Shattered
We were in the mudroom. All 5 of us getting ready to leave. The kids and I were going one direction, Bill in another, getting ready to head out for his ride. We stood face to face talking while the kids danced around us scrambling to find their shoes. He was putting his sunblock on. He had done his arms and neck and face and was rubbing it into his ears when he said he would be back by 5 o'clock, 5:15 at the latest. I took one last look at him methodically rubbing his sunblock onto his left ear with his right hand while holding the bottle in his left. He had his white Rally sport jersey on. I told him to have fun and I'd see him later. The kids and I left the house.
After our errands, and a quick stop by a neighbor's house so Blake could feed their fish while they were on a camping trip, we arrived home. I showered, fixed my hair, and put my make-up on. At 5 o'clock when he didn't arrive home I didn't get worried. I figured he or one of the other guys had a mechanical issue delaying their return. At 5:15 I walked out to the front room and looked out the window. No sign of Bill. I stared at the clock.
Do I call him? Maybe I'll give him a few more minutes. He will call soon telling me he is running late due to some minor issue. I don't need to call. He will call. He always calls.
Two minutes later, he was hit. Although I didn't know this at the time.
At 5:29 I got a text message from one of his teammates. Can you pls call me. Urgent.
I started to get nervous. I called Jamie and he sounded upset and he told me he didn't know any details, as he wasn't on the ride, but that Bill was hit and I needed to call Mike, who was on the ride.
I called Mike. He could barely speak. Broken sentences was all I could get out of him and then all of the sudden the police officer was on the phone with me. I didn't get much information out of him either, except that Bill was hit and did I have a friend or family member that could come sit with me at the house until he could call me back with more information. I found out where the accident happened. About a mile and a half from our house.
He was almost home.
The officer told me my husband was not there with him, so I assumed they had taken him to the hospital. Later I learned that never happened. He was there all along. The only place they took him was later on and that was to the morgue.
I hung up the phone and called my friend Tammy, who lives around the corner. I told her there was no way I was going to sit at the house and wait. I knew at this point there was some level of bad news involved and hell if I was going to have the officers deliver that to me in my house in front of my kids.
The sitter showed up about the same time as Tammy. I told her there was a change of plans and we would not be going out to dinner, but to the hospital instead.
Tammy and I got in her car and I turned to her and jokingly said, "He better not be dead." She assured me he wasn't. We had to drive past the scene to get to the hospital. We stopped at the intersection and it was completely blocked off by several emergence vehicles. She looked at me and said, "They're still here. We are stopping."
She made a quick turn and we pulled into the parking lot of a Lutheran church. She told me to wait in the car as she ran across the highway and grabbed the traffic cop and asked him which hospital they took my husband to. He told her Bill wasn't taken to the hospital, and that he didn't make it. He instructed her she was not to tell me anything. She forced him to come back to the car and tell me, or else she would. He complied. Us nurses are tenacious.
While I watched them talk, I started to panic and all I could do was beg God that he kept him safe and alive.
Tammy brought the officer over to the passenger side of the car were I sat. She knelt beside me and the officer said, "Ma'am, there has been an accident. Your husband was hit by a car and he didn't make it."
I became hysterical. It was like an out of body experience. A really horrible one. I was watching this woman, in a car, being given the most awful news of her life. She was sobbing and yelling and clutching to hear friend for dear life. I just kept thinking, surely you can't mean my husband. My husband is invincible. He is superman. He is a very safe and accomplished rider. He loves his family dearly. He would never leave us like this. You must be talking about someone else.
I resisted the urge to vomit.
I screamed, "What am I going to tell those kids?!" All I could picture at that moment were their little faces, waiting patiently for daddy to come home from his ride and the horror that would come over them when I told them what happened. I was crying with such force I didn't know was possible, and when I asked if I could see him the officer told me that wasn't possible. I assumed this was likely due to his appearance, but later learned it was because it was a crime scene. I felt as though someone had literally reached inside my chest and ripped out my heart. It was so painful. It hurt to breathe.
I finally stopped crying for a moment and realized I needed to tell his family before it was all over the news and social media and they found out. I called his parents first. I told them that he was hit by a car and he didn't make it and I apologized profusely for ever having to call them and tell them something like that. It was horrible. I felt sick. I called my parents. My dad answered and he shrieked when I told him and quickly dissolved into tears. Bill was like a son to him. Our conversation was brief and I quickly hung up and called Bill's sister. I felt horrible calling her. Her husband was on a plane on his way home from a medical conference so she was at home alone with their two kids. I again, apologized over and over again for someone doing that to her brother. Bill's parents got a hold of his brother and my parents called my brother and gave him the news.
