The Time Was 1:54 PM  

yagottalikit 49F
824 posts
1/9/2006 6:03 pm

Last Read:
3/23/2008 3:59 am

The Time Was 1:54 PM

I've been working on this post for several days. Although, it's very therapeutic for me, I wrestled with whether or not to post it, now, in light of recent sad events. I finally decided I'd rather post it now than later, when things could be more cheerful and upbeat.

We were living in San Diego ~ my two daughters (A & J), my husband and me. We had suffered a miscarriage just a few months prior. It would’ve been his first biological child. Our marriage was crumbling from his pain and my guilt. I had no valid reason for the guilt; I just felt I had let him down. I will never know what he truly felt.

A separation was needed ~ time to think. Time to miss each other. Time. It was August, 1997. I wanted to go home (to mom) with the girls for a while ~ I needed time. He insisted on driving us to Mom’s, 2000 miles away. I tried to refuse. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He would not back down. In so many ways, I didn’t want him to back down.

Friday night we went on a “date”. The Alan Jackson/Leann Rhimes concert at the Amphitheatr at Universal Studios. The drive there was over an hour. We didn’t say much ~ we had so much to say. After the concert, we hung around to wait for exiting traffic to thin out. We wandered through Universal Citywalk. Music echoed from one radio station’s live remote. “How Do I Live Without You” was the song that played seemingly non-stop. We found a theme bar. Wizardz ~ they featured magicians, palm readers, psychics, etc. Silly entertainment. I can’t recall if a fee was involved, but we relented when one “psychic” offered our reading. What the hell ~ when in Rome ~
On the drive home we poked fun at one another about the reading. It turned out to be such a beautiful night ~ like the ones we had, so often, up until the past year. We danced, we talked, we laughed, we cried. We didn’t make love.

Sunday, we packed our Toyota 4 Runner with luggage and boxes, uncertain whether the boxes would be unpacked in Texas or brought back, untouched, in a few weeks or, even, months. My youngest daughter (J) had a fever as we began our journey. After about 6 hours, we switched seats. I drove until we stopped for lunch Monday morning at 11:30. We argued. He was insisting that once we got to Mom’s, he would shower, visit a few minutes and hit the road, again. I wanted him to get some sleep (good sleep) before heading back. But, there was no time for that; he had a deadline to meet. I tried to reason with him. I wasn’t getting through. I decided to deal with it later. I was exhausted from the stress of the past 8 months, nursing a sick child and driving more than 11 hours. J’s fever had finally broken and she wanted to sit up front with “daddy”. Her big sister (A) got to for the first 6 hours. We climbed into the truck for the final leg of the trip, about 4 or 5 hours. A and I quickly fell asleep in the back seat.

I was jolted awake. The truck was bouncing around as if we were out 4-wheelin’. Before my brain could register “danger”, I heard his voice, “Oh, Jesus”. Seconds later, the truck had settled on its side ~ driver’s side down ~ dirt and glass everywhere. The eerie sound of Toby Keith singing from the CD player, “and we were in love….” Shock allowed my mind to think “Wow! That’s a damn good stereo system.” Remembering how angry I was when he paid so much for it. Whimpers became loud cries and realized what had happened. I gathered my senses and reached forward to pull J into the back with us. Cradling my babies in my arms, I assured them that everything’s all right, we’re ok, someone will be here to help us, soon. Before I was able to complete that sentence, hands were reaching in ~ first lifting J out, next A and, finally, me. As I climbed out through the window ~ I saw him, face down, several yards away. I called out to him and started to run to him but, strong arms ‒ too strong to fight ‒ held me back. The arms, this man, turned me away from my husband and guided me to my daughters, sitting on the roadside ~ strangers tending to them, wrapping blankets, comforting. He solemnly said, “Your girls need you over there with them, right now.”

Ambulances arrived by the time I reached my girls. I hadn’t noticed J’s leg was twisted grotesquely, until they were telling me she’s too critical for the local, small town hospital. She would need to be airlifted to one of the nearest major cities, San Angelo or San Antonio. They’d find out which, shortly. Her ambulance drove away. A and I shared an ambulance to the local hospital. We were checked out, thoroughly and finally, they let me see J, quickly, before they placed her in the helicopter. My heart was torn from my chest, as Airlife lifted off the ground. My one saving grace was they were taking her “home” ~ San Antonio was the destination arranged ~ her grandma and grandpa would be waiting at the hospital for her. She would have someone she knows and loves beside her. Now, I needed to be by A’s side.

We would both be released after several hours. I sat by her bed and we waited. Neither of us asked. Neither of us said. We knew. Yet, we didn’t know. Not a single person had uttered the words. In our minds, that meant it wasn’t definite. What we didn’t know wouldn’t hurt us.

After a couple of hours ~ maybe 1, maybe 5 ~ I can’t really say, someone ~ possibly a nurse ~ pulled me from A’s bedside and asked me who to call. The funeral home needed to discuss the “disposition of the body”. I knew all along. After all, I was loaded into an ambulance before he was (I couldn’t recall even seeing anyone giving him medical attention) and I didn’t have a scratch on me. I knew. But, I needed to hear it. I almost felt foolish asking, “Is my husband dead?” This woman’s face said more than any words could have. For a split second her eyes said, “Oh my God, you didn’t know” but, she quickly recovered and her expression was sympathetic when her spoken reply confirmed what I had known.

I needed to be the one to make the call. They shouldn’t have to hear of their son’s tragic death from a stranger. I will never, ever get the words we exchanged out of my head. I pray I never have to do that, again. Nothing can describe that feeling. Two more phone calls had to be made, then and there, by me, personally: His best friend of 20 years and his boss (also a close friend). Any others would wait. Heart wrenching, but necessary.

