The Accident: the Morning of

I often feel guilty and selfish for talking about the accident from my perspective and how it affected me. Truthfully, I don't think everyone gets it. But the fact of the matter is, this was my accident too. I don't know if one can fully comprehend this until the person you are most connected to in the entire world is nearly taken from you.  

March 5th, 2018

I woke up grouchy the day after my birthday. It hadn't been the best day, and I was still feeling a bit annoyed. Tom was leaving especially early for work, and I was busy in the kitchen getting kids fed and ready for school. I was at the sink when he came to kiss me goodbye. I turned my head to let him kiss me on the cheek. He left, and I continued the normal routine of morning chaos and dropping kids off at school. 

I returned home and was back in the kitchen dumping a packet of oatmeal into a bowl for Leah when there was loud banging on the front door. A police officer stood on my doorstep. "Are you Rachel Bjorkman?" I confirmed that I was, then was told that Tom was in an accident. I took a huge step back and asked through deep breaths, "Wait, are you serious?" Having an officer at my door to tell me instinctively told me it was bad. I walked into the next room, sat, and prayed. Desperately.

My neighbor, Linda, who already knew of the accident and now put the pieces together that it was Tom, walked in and immediately grabbed Tess and Leah. I wandered my house in a daze, made a couple phone calls-- one to my mom and the other to my friend, Lisa, to arrange care for Tess and Leah. The cop waited downstairs to take me to the hospital while I got things in order. I wandered my room looking through my clothes drawers wondering if Tom was even alive. "What does one wear to the hospital?" I remember thinking. I felt strange, guilty, and annoyed even needing to decide.

I sat in the back of the police car, and as we pulled up to the intersection of the accident at the exit of my neighborhood, I saw a huge white truck with its front end crushed. And then I saw Tom's car. It was in pieces. Pieces. And COMPLETELY bashed in where he had been sitting. We turned the corner onto the main road and I finally asked what I had been too scared to ask to this point. "Is my husband alive?" He quietly responded, "I don't know." Then began the longest car ride of my life. I messaged Tom's family to pray. I called my friend, Emily, to arrange for a blessing. Then I continued to do all I could do...pray more.

We pulled up to the ER entrance where I saw two women walk out and head straight toward me. The officer opened my door and I felt sick as I braced myself for what they were going to tell me. They walked me into the waiting room where one of the women told me they were able to cut Tom out of the car, and that at some point he was able to tell them his name.

He was alive!

They took me back into the ER where he was lying-- bloody, bruised, sedated, and intubated. I was on such a high that he was alive that I didn't take much else in. Unsure if he could hear me, I talked to him letting him know I was there. The nurses handed me some of his belongings in a bag. I remember their blank, serious faces watching me. Thinking back, I imagine they knew I wasn't grasping all that was happening. In my shocked state, my brain was now telling me this was simple and he'd be going home in a few days. I even asked to take a picture.

Our friend, Travis, arrived and gave him a priesthood blessing. I was then taken into a room where a doctor came in to tell me a list of the injuries they knew at that point. Brain bleed, severely broken jaw, minor broken vertebrae, broken sternum, bleeding spleen, severely broken pelvis. (Many more follow up scans and listed injuries were to come.) Travis stayed by my side and took notes knowing I wasn't remembering what I was being told. In the meantime, Tom was being moved upstairs to the ICU.