The Day the Earth Stood Still.

What happened the day of November 24, 1999.

You know how there are some things you just *know, deep down in your heart, and no denying it? I knew that my husband would die before me, and that he'd die one of two ways--either his chewing tobacco habit would kill him or his shitty driving would.

Jim and I had gotten through a bad spell--things were beginning to fall apart in our marriage. Money problems, always that. I was fed up with his flagrant spending. But we were working through it, as people who truly love one another do. We had two happy, healthy children. We both worked good jobs, and things were about to improve. Jim was up for a huge payraise that would enable me to quit my job and go back to college the next year. So--the day before Thanksgiving. I arrived at work late because I had forgotten that we were opening an hour early that day. I missed my morning coffee and my ass was dragging. Didn't want to drink the lounge swill, either. So I call Jim and ask him to bring me a delicious cup of coffee from Sheetz. I plead, I beg, to no avail. It was Wednesday--how could I forget? The new comic books come in that day at the comic store! Comics take precedence over coffee, see (I struggled with this for a long time; if I had been able to convince Jim to bring me the coffee, it would have deviated him from his path.) Kiss kiss, I love you, remember tomorrow's Thanksgiving and we are in charge of the potatoes and green beans.

Feeling wide awake now that the pace had picked up. Two women came to the register, wanting to try on some leather jackets. I got the keys and unlokced a couple for them. Phone rang, I let it go past 7 rings and then I had to pick it up. A social worker from Washington County hospital. Social worker? My first thought was something had happened to the children. The calm voice told me that my husband had been involved in a car accident, that he was in the ER, and he wasn't "saying anything yet." I remember shouting to someone that I had to leave. The sky in the west as I drove to the hospital was almost black. I kept thinking that I'd get to the ER, they'd wheel Jim out in a wheelchair with an ice pack to his head. Honestly, this is what I was thinking.

The social worker met with me, and a couple of trauma docs. I knew that Jim wasn't capable of sitting up in a wheelchair. He had run his tiny Geo Metro into the back of a tractor trailer. No airbag. Hadn't been wearing his glasses because I found them later, completely intact with no blood on them.

I remember swimming into the room where they were working on him. I could not recognize the man who lay before me. That wasn't Jim. This man has no face. This man's face was a bruised bloody pulp. Only until I pulled up the sleeve of his right arm. When I saw the dragon tattoo it finally registered.
The doctors told me that he would never wake up. Even if they kept him alive on tubes and a ventilator. His brain was swelling and he was bleeding out of his eyes. His head had literally been pulverized. It would be like trying to repair an eggshell. His systems were shutting down one by one.

The accident was at 1:10 pm. I kept him alive until 8:40. After they turned off the ventilator, his heart beat for ten minutes. He had a runner's heart.

Jim died at the age of 30, leaving me, age 28, and his children Tara, 6, and Dylan, 4.

I think of all he's missed.

The Spiderman movies--he should've taken Dylan to those. The Harry Potter movies. Invader Zim he would have loved. Tara's dancing and her academic achievements. She has his intellect and love of learning. Dylan's love of art. He has his artistic abilities and loves video games. Tara's growing into a beautiful young lady. Dylan's karate classes. Christmases he's missed. The Barenaked Ladies concerts.

I think of all I loved about him--
His gravity and dry wit. His intelligence. His lovemaking and how we were so compatible. The short blond hairs on the back of his neck. The aqua-blue eyes. How he'd surprise me at work with flowers of a little gift--the last thing he gave me was a floppy stuffed dog named "Cappuccino."

But who am I to say he's missed everything? Maybe he's been there after all. I'll have to ask him when I get there.

Sleep in peace, my beloved. Be with us tomorrow, if only for a little while. Please, touch your son's heart and sweep away the fears he harbors. Tell your daughter how proud you are of her strength.

Most of all, I want to tell you I'm sorry.

And I love you, always have, always will.

"While we seek mirth and beauty,and music light and gay,

There are frail forms fainting at the door. Though their voices are silent their pleading looks will say--

Oh, hard times come again no more.

'Tis a song, a sigh of the weary,

Hard times, hard times come again no more.

Many days you have lingered around my cabin door, oh, hard times come again no more."