After I made it through what happened,
making sure not to skip any detail (for this was my police statement), and all
the tissues in the house were depleted, it was time to sit and wait for Tommy’s
recovery mission. The Sheriff sat amongst us, almost as if he were an old
friend. He provided us with updates on the recovery mission, what was delaying
the helicopter and such. And then we got the amazing news…it was go time! The Blackhawk
was headed back up to Mt. Jefferson to recover Tommy and bring him back home.
We were all elated in the darkest of ways. I don’t think anyone was truly ready
for what was next. I know I sure wasn’t. The Sheriff kept us informed…even
though Tommy was going to physically be in Salem and then taken to the Funeral
Chapel in Keizer, we still could not go see him for a few more hours due to the
medical examiner having to officially declare cause of death. So again, we
hurried up to wait. The waiting game made for an impatient group of people. We
seemed to all disperse once we knew the timeline. Some went to other family
members houses closer to the Funeral Chapel, some went to grab a bite to eat…and
me…I was just along for the ride. I climbed back into my brother’s truck and we
went to get lunch. It seemed like eating was one of the most strenuous tasks I
have ever had to attempt. Each swallow of soup was beyond difficult. Then it
was time. The few hours that the medical examiner needed had passed. It was
time to yet again, clamor into the back of brother’s truck for another solemn
drive across town to the Funeral Chapel. I remember needing that closure…I needed
to know that he wasn’t alone on the mountain anymore, that he was home with
those that loved him so dearly. However, I also remember not wanting to get out
of the truck, almost like I was safe from reality if I didn’t move. My brother
held me as we walked toward the door of the Funeral Chapel. Half way to the
door, we were met by the Sheriff who calmly and kindly reported to us that they
were going to need more time before we could see him – they were going to need
to complete an autopsy before releasing him to us. At the sound of this, I
almost collapsed. Again, my already heavy heart, sank to my feet, that
heaviness in my chest again, those hot tears rolling down my face. Why? Why do
they have to do that to Tommy? Hasn’t he already been through enough? I couldn’t
allow them to cut into him like a science project. I had been there when he
passed…I saw the progression of the head injury… I witnessed his deterioration…it
was classic signs! Why? Being in emergency medicine myself, I know they had
protocols, but I just couldn’t allow it. I also realize that Tommy’s spirit was
no longer in that body and that he would not be harmed but I couldn’t allow it.
I felt extremely protective over him. I wanted him to have just an ounce of
dignity left. The Sheriff left me with my brother and his girlfriend,
Christina, while he went to talk to the medical examiner. A few minutes later,
minutes that felt like eternity, he returned with the news that the medical
examiner agreed to speak with me due to my experience as a trauma flight nurse
to explore the potential of avoiding the autopsy.
At this point I am escorted into a small
room, my brother, Dalen, accompanied me, and we sit around a small table.
Around this table is myself, Dalen, the Sheriff, and the medical examiner. Both
the Sheriff and the medical examiner have pens and paper out before them. The
medical examiner was amazingly kind and was a person first. What I mean by that
is, she came into the room, expressed her condolences and gave me the most
genuine hug I have ever received from a stranger. Then she proceeds to
business. I am faced with having to tell the story…again. This time in even
more detail. The details I left out for my police statement actually matter for
the medical examiner. She allows me to talk in my nurse jargon. I tell her
everything. I do not skip on any details. Those small details that I do forget,
Dalen was able to provide me with gentle reminders. “Tell her about the pills,
Alison.” “What about him biting his fingers, Alison.” Many wet tissues later, I
successfully told the story yet again. At the end of my recap of the events,
the medical examiner concludes that she does not have to do an autopsy…that it
is clear, based off of clinical presentation, that the cause of death was,
indeed, a traumatic head injury. I never thought, that in this moment, that I
could actually experience relief…but that brought a small feeling of relief for
me. Tommy was released back to me.
I had asked several times about Tommy’s
wedding band. Once while on the mountain; unfortunately his hands were frozen
and the rescuers were unable to get the ring. The other time was upon arrival
at the Funeral Chapel. The Sheriff said that I would get it after the medical
examiner was finished. She is finished. The Sheriff asks me, with a great deal
of kindness in his voice, “You put the ring on his hand, would you like to
slide it off or would you like me to do it?” I was too weak…too scared…too not
ready to face reality, so I had the Sheriff recover Tommy’s wedding band for
me. He returned a few moments later and handed me a small, black velvet bag and
in it, I could feel the ring. My heart sank yet again and that all too familiar
heaviness in my chest returned. Yet at the same time, with that ring in my hand
I felt as if I was a little closer to my husband, to my love.
