How are we really doing?

Three months... has it really only been three months? And yet, it seems overwhelming to think of the long life ahead of us. I'm only 23, Pat is 25. The question we've been asked lately is, "How are you really doing?" I struggle answering this question. Every day is different. So I'll tell you how I am today.

Today at Home Depot, Pat and I saw the man who in the middle of the night gassed up his plane and flew us down to PCMC. I haven't been able to stop thinking about how grateful I am for his actions...

You see, when the doctors in Idaho Falls announced they wanted to fly Preslee to PCMC, they told us there was room for one of us to ride. I struggled watching what the doctors had to do to keep Preslee's little body alive. I knew I couldn't function without Pat by my side. But I knew I couldn't let Preslee arrive in SLC without someone to greet her. A three hour drive would have been complete torture for the both of us. The panic set in. Too many decisions to make. I remember thinking, "We're too young for this." So I said a prayer, a very desperate prayer. Minutes later I walked into the waiting room where many of our family members had gathered to show support. My aunt approached me and informed me that after being contacted, someone named Dave was offering to fly us to Utah. Coincidence? No. A true answer to my prayer. I'm still grateful he was listening that night. He told my aunt there was room for three passengers, so my mom flew with us. It was longest hour of my life. (up to that point) Pat in the passenger seat, my mom and I in the back. Pure silence. My mind raced in every direction. At that time I still didn't know the details of how this accident happened. I wondered what the outcome would be. I thought to myself, there's no way her heart just start beating as they were ready to give up, if she wasn't supposed to live... Dave kept us sane by tracking life-flight, which was continually right behind us. My uncle picked us up at the airport and we beat Preslee to the hospital by about 15 minutes. Blessings.

A few days later, Dave contacted our family and said he was willing to fly three more people down for the day, people who might not be able to make it. My Grandma, my cousin Trevor, and his wife Rebecca jumped at his offer. Rebecca brought pictures of Pres to hang up and a necklace with two pictures of Preslee, a P, and her birthstone for me.

We had pictures up all over her room! (Anyone at PCMC I urge you to do this, someone gave me this advice, and it really changed the atmosphere in our hospital room. The doctors and nurses no longer viewed Preslee as a sick patient, but as a girl who loved life)

I haven't been able to stop thinking about Dave, who was a complete stranger before all of this and how he so willingly helped us. We are so grateful for him and his family. This is what I've been thinking about all night.

I think back to our one month mark. I remember feeling like I was suffocating. To think the longest I had ever been away from Preslee was three days. Now it had been one whole month. How do I do this for the rest of my life? I've learned I can't allow myself to think about "The rest of my life." I don't even allow my thoughts to think ahead two months... (Her Birthday and Christmas) I've learned to focus on today. I just need to get through today.

The grieving process is definitely not what I expected. I never realized that there really is a process in which the body goes through. The process isn't the same for anyone, especially for me and Pat. It's been a guessing game to understand what the other one is thinking and feeling. We often wonder why the other one doesn't completely understand the other-which often leaves us feeling very alone. Then on the other hand, it has often brought us closer together, much closer than we would have ever expected. It's felt like we've been on a roller coaster. The mind saying one thing, and the body saying another. I would have never dreamed the grieving process would be this difficult.

The tears seem to come most often in the car, when I'm alone. I'm getting better at not crying in public. Sometimes the drive from Rexburg to Rigby seems like eternity. I cry through all of the dang road construction. Sometimes I'll find myself taking a detour and ending up at the cemetery.

I was given a book called, Joy Cometh in the Morning, A story of Healing from the loss of a Child-by Fran C. Hafen. I appreciated her honesty of what she was feeling when she lost her child. It comforted me so much to hear she actually experienced many things I have. It helped me realize that I'm not crazy for feeling some of the things I do. So as I've shared many of my "Aha" moments with you, I might add in a few of "How are we really doing" moments. Sometimes it is easier to tell you on the blog. We're not always terribly down, but we hurt. We're kind of in survival mode. We do what is expected of us, school, work, and church callings and that's about it. We're slowly making progress, maybe just babysteps, but hopefully over time, those little tiny steps will allow us to escape the intense world of pain we find ourselves in today.