Tammy drove me back to her house, and it was soon flooded with his closest cycling friends and their significant others. We were all supposed to go to dinner together that night. I made a few more phone calls while we all sat there and cried together. The night dragged on.
The next morning I brought Owen and Landon into my room and told them that a car had hit daddy while he was riding his bike, and his body was too hurt from the crash and he was an angel now. They started at me with blank expressions, and Landon finally asked, "Ok, can I watch a show now?" It was too much for them to digest. Blake had been at a sleepover party the night before, and came home shortly after. I waited outside for him, and when he walked up I sat with him on the front porch swing and told him that dadd was hit while he was riding his bike yesterday afternoon, and he was hurt really badly and he didn't make it and he was now in heaven. He looked at me, confused, with tears in his eyes and said, "So daddy's dead?!" He buried his head into my chest and sobbed for a long time before asking if he could go to his room and play his computer. He had adored his father. They all did.
Over then next 24 hours my house flooded with friends and family members from all over the country. People brought food. My house began to look like a flower shop. Bill's close friends and co-workers came by. The news reporters came. I was interviewed by two different stations. The memorial service was planned. The men all got started building a treehouse for my kids. Something that Bill had planned to do for them, but hadn't yet gotten around to.
I somehow mustered the strength to write and deliver the eulogy at the memorial service. Close to 600 people were in attendance. I stood there for hours after it was over, accepting condolences and hugs from all of them, and I only remember a few faces.
The weeks and months that followed were a blur. I don't remember how things got done, only that they did. I was physically ill and the level of exhaustion I felt was like none I have ever experienced, even having been through the newborn phase three times. I could barely eat. I felt like I was dying a slow and painful death. My brain was mush. I couldn't keep track of anything. Grief is quite possibly the worst feeling in the world. It is torturous and all consuming.
It's been nearly 9 months and while I am doing significantly better than I was 9 months ago, we all are, I am still grieving. This is still really hard. I still wake up every day and wonder how the hell I am going to do this, yet somehow it gets done. I wonder how I will ever offer the world all that he did in his short time here. I feel completely inadequate as a single parent and my heart aches every day knowing that my children have to grow up without him here.
After our errands, and a quick stop by a neighbor's house so Blake could feed their fish while they were on a camping trip, we arrived home. I showered, fixed my hair, and put my make-up on. At 5 o'clock when he didn't arrive home I didn't get worried. I figured he or one of the other guys had a mechanical issue delaying their return. At 5:15 I walked out to the front room and looked out the window. No sign of Bill. I stared at the clock.
Do I call him? Maybe I'll give him a few more minutes. He will call soon telling me he is running late due to some minor issue. I don't need to call. He will call. He always calls.
Two minutes later, he was hit. Although I didn't know this at the time.
At 5:29 I got a text message from one of his teammates. Can you pls call me. Urgent.
I started to get nervous. I called Jamie and he sounded upset and he told me he didn't know any details, as he wasn't on the ride, but that Bill was hit and I needed to call Mike, who was on the ride.
I called Mike. He could barely speak. Broken sentences was all I could get out of him and then all of the sudden the police officer was on the phone with me. I didn't get much information out of him either, except that Bill was hit and did I have a friend or family member that could come sit with me at the house until he could call me back with more information. I found out where the accident happened. About a mile and a half from our house.
He was almost home.
The officer told me my husband was not there with him, so I assumed they had taken him to the hospital. Later I learned that never happened. He was there all along. The only place they took him was later on and that was to the morgue.
I hung up the phone and called my friend Tammy, who lives around the corner. I told her there was no way I was going to sit at the house and wait. I knew at this point there was some level of bad news involved and hell if I was going to have the officers deliver that to me in my house in front of my kids.
The sitter showed up about the same time as Tammy. I told her there was a change of plans and we would not be going out to dinner, but to the hospital instead.
Tammy and I got in her car and I turned to her and jokingly said, "He better not be dead." She assured me he wasn't. We had to drive past the scene to get to the hospital. We stopped at the intersection and it was completely blocked off by several emergence vehicles. She looked at me and said, "They're still here. We are stopping."
