Lately my life has been lived by a stopwatch. I’ve been constantly asking myself: how long until nap time? How long will it take me to sew this dress? How long will it take to clean up? How much sleep do I really need? Occasionally in my day I would throw away the stopwatch to smell my baby’s hair or play a song on the piano, but I was always rushing. Something in me has always known that there would never be enough time.
This stopwatch mentality went out the window the first weekend of July when we went to the mountains to spend time with Shaye’s family. I rushed like a maniac to sew a special outfit for my Emmeline that I wanted to photograph her in up in the mountains, and then we loaded up the car an hour late. When we finally lost cell reception, I felt so relieved. Going to the mountains always recenters me. That evening it rained hard and the air smelled sweetly of scrub oak and sage brush.
The first night there was as terrible as we expected it to be traveling with a three-year-old and a one-year-old. We wrestled with the kids for hours, desperately trying to keep them quiet and get them to sleep. Emme went to sleep around midnight, cracking Shaye up when she gazed out into the bright sky. “I love the stars… I wish I was a fairy!” Meanwhile, I drove Hudson around the gravel roads , going 5 mph while he screamed and finally fell asleep, exhausted. He woke at 3 and kept the cabin awake for another hour or so, and then I repeated the driving ritual until he finally fell asleep at 5.
The next day I was quite tired, and the day was lazy but enjoyable as I chatted with Shaye’s siblings and watched my kids make memories with their cousins. Around 6 I was starting to get quite hungry and ready for dinner, but Shaye wanted to take a quick ride on his brother’s 2-seater Polaris so that we could figure out where to photograph Emme in that outfit I had made. Soon it would be the magic golden hour, and I wanted to make sure we knew what we were doing before the light was perfect.
This is my "I'm super tired and not in the mood for pictures" face just a few hours before dinner.
This is my "I'm super tired and not in the mood for pictures" face just a few hours before dinner.
Shaye and I handed our kids off and left before they could notice. I liked the larger ATV because it felt much more agile in the terrain. There were still lots of puddles on the gravel roads due to heavy rainfall the night before. We stopped at a few scenic spots just a few hundred yards away from the cabin and made some plans for shots. The vision was coming together and Shaye and I mused about the details a bit.
Hudson playing in the puddles on the same road that we were driving on, just a few hours earlier.
I happened to glance down as we were chugging along and noticed that Shaye’s seatbelt was fastened. Oh yeah, these have seat belts, I thought to myself, and I sheepishly reached for mine. I am always chiding him to put his on, and so I found it strange that I was the one without it on. In that instant, the whole world tilted. Shaye swerved slightly to miss a puddle on the level, rocky road we were driving on, and I was shocked when we drifted dramatically. He over-corrected and we rolled. Realizing that I was unable to snap in my seatbelt in time, I think I tried to grab ahold of him before I blacked out.
The next thing I remember is hearing Shaye’s panicked voice: “Honey, are you all right? Oh no…” He is usually a picture of calm, the one calming my dramatic moments, and so I almost didn’t recognize him. He told me later that he had found me halfway out of the ATV, my back bent over the side of it, unconscious and staring up at the sky. My face was clearly disfigured, and I had a big gash on my scalp, so he immediately knew the situation was serious. I vividly remember gaining awareness before I took a breath or opened my eyes. In that moment everything was black and my lungs felt like the tiniest point in my sternum. A calm voice, my own voice, told me It’s going to hurt, but you know you have to breathe. I drew in a gravelly, desperate breath, and suddenly my pain grew exponentially.
I thought I had known pain in childbirth, but this was different. Those hours in the darkened hospital during the night in Labor and Delivery had been holy, anointed pain. As I felt the life move within me, the contractions seemed like a wave of anguish I had to swim through to welcome my children into the world. This pain was different—bitter and hollow and lonely. It made me think of a combat scene in a movie where all the shots are shaky. I was totally disoriented but becoming increasingly cognizant of my pain, and my only comfort was Shaye’s voice. I don’t remember much, but he says that he first tried to tip the ATV upright so he could get me in to get help. When he was unable to do this, and still in shock himself, he picked me up and started running with me.
He realized quickly that he couldn’t make it far with me, and so he laid me down on the rocky road. By then I was panicking and blood was pouring from my head. I begged him not to leave me, and he assured me that I would be all right and that he had to go get help. He told me later about all the fears he had in those moments: Does she have internal bleeding? Did she puncture a lung? Will she be paralyzed? He kicked off his flip flops and ran barefoot. He said that his body couldn’t move as fast as his will, and it tortured him. I could hear his agonized voice getting further and further away. “HELP! HELP! Help! Help! help! help!” When I couldn’t hear him anymore, I wondered what would become of me, and I looked up at the sky for a second until the brightness was too much for me. I'd never felt the contrast between earth and heaven more forcefully than in this moment, and I felt very alone.
