As soon as I realized I Randy was gone, I wanted to know: who do I blame? I was stunned, hurt, and angry. One minute I was shaking my head and sobbing; this couldn’t be my life. This isn’t how my life was supposed to go. The next, searching for answers and blame.
In my case, I knew a driver, presumably drunk, had crossed the line and struck Randy’s car head on. I knew the other driver was in worse condition and life-flighted first. At first they told me that Randy was unconscious, but it turned out that was not true. That was the police and EMT’s way of protecting me. That didn’t protect me because life-flight team told me the truth. That’s all enough to make a person angry. I would like to sit here and sound noble, tell you that I understood why they sent the other driver first. Tell you that I appreciated the effort to protect me. The truth is, I was mad. Logically, I understood the worst patient goes first and the ethics that go with all that, but in my heart I had trouble coming to terms with someone being saved after they just killed my husband. Intellectually I knew their actions were well-intentioned and absolutely towards helping me. In my heart and my head, I had to reprocess those feelings and come to terms with the fact Randy quite possibly knew he was alone, that the other driver was saved, and that he was going to die. I chose not to know the extent of his injuries, but I have a lot of common sense and put pieces together to create my own picture of what happened. I knew in my heart (and head) that he probably would not have lived either way. Most likely, his chest was compressed and he bled out into his chest when they extricated him. That would have happened either way they did it. All of that information was neither here nor there, I was
angry furious and frustrated with everyone involved.
I eventually came to terms with reality of why things were the way they were on scene. I worked through knowing the truth: he was conscious. I really understood he was probably going to die either way and that living might have been worse for him to tolerate, because of the extent of his probable injuries. Those were hard words to think, harder to say. My focus switched, I focused on being mad at God.
How can a loving God do this to someone? Why would a loving God do this to a couple who had been to their breaking point and back again, happier than ever and then rip their lives to shreds? Does a loving God do that? Only as punishment. God would only do that if someone had to be punished. What could I have done to warrant that punishment? I went to church, we had just been baptized together. I chose to believe that I didn’t deserve that, that my kids didn’t deserve that. My God wouldn’t do that. That only left one person to be mad at–the drunk driver.
I decided that sometimes terrible things happen to wonderful people and if anyone was responsible it was the man who was drinking and driving. How could anyone else be to blame? It was hard to be mad at the drunk driver. Hard because he was still recovering himself. He had two broken legs, blood on his brain, and a few other injuries. He spent months in a rehab facility. I think it was partly to avoid the charges his family knew were waiting for him and partly because he had some rather severe injuries and lasting effects from the accident including amnesia. So, I blamed myself.
I know it seems strange to blame myself. I had nothing to do with the accident or rescue efforts. I blamed myself because I felt like I had wasted all of my time with him. I had finally discovered what an amazing man he was, or perhaps he had finally grown up and revealed himself, and then he was gone. He finally was the father I always wanted him to be. We had the relationship I always felt we were meant to have. We had the family I had dreamed of. He had the job he had dreamed of and we were starting to live the life we had worked so hard to make for ourselves. How stupid I was for wasting that time! All those months, and even years, wishing he was someone else or that he would do this or be like that. Stupid, stupid me. It was rather easy to forgive everyone else, but it took a very long time to forgive myself.
I finally cut myself a break. The fact is, life is a process of growth. It comes with its own set of growing pains, failures and successes. You can’t have success without failure. No one gets it right the very first time. It’s a process. You fall down and you get up. Eventually, if you are doing it right, you stand up enough times to reach your destination. We met our destination. There was nothing to be mad at. It took work, but I understood.
We took an unusual path and we did the best we could. It was bumpy, but those bumps made us grow up. I came to the understanding that God is all-knowing. His plans often not understood. I know now that God knew Randy’s life was going to be short. He brought us together early, He tested our wills, and He let us grow up together. He forced us to grow into each other instead of growing apart. We did exactly what we were supposed to: we fell in love. We stuck together through the puppy love, solved our problems that could have ended us, and fell in love. His death wasn’t my fault. His death wasn’t a punishment. We didn’t do anything wrong. We were rewarded with our time together. Our love was the reward, his death was just our goodbye. Everyone has to say goodbye. God let us fill our time here, together. That’s an almighty and loving God.
So, never doubt someone is in charge. It may not be easy this way. It may leave a lot of questions and uncertainty, but there is a plan. Trust in the path, live the journey.