It took me a few days to continue. I had a very hard time with that last post. The accident was just about 6 weeks ago, so it is still all very raw for me.
I slowly made my way back to the emergency room waiting area where my family was anxiously waiting for word of Steve's condition. John walked back with me and Kim. She was somehow ahead of us, and John stopped to tell me that I was doing a good job handling everything. It was nice to hear, I felt so weak. He was truly a professional at giving comfort.
I barely remember going back into the waiting area. I just wanted to collapse into my Mom's arms, and let her take everything painful away. I couldn't do that, though. I had to stand strong on my own, after all, this time, I am a Mom.
Kim and I shared what we had seen. There was really no way to describe it. The harsh reality could only be witnessed personally. Steve's friends and family slowly soaked up the news, everyone looked so sad. Jacob and Jim, Steve's 2 best friends, were there. Seeing the obvious pain and grief on the faces of these grown men, who were so close to Steve was so difficult.
The next few hours are very much a blur for me. There was really no concept of time or space. It was almost as if I were in a trance. My emotions were crazy. I was angry, I was hurt, I was every emotion I have ever felt. I think that anger was the most prominent feeling during those first long hours. I was mad that this happened at all. I was mad at Steve for getting on that damn motorcycle. I was mad at Jacob for letting him, even though in reality, I knew Jacob had nothing to do with it. I just wanted it to be someone else. I wanted to turn back time. Just give me a few hours, please, I prayed and begged of God. Then I would think, no, don't do that. I would think if just one small thing were to change, Steve could very well not be here.
I remember looking at my in laws, feeling so terrible that they were having to go through this nightmare. I told them that I was sorry about the accident, and they looked at me with very puzzled expressions. What I meant was I was sorry that they were having to go through this, I would be sorry for anyone, but it was so hard to watch people I love in such pain. For that, I was sorry. I was sorry that they were sitting there wondering if they were going to lose another son, after losing Steve's older brother Chad in 2000. I cannot imagine losing my child. I cannot imagine seeing my child laying there the way Steve was.
Sometime in the night, my sister, Donna, called. She was having a really hard time with everything. She was actually at our church, on the altar where I was saved, praying for Steve. She was crying, but trying to hold it together for me. It was so comforting to hear her voice, to know that she was there at our church talking to God. I don't think that I have ever thanked her for that, I really need to make sure that I do.
My best friend, Mindy called sometime, too. She was just stunned. She offered to come down right away, but she has small children, too, and no sense of direction, so I wanted her to wait at least until morning. The last thing I wanted was for someone else I love to have an accident.
Finally, about 3 am, John reported that Steve was being moved to the Trauma Intensive Care Unit. He said that it would still be about an hour before we would all be able to see him. The ICU team would do a head to toe assessment to see if there were any injuries missed in the ER.
That must have been the longest hour ever. I held my breath every time the phone rang at the desk, every time John looked our way. I was a nervous wreck.
About 5 am, we were escorted to the TICU by John. That hour turned into two hours, as if often the case in hospitals.
The walk was very long from the ER to the TICU. I thought, as we walked those long winding hallways, that there was no way I would ever learn to get around in there. We all seemed to walk very, very slowly, with dread weighing heavily on us all.
John stopped us just before we walked into the TICU and explained the rules a bit. We all had to wash our hands before we were able to go into Steve's room. He explained the visiting hours, we were able to see him 3 times a day, at 10:30 am, 4 pm, and 8:30 pm, for 30 minutes each visit. No one under 14 would be allowed.
We formed a line at the small sink just inside the TICU. Steve was in the very first room, so we could all see him immediately.
One by one, we filed into the stark, sterile room. Everything was bleak and white. There were monitors and tubes everywhere. The beeps from all those monitors and the hum of the ventilator were maddening. We all formed a circle around Steve's bed, some standing closer than others. There was shock all around, as the gravity of the situation planted itself firmly into the hearts and minds of our loved ones.
I stood as close to Steve as I could. I held his hand and stroked his hair. I searched desperately for signs of consciousness, but there were none. I felt that helpless feeling wash over me again.
I became angry with everyone just standing around looking at Steve as if he were dead. Jim came over to comfort me, and I pushed him closer to Steve's bedside. I wanted Steve to know who all was there. I wanted him to feel the comforting touch of those who love him.
I will finish the story of this first day later. I am tired and it is bedtime.
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