He realized quickly that he couldn’t make it far with me, and so he laid me down on the rocky road. By then I was panicking and blood was pouring from my head. I begged him not to leave me, and he assured me that I would be all right and that he had to go get help. He told me later about all the fears he had in those moments: Does she have internal bleeding? Did she puncture a lung? Will she be paralyzed? He kicked off his flip flops and ran barefoot. He said that his body couldn’t move as fast as his will, and it tortured him. I could hear his agonized voice getting further and further away. “HELP! HELP! Help! Help! help! help!” When I couldn’t hear him anymore, I wondered what would become of me, and I looked up at the sky for a second until the brightness was too much for me. I'd never felt the contrast between earth and heaven more forcefully than in this moment, and I felt very alone.
I knew I couldn’t move but felt my body relax into the gravelly road. I felt a strange peace, not like the warm vibrations in my chest that I was used to feeling; I felt like the earth was absorbing me in my hopeless moment. My mind accepted the uncertainty of that moment and I felt a pang of worry as I wondered if my injuries were serious enough to end my life. I thought that if I died, it would break my heart, but I would go home.
Suddenly, my awareness shifted, and I realized that I had no shoes on. I also realized that my jaw was crooked and wondered if I had broken teeth because my mouth didn't seem to fit properly. Most importantly, I realized that I could move my legs and my arms, despite the searing pain down my back. Hope softened my mind just in time for me to black out again.
Suddenly, my awareness shifted, and I realized that I had no shoes on. I also realized that my jaw was crooked and wondered if I had broken teeth because my mouth didn't seem to fit properly. Most importantly, I realized that I could move my legs and my arms, despite the searing pain down my back. Hope softened my mind just in time for me to black out again.
When I came to, Shaye was crying over me with a very calm blonde woman, who I assumed was a nurse. He had found them at the nearest cabin, about 300 yards away. She kept asking my name and congratulating me on the details I could remember about my life. The man with her looked incredibly familiar, though I’m still not sure why. I remember seeing the shock and fear in his eyes. The rest of my time at Kolob is a blur, but I’m told that Shaye’s brother Shane had a feeling he should walk in our direction and soon heard Shaye’s cries for help. The men set the ATV upright, and when they asked me if I could move, I quickly sat up by myself, to their deep relief. Shaye’s brother Shane drove me back to the cabin while also holding his 18 month old son, Parker. He told me he had to hold onto my wrist because I was shaking so much and that I kept thanking him and asking them if something had happened and if anyone had been hurt. When we got to the cabin, all the men gave me a priesthood blessing and Shaye’s brother Skyler and his wife Jamie drove us down the mountain. They were careful that my kids did not see me, and I’m so grateful for that. Skyler drove as quickly as he could and politely answered the questions that I asked over and over. My concussion made me so confused. "Where are my babies? . . . What happened to me?. . . Is my back broken?. . . DID I DO SOMETHING WRONG?"
Jamie kept her arms around my neck and imagined aloud what my children were doing. “Right now, everyone is doting on your babies, and they’re eating watermelon, and playing games, and they’re completely safe.” Her flaxen hair; calm, velvety voice; and crystal blue eyes have always reminded me of an angel. Shaye cried in the back seat, especially when we gained cell reception and he had to call my parents. He couldn’t really talk and so Skyler told them where to meet us. At one point, I saw my face in the rearview mirror and realized that my nose was broken. We stopped at the IHC Instacare in Hurricane where we met my frightened parents, but that Instacare wouldn’t accept an emergency, so we kept driving to St. George.
From the time that we got to the emergency room, everyone was wonderful. They got me out of the car into a wheelchair and then got me onto a bed with a very stiff board. The doctor who attended to me, Dr Holman, was pleasant but clearly worried. The nurse who watched over me was so calming. He listened carefully to everything I said and reminded me clearly of my friend’s husband Raymond. The strong pain meds that they gave me through my IV relieved me quickly but seemed to burn off just as quickly.