She made a quick turn and we pulled into the parking lot of a Lutheran church. She told me to wait in the car as she ran across the highway and grabbed the traffic cop and asked him which hospital they took my husband to. He told her Bill wasn't taken to the hospital, and that he didn't make it. He instructed her she was not to tell me anything. She forced him to come back to the car and tell me, or else she would. He complied. Us nurses are tenacious.
While I watched them talk, I started to panic and all I could do was beg God that he kept him safe and alive.
Tammy brought the officer over to the passenger side of the car were I sat. She knelt beside me and the officer said, "Ma'am, there has been an accident. Your husband was hit by a car and he didn't make it."
I became hysterical. It was like an out of body experience. A really horrible one. I was watching this woman, in a car, being given the most awful news of her life. She was sobbing and yelling and clutching to hear friend for dear life. I just kept thinking, surely you can't mean my husband. My husband is invincible. He is superman. He is a very safe and accomplished rider. He loves his family dearly. He would never leave us like this. You must be talking about someone else.
I resisted the urge to vomit.
I screamed, "What am I going to tell those kids?!" All I could picture at that moment were their little faces, waiting patiently for daddy to come home from his ride and the horror that would come over them when I told them what happened. I was crying with such force I didn't know was possible, and when I asked if I could see him the officer told me that wasn't possible. I assumed this was likely due to his appearance, but later learned it was because it was a crime scene. I felt as though someone had literally reached inside my chest and ripped out my heart. It was so painful. It hurt to breathe.
I finally stopped crying for a moment and realized I needed to tell his family before it was all over the news and social media and they found out. I called his parents first. I told them that he was hit by a car and he didn't make it and I apologized profusely for ever having to call them and tell them something like that. It was horrible. I felt sick. I called my parents. My dad answered and he shrieked when I told him and quickly dissolved into tears. Bill was like a son to him. Our conversation was brief and I quickly hung up and called Bill's sister. I felt horrible calling her. Her husband was on a plane on his way home from a medical conference so she was at home alone with their two kids. I again, apologized over and over again for someone doing that to her brother. Bill's parents got a hold of his brother and my parents called my brother and gave him the news.
Tammy drove me back to her house, and it was soon flooded with his closest cycling friends and their significant others. We were all supposed to go to dinner together that night. I made a few more phone calls while we all sat there and cried together. The night dragged on.
The next morning I brought Owen and Landon into my room and told them that a car had hit daddy while he was riding his bike, and his body was too hurt from the crash and he was an angel now. They started at me with blank expressions, and Landon finally asked, "Ok, can I watch a show now?" It was too much for them to digest. Blake had been at a sleepover party the night before, and came home shortly after. I waited outside for him, and when he walked up I sat with him on the front porch swing and told him that dadd was hit while he was riding his bike yesterday afternoon, and he was hurt really badly and he didn't make it and he was now in heaven. He looked at me, confused, with tears in his eyes and said, "So daddy's dead?!" He buried his head into my chest and sobbed for a long time before asking if he could go to his room and play his computer. He had adored his father. They all did.
Over then next 24 hours my house flooded with friends and family members from all over the country. People brought food. My house began to look like a flower shop. Bill's close friends and co-workers came by. The news reporters came. I was interviewed by two different stations. The memorial service was planned. The men all got started building a treehouse for my kids. Something that Bill had planned to do for them, but hadn't yet gotten around to.
I somehow mustered the strength to write and deliver the eulogy at the memorial service. Close to 600 people were in attendance. I stood there for hours after it was over, accepting condolences and hugs from all of them, and I only remember a few faces.
The weeks and months that followed were a blur. I don't remember how things got done, only that they did. I was physically ill and the level of exhaustion I felt was like none I have ever experienced, even having been through the newborn phase three times. I could barely eat. I felt like I was dying a slow and painful death. My brain was mush. I couldn't keep track of anything. Grief is quite possibly the worst feeling in the world. It is torturous and all consuming.
It's been nearly 9 months and while I am doing significantly better than I was 9 months ago, we all are, I am still grieving. This is still really hard. I still wake up every day and wonder how the hell I am going to do this, yet somehow it gets done. I wonder how I will ever offer the world all that he did in his short time here. I feel completely inadequate as a single parent and my heart aches every day knowing that my children have to grow up without him here.
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