A year ago today, I was getting ready to go sledding. The snow was falling so heavily and it was beautiful. I took pictures of the backyard because it was so impressively gorgeous. Randal and I had intended to go to Ashland for the night to celebrate his birthday as we had every year that we lived in Klamath. I had ordered a surprise carrot cake for him from the co-op. But, the snow kept falling and the drive looked increasingly more treacherous and so Randal and I decided that we were going to have to cancel. While Milo was napping, I cancelled the hotel and the cake. And then, I prepared for a snow day. When Milo woke up, I began bundling us both up to go outside and enjoy the beautiful day.
This year, it has felt like my life has been split into two parts. Before the accident and after the accident. Before the accident, I had spent an idyllic Christmas with family. I had had two restorative conversations with friends the night before. I was waiting to hear from graduate schools about admission into doctorate programs where I planned to go in the fall.
I was in the bathroom, getting ready, when Lindsey - my friend who is a physician - called. I don't know why I picked up since we were about to leave. I was happy about the snow and wanted to share the joy. She was pregnant, maybe she needed help. Maybe on some level, I sensed it. I'm still not sure. But, I picked up.
And knew immediately that something was wrong. Everything moved quickly and slowly after that call when Lindsey told me that Stephanie was in an accident. That it wasn't good. It's hard to wrap your head around a serious sledding accident when the worst you envision is a broken leg. But, when someone mentions cars being a part of it, the severity snaps into place. I called Randal and he drove us to the hospital. I told him to drive slowly. The roads were terrible and the inviting snow now seemed oppressive, scary and dangerous.
Realistically, I knew that there wasn't any hope as soon as I heard about the injuries and then saw her. But, I couldn't understand how this was actually happening. It was like a bad TV show. I was walking through all of the scenes appropriately, but something wouldn't actually happen to Stephanie. And that is one of the sentences I remember repeating. Over and over. I said it in the ER. I said it when we got home. I said it for the next week. "This can't be happening."
I still can't believe it happened. As Randal pointed out, it seems more unreal because of Stephanie's enduring optimism. It's why so many of us were drawn to her. It doesn't make any sense to me that the most optimistic among us would be the one to die in an accident. This is precisely the type of conversation that I would have wanted to have with her. What would she have thought? Of course, we had these conversations together when colleagues' parents or people in our own lives had died. We talked about how sad we were or would be, what we would do. But, never in these conversations did we ever relate it to each other. I would joke sometimes that if I were hit by a car while on my bike, she should secure more serious funding for bike lanes. She would laugh, but only because it was so far from reality. I haven't made that joke in a long time. It's not funny anymore.
I miss her so much. I miss her on Friday afternoons when it was just us in the office. I miss her at meetings. I miss getting her take on people's behaviors. I miss getting her take on the news. I miss having discussions with her about politics, about the Wellness Center, about the best way to interact. I miss checking each other's outfits and complaining about what Klamath did or didn't have. I miss sharing our patients' successes with her and their funny anecdotes. I miss hearing her new ideas and insights. She had such a unique mind; I could never fill in her blanks.
I don't know how to conclude this. After the first day of 2018, I told Randal that I didn't feel any differently. I was so ready to close 2017 and then it was 2018 and I still felt so sad. I feel like anniversaries are supposed to bring some closure or insight or something, but I come up short.
I feel sad that Stephanie has been gone for over a year. That as time ticks on, as I want it to do and as I am so lucky to experience, she gets further and further away.
And I miss her.
I miss you, Steph.
This year, it has felt like my life has been split into two parts. Before the accident and after the accident. Before the accident, I had spent an idyllic Christmas with family. I had had two restorative conversations with friends the night before. I was waiting to hear from graduate schools about admission into doctorate programs where I planned to go in the fall.
I was in the bathroom, getting ready, when Lindsey - my friend who is a physician - called. I don't know why I picked up since we were about to leave. I was happy about the snow and wanted to share the joy. She was pregnant, maybe she needed help. Maybe on some level, I sensed it. I'm still not sure. But, I picked up.
And knew immediately that something was wrong. Everything moved quickly and slowly after that call when Lindsey told me that Stephanie was in an accident. That it wasn't good. It's hard to wrap your head around a serious sledding accident when the worst you envision is a broken leg. But, when someone mentions cars being a part of it, the severity snaps into place. I called Randal and he drove us to the hospital. I told him to drive slowly. The roads were terrible and the inviting snow now seemed oppressive, scary and dangerous.
Realistically, I knew that there wasn't any hope as soon as I heard about the injuries and then saw her. But, I couldn't understand how this was actually happening. It was like a bad TV show. I was walking through all of the scenes appropriately, but something wouldn't actually happen to Stephanie. And that is one of the sentences I remember repeating. Over and over. I said it in the ER. I said it when we got home. I said it for the next week. "This can't be happening."
I still can't believe it happened. As Randal pointed out, it seems more unreal because of Stephanie's enduring optimism. It's why so many of us were drawn to her. It doesn't make any sense to me that the most optimistic among us would be the one to die in an accident. This is precisely the type of conversation that I would have wanted to have with her. What would she have thought? Of course, we had these conversations together when colleagues' parents or people in our own lives had died. We talked about how sad we were or would be, what we would do. But, never in these conversations did we ever relate it to each other. I would joke sometimes that if I were hit by a car while on my bike, she should secure more serious funding for bike lanes. She would laugh, but only because it was so far from reality. I haven't made that joke in a long time. It's not funny anymore.
I miss her so much. I miss her on Friday afternoons when it was just us in the office. I miss her at meetings. I miss getting her take on people's behaviors. I miss getting her take on the news. I miss having discussions with her about politics, about the Wellness Center, about the best way to interact. I miss checking each other's outfits and complaining about what Klamath did or didn't have. I miss sharing our patients' successes with her and their funny anecdotes. I miss hearing her new ideas and insights. She had such a unique mind; I could never fill in her blanks.
I don't know how to conclude this. After the first day of 2018, I told Randal that I didn't feel any differently. I was so ready to close 2017 and then it was 2018 and I still felt so sad. I feel like anniversaries are supposed to bring some closure or insight or something, but I come up short.
I feel sad that Stephanie has been gone for over a year. That as time ticks on, as I want it to do and as I am so lucky to experience, she gets further and further away.
And I miss her.
I miss you, Steph.
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