharing chili cheese dogs at gas stations or waiting in line to see a ninja turtle movie at the theater.  The healing process wasn't being long and smooth.  No scars were forming.  Just open wounds being covered over and over again before being ripped open unexpectedly at any moment.  Just as unexpected as the first time had been. 

It is incredibly painful to see someone you love in pain.  When there’s nothing you can do.  When you’re on damage-control and you know that as much as you know, you’ll never REALLY know.  When you can’t possibly understand.  You may have almost lost your father... but you didn't.  It's not the same. When as much as you hurt seeing them hurt, you know they are hurting a little more.  When someone is your everything- and you know that somehow there will always still be something missing from them.  At least in this life. 

It has been hard.  I have found myself at times standing in the artificial yellow-light of our bathroom, washing off my make-up or brushing my teeth… and I see that same face.  The face my mother had.  The face of stone- of quiet fear.  Fear for my husband.  When he is in pain.  Fear for my children, when I am weak, but their only strength. 

Sometimes things happen… Moments.  You know the ones.

And as much as you want to- as hard as you wish- you realize you can’t turn back time.  Not even a little.  You can never go back to that moment when everything was normal.  The feeling won’t go away… because sometimes bad things happen.  And the only thing we can do is move on.

When I was ten years old, I almost lost my father.  I didn't understand.  It wasn't fair.  It wasn't fair to me, it wasn't fair to my mother or my brothers, and it certainly wasn't fair to my dad.  I've heard that everything happens for a reason…and to be honest- I’m not really sure I believe that. 

But what I do believe- is that there is always something good. Even if it is very small- so terribly, terribly small that its not even worth mentioning at the time.  Even in the darkest, blackest, most painful of times. 

Even if sometimes the only good is knowing that it happened.  So when someone else goes through something similar, you can take their hand, hold it tight, and say "I know, my friend.", and sit in that place with them.  Just so they don't feel quite as alone as they did before.

I’ve learned that there is always going to be darkness in the world… but there will also always be light.  The darkness is powerful, it can overwhelm you- blind you.  But there cannot be darkness where there is light.  And we choose where we stand.  Darkness will always find us- but we don’t have to stay there.  If we follow the light, if we keep it in our hearts, dawn will always come and night (even the longest of nights) will never win. 

Sometimes when it’s raining, I have one of those moments. 

You know the ones. 

When the light catches the drops and reflects back your favorite color.  When the grass takes-in an overdue drink and the air is left smelling clean.  When you see the clouds clearing and you feel the heavy air lifting and the leaves on the trees seem to be stretching after a long nap.  When you feel new and you know that no matter what happened yesterday or the day before- things will be different now.  Better somehow.