Two CT scans later, and the diagnosis was in; I had 4 fractured vertebrae--two cervical and two thorasic-- but they told me I had been incredibly lucky because they were transverse process fractures that were stable and could not cause paralysis. With this news, Dr. Holman showed visible relief, and I was touched by just how worried he had been for me. He soon fixed the big wound in my head by giving me deep stitches and then 12 staples. Dr. Holman apologized the whole time he put the numbing shots in, but I could barely feel them. Overwhelmed by the sight, Shaye mumbled, “you can have whatever you want for the rest of your life,” and he threw up his hands in a gesture of regret and sat down by my side. My mom and then my dad hovered nearby, which I found so comforting too. I was overjoyed when they told me that they would let me go home and sleep in my own bed. With the aid of a back brace, I would make a full recovery, and that relieved us both so much.
Two CT scans later, and the diagnosis was in; I had 4 fractured vertebrae--two cervical and two thorasic-- but they told me I had been incredibly lucky because they were transverse process fractures that were stable and could not cause paralysis. With this news, Dr. Holman showed visible relief, and I was touched by just how worried he had been for me. He soon fixed the big wound in my head by giving me deep stitches and then 12 staples. Dr. Holman apologized the whole time he put the numbing shots in, but I could barely feel them. Overwhelmed by the sight, Shaye mumbled, “you can have whatever you want for the rest of your life,” and he threw up his hands in a gesture of regret and sat down by my side. My mom and then my dad hovered nearby, which I found so comforting too. I was overjoyed when they told me that they would let me go home and sleep in my own bed. With the aid of a back brace, I would make a full recovery, and that relieved us both so much.
When we returned home, that first night felt strangely like the night after we were married. It felt like we were starting over, and everything looked different to me. I got my first real look at myself in the mirror and cried for awhile because I looked like a “Star Wars creature”. We later decided that I looked more like an Avatar. Shaye comforted me and attended to me perfectly. I couldn't do anything for myself and had to completely rely on him. I could see the depth of love in his eyes, much deeper and more complex than on our wedding day. We stayed up late talking about life and how quickly things could change. He kept telling me, “I was wondering if my kids were going to lose their mom. I could have lost my most prized possession.” The next morning, he washed my hair for at least 20 minutes and I watched in fascination as bloody water went down the drain. It took at least 6 washes to get it all out of my scalp.
Me on the day after the accident and two days after the accident. I feel like my face looked more deformed in person than these pictures capture.
Our bishop announced my accident in our ward the next morning, and ever since love has been pouring into our home: flowers, delicious food, gifts for my babies, messages of love and hope and support. Dear friends rushed to my bedside to tell me they loved me and many others called and sent messages. Our ward organized dinners for us every night for 2 weeks, and so many others brought treats and gifts. We’ve had so much help with our kids, which has really helped me to heal. Physicians in our ward have donated their time and expertise to help me, which has been a tremendous help. Shaye has been at my side to help me with everything, and has encouraged me even in my most unpleasant moments. My children seemed unadjusted at first, but have realized that I need special help and care.
I still have some healing to do and will likely not be fully recovered for another month or so, but I feel like I have everything. Despite how difficult this has been there has been the oddest sense of rightness to this struggle--that for some reason this was supposed to happen. People's kindness has touched me and comforted me so much. I realize now more than ever that whatever tragedy can befall you, people’s goodness is always there as a balm. I’ve never felt so loved.
I still have some healing to do and will likely not be fully recovered for another month or so, but I feel like I have everything. Despite how difficult this has been there has been the oddest sense of rightness to this struggle--that for some reason this was supposed to happen. People's kindness has touched me and comforted me so much. I realize now more than ever that whatever tragedy can befall you, people’s goodness is always there as a balm. I’ve never felt so loved.
Shaye humored me by letting me put eye makeup on him to make us twinners. I'm pretty sure that it was the narcotics in my system that made me think it was a funny idea. Also, here are some beautiful flowers a dear friend sent to me. I wish I had thought to photograph all of the wonderful, thoughtful things people brought. So much kindness!
And if I didn’t know this before, I truly know it now. Life. It’s so fragile. With one jolt our spirits can be shook lose from our bodies. Living is a miracle, but there is so much that can go wrong. I believe that there are legions of angels breaking our falls, and sometimes we don’t have a clue. Other times, as in my experience, it’s blatantly obvious. I’m grateful that it wasn’t my time and that my Heavenly Father still has work for me to do here. Grateful that I can listen to my daughter chatter imaginatively as her eyes light up the room. Grateful that I can hear my son hum sympathetically as be buries his head in my face and then runs off in haste to terrorize something in my house. Grateful that I can watch my husband delight our children to laughter and feel his warm hand reach for mine in the night.
My life—all of our lives—are lived by a stopwatch. So I hope I can always remember what matters most.
