Anchor

I flushed the toilet and walked over to the mirror in a small bathroom in the Emergency Department trauma bay. I looked at the woman in the mirror. My hair was violently pulled back in a disaster of a messy bun. I didn't have a trace of makeup on my face. I was wearing a grey Denver Colorado sweatshirt, light blue skinny jeans, and white Converse tennis shoes. Ironically, that entire outfit would be thrown in the trash by my little brother hours later. I would never wear those clothes again, because that's what I was wearing on the worst night of my life. I hardly recognized who I was facing on the other side of the mirror. My knees were wobbly. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying. I didn't wash my hands, but I splashed cold water on my face. I have no idea why. Maybe to make sure that it wasn't a dream, and that I was really in this ER bathroom waiting to hear if my husband was dead or alive.

I walked back to a small waiting room where I sat across from my brother-in-law Russell. At this point, we had been escorted to our own private waiting space since we were Riley's closest family members at the hospital. Other friends and family were in separate waiting rooms around the Emergency Department and trauma bay. We had spoken to a few flight nurses and a nurse practitioner. At this point we knew it "wasn't good" but there was still some hope as Riley was currently undergoing a CT scan. Russell and I waited and waited. It was agonizing. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and two doctors walked in. They looked awful and greeted us quietly. "Would you like a Chaplin?" the first doctor murmured quietly. No!" I snapped in panic. I needed them to shoot it straight and tell me what the hell was going on."Is there any other family here you'd like to join us?" the second doctor hesitated."NO!" I jawed back. I wanted to punch the wall behind me.

They sat down. The room was somber. It was silent for a few moments as they stared at me. The first doctor took a deep breath and began to speak. A laundry list of test results and multitudes of medical jargon laced his lips from the CT scan. Let me pause to explain the irony in all of this. Medical jargon was the background music of my home. It was so familiar to me. All of Riley's late-night charting. All the phone calls with patients in the car or at the dinner table. All of the beeps from his pager at all hours of the night. His monotone, calm voice speaking medical jargon was constant and almost therapeutic to my ears. But this medical jargon broke my soul. This medical jargon made my stomach ache. With every word, it crushed my spirit. This medical jargon was really just complex words, phrases, and sentences to skirt around the word death. Because the word death has an innate sting when it hits your ears. The word death has no hope. The word death is fatal. It's finite. It's the end.

The two doctors could not utter the word death to the 29-year-old widow sitting across from them in that tiny waiting room. Instead, the medical jargon came to a close and the neurosurgeon finally said, "His injuries are unsurvivable, and there is nothing our neuro team can do." With these words came a catastrophic wave of pain. An ache so deep and raw I'm certain there are no words in our human language to express it. Instead of saying words, the violent, relentless, sting that took my body captive had to find relief somehow, so I screamed at the top of my lungs. I toppled to the ground and fell horizontally on the carpet. It felt like I was melting into the floor and like there was a magnetic force pulling me as low as I could physically exist. The screaming turned into wailing. A groan so deep and loud I'm certain I could never make it again. That moment was the pit of my pain. It was the worst moment of my entire life.

Everything was blurry. I couldn't see. I couldn't breathe. I suddenly felt arms around me. Someone had met me on the floor and was holding me. It was Russell. He held on so tight as we submerged and tumbled into the unforgiving and vicious waters of grief. Violently thrown into its depths with no warning. Gasping for air. Searching for a lifeline. Nothing but giant waves of sorrow in sight. We were drowning. I looked around and realized the doctors had left. I grabbed Russell by the shoulders and shook him. "WHAT DO WE DO? WHERE DO WE GO?" Everything the doctors said after they delivered the news of Riley's state fell to the wayside, I'm sure they kept talking, but I didn't hear anything after, "his injuries are unsurvivable."

Russell was just as confused as me. Not only were we drowning, but we were lost. We both wandered out of the tiny waiting room into the trauma bay. Riley's parents had just arrived from Mason City, so Russell went to get them. I reached for my phone and knew I needed to make the horrific phone call to tell my parents the news. I called my mom's cell phone, and she answered immediately. "He's gone." Those were the only two words I said to her. The brutal waters were about to overtake her. I could feel the weight of it over the phone. Now, Russell and I weren't the only ones drowning, and my words were what plunged us all in together.

But then, the next member of my army showed up. My neighbor and friend; Angelique. She was standing beside my mom at my

kitchen island. She was about to provide stability, safety, and peace in a terrorizing storm. Even though she too was bobbing for air, instead of caving to the waves, she was not shaken. So, at that moment my mom held on to her and Angelique stood grounded while they bucked the waves of grief together. She stepped into her role that night seamlessly, and with her quiet strength, she instantly became an anchor for me and more importantly at that moment, my family.

My mom's heart was torn in two pieces. She didn't want to leave Khloe but also needed to get to me at the hospital. Thankfully, we all know where Khloe was at that moment. She was safe and sound in Britt's arms in the nursery, so Angelique made the decision to drive my mom to the hospital. But how can someone drive when drowning? How can someone even think straight when drowning? Angelique wasn't drowning, she wasn't moved. She was keeping her head above water and taking the riptides head-on. That night she took care of my mom. She drove her through a dark and terrible drive, all while providing the unshakable calm that they both needed. Of course, she did so much more after the accident. She stocked my home with cleaning supplies and toiletries. She was beside Christie searching Riley's car and driving to the Sheriff's station. But perhaps the most valuable thing Angelique did for me in those early days and hours was listen.

Angelique is a peacemaker. She is a woman who is wise beyond her years. She is a safe place to fall and a sounding board whenever I need to cry or vent. What a treasure to have a friend who just genuinely listens. She listens with care and compassion. She has the deepest empathy of any human being I have ever met. She knows she can't fix my pain, but she chooses to sit beside me when I'm in the thick of it. Angelique has always been a friend who will meet me in my storm, but that night she met me in a hurricane. The hurricane has subsided, but it's not over. The storm of grief comes in waves, but I won't go under, because I've got an anchor in this beautiful friend of mine, and you better believe I'm going to hang on tight.