Two of my Aunts had driven to pick us up and take us to the hospital 2 hours away, where J was in surgery. 2 hours away. We had only had 2 hours left. One of my Aunts first took me to the “garage” our truck had been taken so I could gather whatever belongings could be salvaged.

Though, someone warned about what I would see, nothing could have possibly prepared me for the twisted heap that used to be my truck. The blood drained from my face. Horrified, I wondered aloud how any of us had survived. The man there said, “It’s a miracle.” I was numb, thankfully, as I dug through the rubble, ignoring the sharp steel and glass. I found my shoes (I had been barefoot all this time), my purse and anything I could find that was vital or his. His small duffel bag, his briefcase, some clothes for us and J’s favorite doll. I searched for something of A’s that might bring her comfort. I was unable to find anything. Two boxes were still fairly intact and my Aunt made arrangements for them to be mailed to her house. So much would be left behind. Too much.

I’m sorry for the depressing post. This is the first time in 8 years that I have been able to share this story ~ in detail ~ from start to finish ~ all at once. Thank you myrealloverone for the encouragement and inspiration to post this. I was surprised at how vivid the details were as the memories flowed through my pen onto paper. Although, time has eased the pain, this has been a tremendous release. I needed it. It was time.

My husband fell asleep at the wheel, lost control and our truck rolled 2 ¾ times. He was ejected and killed instantly. J suffered a broken femur and several minor injuries, she was released 2 days later. I had flown back to California for services that weekend. When I returned to Texas, J had to be rushed back to the ER, she was in septic shock. A highly resistant strain of staph had invaded her body. She was quarantined to her hospital room for 2 weeks. For the next 3 months the hospital became like a second home. The scars from her wounds are painfully visible. A had suffered minor cuts and bruises. As I said earlier, I did not have a single scratch on me. The wounds we all suffered that day would be harder to hide and take much longer to heal. None of us wore seatbelts.

We never went back to California. We just needed time.

On a lighter note, a little irony: The psychic from Wizardz just 3 days earlier had told us we would be taking a trip and that travel was very good for my husband.

I suppose, some would say it was.

Yagotta get it soft and wet so we can kick/stick it

(Juan S)
2642 posts
1/9/2006 6:38 pm

One very huge, great big bear hug... to you. ((( Hug)))

rm_hinkawaza 52M
371 posts
1/9/2006 9:22 pm

You had told me, and I know the pain you still feel, but till I had to sit and read your telling of the event it had not truly sunk in my Love, you express so much more in written word. I don't know if I could ever share a loss such as this on such a public forum, once again you have totally amazed me and touched me in a way no one else has ever been able to do. You know that my arms are there at your whim to comfort and hold you. I truly love you, admire you, and respect you.

rm_affbreak 46M
287 posts
1/9/2006 10:12 pm

The bad things happening to us in our lives enable and in a way force us to view at any following splitsecond as gift which has to be valued.

Value life. And value future by not wasting time thinking about would you could have done better in the past. You couldn't have done better!

rm_affbreak 46M
287 posts
1/9/2006 10:14 pm

"would you could" = "what you could"

(Princess Lips)

1/10/2006 12:08 am

*tears in my eyes*
so sorry for the pain and loss



bardicman 50M

1/10/2006 9:26 am

The more people that share your burden... the lighter your share is to carry. Its always good to share the pain.

I am not dead yet

trust2bdiscreet2 44M

1/10/2006 11:19 am


You are so correct.

"revealing scars requires trust"

I thought that one of your previous blog's was an incrediable whimsicla use of words. I now see that is was inner strength builder for this. The ealier blog was so special. Now I know why. Please forgive me for playing with your words. I had no idea.

I shall not ramble on. I will close my eyes now and be silent for you.

A prayer and thoughts for you,

yagottalikit 49F
583 posts
1/12/2006 11:06 pm

My sweet Sizzlin' ~ Thank you so very much! A hug from you is always a treat!

Gold ~ So very true....I just struggle with the fact that I needed to put it out there on such a forum as this. I almost feel it's unfair to y'all!

Hinkydear ~ You know exactly how much that means to me!

AdultFriendFinder ~ great to see you here, again! I agree and I do treasure all that I have in my life. I honestly don't second guess any longer or place blame on myself. I did for a long time. I know better now.

Bard ~ It sure makes me feel better....but seems unfair to place part of that "burden" on others.

trust ~ no forgiveness is necessary. I truly enjoyed your play on my words! Even if I post something that seems rather dark or serious...I welcome any and all attempts to lighten things up!
OK maybe not on THIS particular post...but, any others......and you definitely got me laughing about the crack pipe comment!

Yagotta get it soft and wet so we can kick/stick it

TopFisher 63M

1/13/2006 12:39 am

Well a little ladies gotta do what a ladies gotta do eh?

Thank you for sharing, sharing our deepest pains is an amazing thing we do for ourselfish selves. It's not at all wrong, in fact it's revealing and even comforting. displays quite a level of trust for the world in general it does.

Personally I thank you for sharing. We all know there many ways of becoming widowed or a widower. One always gets curious as to the whys, and even more so when folks are still very young as youself.

Besides I think after tracking your blog for a few months, has it been that long?, I think your life if finally moving toward a better direction and seem to feel you also feeling it too. Congrats, it's time to open it up, air it out, then one can box it as tightly as they desire and put it on the shelf, or deeper storage as they feel comfortable.

Best of luck and happiness to you and yours. I may write about a similiar one of my own later. Yeah ove at my place.


yagottalikit 49F
583 posts
1/14/2006 10:03 am

Fisherman ~ very nicely said! I love it when you visit!

Yagotta get it soft and wet so we can kick/stick it

Become a member to create a blog