It's not often that I play the events over again in my mind from two years ago. If I do -- I always replay Saturday morning. The day of Erin's accident.
That morning our house woke up as normal (really early). Mike was headed out for a long bike ride -- like 70 miles or something and was literally heading out the door when my mom called. She called our land line and I immediately handed the phone to Owen to say good morning. They small talked for a minute or two and then she asked to talk to me.
Calmly, my mom said, "Erin got hit by a bus. It's on the news." She was so calm and this was so far out in left field I was extremely confused. This was essentially all I was getting from my mom AND I didn't have the news. We didn't have cable and we never hooked an antenna and so I was not just able to flip on the news. After pulling more information out I realized the police went to pick up Jess -- my dad went to babysit Sawyer and Eloise -- and my mom was calling us. Erin was actually physically hit by a bus.
Immediately I started making 8am calls to find babysitters. Mike went to pick up my mom and head to the hospital. I ended up dropping the boys with Pam and Shelby and Mel went to watch Sawyer and Eloise.
To say that it was surreal is an understatement. It is such a clear moment when life switched and things changed. It happened so quickly and so unexpected. It is that moment that keeps me in constant brace for the next.
I drove to the hospital after dropping off the boys expecting to hear my sister was dead. My mom, Mike, and Jess were already there waiting in a small waiting room with two police officers and a chaplain. My sister was in surgery. I don't remember when my dad came -- but I know that it was shortly after I showed up.
I started making the calls. I called all the friends and family to let them know about the accident. I specifically remember pacing in the hallway giving myself pep talks before dialing. Telling myself, "strength, strength" over and over before hitting send. I was telling people about the accident, surgery, and that Erin probably won't make it. I just remember all the silence on the phone. No one knows what to say. The silence is so loud because there is nothing you can say... just heartbreaking and leaves the soul speechless.
After Erin got out of surgery we saw her wheel past us off the elevators while the trauma doctor came in and talked to our family. I am not sure how long we waited while she was in surgery -- but my guess is a few hours. The doctor told us the main concern right now is that Erin had a tear in/around/near her aorta. (This would change later in the week...so my this exact detail could be wrong) She had some type of damage that could cause her aorta to burst and bleed out at any second. It could happen now, it could happen in few days -- there is no way to know. Once that happened -- she would bleed out and die almost instantly. They had to stop the surgery to let her body heal and if she was strong enough they would continue the surgery later.
Because of my background in nursing and around dying patients I asked that we see Erin immediately. He had already told us it would be about an hour before the nurses had her settled but with time now our enemy I knew how important it was to get to her side. We were at her bedside within minutes. For hours we were able to say our goodbyes. The nurses actually set up chairs outside her room so if they were working on her, we were able to sit in the hallway at the door.
Erin was covered in blood. It was caked in her hair, her ear and all on the side of her face. There was blood all over the sheets. She was actively seizing and her abdomen was swelling from bleeding internally. It was a mess. It was an absolute mess. All I could do was hold her hand, promise her I would make sure her babies would remember her, and tell her that I loved her.
The thing that I don't remember from that week is how the minutes turned to hours and the days turned into nights. I remember switching rooms, waiting for test results, meeting nurses.....I remember the blur of people coming for support and heaviness that developed around our family. My mom just had her mastectomy a few weeks earlier so I remember emptying her drains in the public bathroom and Dr. A calling with her PET scan results. I remember Jess telling me the kids were headed to Memphis and just absolutely falling apart.
One of my most comforting times in the hospital was the early morning hours with Erin and Aunt Pam. I stayed with Erin during the night so I was able to escape the reality of the day. I didn't have to make small talk with everyone in the waiting room AND I was able to spend so much time with Erin. She wasn't at tests or a slew of doctors were not in and out of her room. It was just the two of us. It gave me lots of time to sit, think, breathe and cope. On Wednesday and Thursday my Aunt would come over early in the morning before she went to work for a few hours. We shared coffee, we cried, and we were just able to be together in the stillness of the dawn. By the time my aunt got there those mornings...I absolutely needed her to come and share some of the heaviness and pull my chin up.
I also need to add that my husband was next to my side the whole week. Though I can't physically picture him with me for every memory -- he silently and gracefully stood strong and held me up. I can not express how sturdy he was so that I could hold on for support. It felt as though I was drowning slowly and he was able to help keep my head above water so I could breathe. He isn't in these memories because he was always there....right there....making sure that I was still eating, sleeping, breathing and staying alive. He was the perfect partner.
The box of kleenex sitting next to me is almost empty and I can hear Jack stirring in his bed. May 17th has not come any easier this year.
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