16 weeks

16 weeks ago I stood next to Kit in our brokenness and pleaded with God for his life, for my life, for the life of our girls.  I was shattered that night, and since then have been working slowly at putting back the pieces of our lives, sifting through the good and the bad and trying to allow God to do soul housekeeping.  

Today, as I drove home I came upon 3 motorcycle wrecks off my new route to work.  This is my route because right now, in this season, driving over our accident site is just too much for me.  I have done it a few times, and my heart still races, and I feel sick.  So for now I enjoy the rolling hills, and mountain views, and a longer drive to Billings and back.  

As I came up to the first two injured people, they were up and walking and intoxicated and bloody and road rashed.  I rolled my window down, and as much as I wanted to floor the accelerator and drive quickly away, introduced myself as a doctor and asked if I could help.  They exchanged quite a bit of profanity towards me, and apparently were declining my offer for assistance, and then cut me off from leaving as they drove away, swerving down the road.  

But just beyond them, about 1/4 of a mile away, down the hill, I could see that there was a man on the side of the road, not moving, sitting hunched over in a way that can only happen when a body is broken, and there were just a few people around him.  So I proceeded, and again had to face the question as to whether I should stop or proceed onward.  My heart was screaming.  SCREAMING at me.  "Go home.  DO NOT STOP!  YOU ARE NOT READY FOR WHAT IS DOWN THERE!"  But my years of medical training, love for fellow humans, and compassion led me to pull my car over.  

Getting out of my car tweaked one of my as yet not fully healed pelvic fractures, and the pain that usually just annoys me now, drove a knife straight into my heart.  "YOU ARE STILL BROKEN.  GET INTO YOUR CAR AND GO HOME!"  But I took a breath, and walked over and began to assess the wounded rider.  He had taken a curve too quickly, and crashed his bike down a steep hill.  He then crawled up to the road side and had to stop moving due to his fractured arm and dislocated shoulder and chest wall injury.  His left chest was hurting him severely, and he asked to be laid down.  And we helped him lay down onto his right side. Bleeding on the road, stunned, chest wall injury, laying on his right side.  He kept saying that he was hurting.  I stayed with him, and kept saying his name, to remind myself that he wasn't Kit.  His chest wall injury wasn't Naomi's.  His blood was coming from his arms, not his head.  His pain was not my pain.  I have my own.  Naomi's chest wall is going to heal.  Kit's head isn't bloody anymore.  We've already passed through the ambulance ride and pain medications, and ER's and hospital stays, and vertigo and neck pain, and screaming from movement. 

I am certain that as I stood by him a short lifetime may have passed.  A lifetime in which I tried to fill my mind with all the beauty we have seen in 16 weeks.  I tried to think about Faith singing and not screaming.  I tried to remember that my family is all intact.  Naomi is alive and so is her daddy.   I resolved that I would wait until the ambulance came, and tried to keep myself from losing all control of my heart until they did.  I'm not even sure what I said to them, and then I made my way back to my car where the wave of trauma washed over my resolve.  I drove slow and steady home, and nearly had to pull off as I thought I may start heaving.  And as I have these last 16 weeks, I cried out in my tears.  "God, I can't."  And as He has these 4 months, God responded tenderly, "I can."  

4 months is a long time, but today standing next to another man on the side of a road I had a wormhole open up in my heart to the moments that still shred my soul.  I am stronger.  I stood there and no one needed to bring me a chair.  He wasn't my loves, he was a stranger, and he needed help, and even in my brokenness I can help people.  I'd like to avoid bloody road scenes for a while, but I'm not going to hide in my bed either.  Well, maybe tonight I am...and tomorrow morning.