A picture of Noah and John before Christmas - December 2008
Today I begin a 9 part Series, telling moments from a period of time, December 28th, 2008 to the end of March, 2009. It’s been two years since John skidded on “freeway kitty litter” (the gravel like substance placed on freeways in winter Colorado) hit the guardrail with his motorcycle, flew off and over the guardrail and smashed his head on the cold icy embankment. For a long time I haven’t been able to write about this, but now I feel the freedom. My purpose? To tell a great story and give all the glory to God, who carried us through a difficult, difficult time.
Part 1 - "Oblivious"
When I think back to December 28th, two years ago, the first thought I always have is “Why didn’t I feel something when it happened?”
I’ve heard of twins feeling each other’s pain even when they are apart. I’ve read stories of moms who know when something is wrong with their child, even when they aren’t in the same place. But the moment when John had his accident I felt nothing. I was putting up Christmas decorations at home while Noah played outside with a couple of friends. I had no moment of pause or an inkling that something was up. I was happy and busy with my task.
Then 2 o’clock came. The Broncos/Chargers football game was starting. No John. This is when I started wondering why he wasn’t home. He’d left at 10 a.m. after I urged him to take a ride. “It’s probably the last 50 degree day in a while, honey. Go.” I wanted to have an empty house to take down the decorations. He reluctantly went to his room but came out ready and excited to go, dressed as usual like Neil Armstrong. My husband believes in safety and he wore armored gear, a helmet, special pants and riding boots. Enough to protect him from most any accident. Most. He left me saying he’d be back by the game.
I told him, “Ride like the wind.”
So at 2:05 I hit record on the remote, thinking he would want to see the entirety of the game when he got home. I checked my cell phone. It wasn’t working. I decided to go into our bedroom and check the answering machine, the one we hardly ever listen to and the one we can’t hear unless we are in our bedroom.
One message. I hit play and my life changed in an instant.
My husband had left for a four hour motorcycle ride. He would come home 28 days later.
When Noah was little, occasionally he would bump into something or fall down. Our instinct, as parents, was to go to our son and pick him up and hold him. Maybe even carry him for a while.
In that moment that John went down, in the same moment that I was oblivious to my world changing, God picked up John and Noah and I and began to carry us.
Come back tomorrow for Part 2 - "The Battle"