Another milestone was about to occur. It
was now my opportunity to be reunited with my lover. It was not a fancy,
official viewing where your loved one is cleaned up and make up on. This was a
quick and dirty clean up, to make Tommy presentable. Although I had already
seen him after he passed away…I did spend 15 hours with his body on the
mountain, it was still one of the most difficult things I had to do. Those 20
feet from the lobby to the viewing room seemed as if they would never end. I
didn’t want to go alone. Dalen grabbed my arm and made the somber march into
the room with me. I would like to report that he looked so peaceful and maybe
he did. But in my eyes, all I saw was those last few moments on earth for him.
His struggling to breathe. The lack of his spirit in his eyes during those last
few moments. I can honestly say, he did not look like he was in pain. And he
was still handsome as hell. There was relief…relief that he was home, I was
able to get him off the mountain. I remember stroking his hair…his glorious
hair and kissing his cold, frozen lips. I remember hugging him and telling him
how much I love him. I remember how cold he was…he wasn’t just lifeless cold,
he was literally still frozen. I remember seeing some of his wounds and some of
his injuries and I remember the immense pain I felt for what he, my love, had
been through. Such a beautiful man, both inside and out. My best friend. The
love of my life. My twin flame. I couldn’t believe what he had been through. I
just wanted to take it all away. I gave him one last kiss…first on his lips,
then on his forehead and whispered to him, “I will love you forever, Tommy. I
love you.” I left the room, returning to the lobby where I was surrounded by
Tommy’s family. I gave a few hugs, said a few good byes but it was time. I had to
go…I did not want to stay there any longer. I remember just wanting a hug from
my mom but she was still another 12 hours of driving away. I just wanted her to
hold me and cry with me.
My
brother drove me from my home in Oregon to my mother’s house in California.
After 12 hours in the car, just replaying the accident, watching Tommy take his
last breath, the night in the crevasse, the rescue, I was delivered safely to
my mom. Once home, surrounded by family and friends, the questions began.
Everyone was super understanding and loving and supportive and never wanted to
ask anything that would hurt or upset me. I knew that they needed to know. For their
own process, they had to know. I was okay with that. Me telling my story had
already given his family a little peace…knowing that he didn’t die alone. Me
telling my story had saved him from an autopsy. Time to tell friends and
family. Details of the incident trickled out to various people throughout the
week I spent in California. In most ways, it was beyond painful. In other ways,
it was helping me process the event. Long story short, I began finding that
telling people about what happened was helping me…that progressed to blogging.
A dear friend of mine suggested that I could write out the more intimate
details and just save those on a word document, that I didn’t have to post
them. I thought that sounded like an amazing idea, so I wrote what I was
feeling and saved it to word, turned off the computer and attempted to sleep.
The weird thing was, was that this gave me great anxiety! Knowing that it was
just sitting on my computer drove me crazy. I woke up and posted it to the
blog. Once posted, there was an immediate release of that tension. I cannot
explain it.
Throughout this journey, I have met two
other young widows in particular that have opened their hearts and lives to me.
They have shared their stories with me and have been a driving force for me
every day. If they can make it with such beauty and grace, I know I can too.
Knowing how much they have helped me makes me want to share my story even more.
Maybe some good can come out of this extremely sensitive and vulnerable time
for me. I would love to help someone else in the future walk down this path. I
would love to be able to inspire someone to chase their dreams, to live a life
full of love and passion. I would love to! So that’s what I did, I blogged my
story and put my heart out there for the world. Along the road, my HR
representative suggested talking to this outdoors writer out of a nearby town.
She spoke of him as if I was supposed to know who he was already. I suppose it
was the familiar way she spoke of him that spurred me to reach out to him.
Zach, from the Satesman Journal in Salem, OR, and I chatted back and forth via
email for awhile before agreeing to sit down together for a retelling of the
story. He told me what he had in mind – he had a vision of capturing our crazy
love story and intertwining the events on Mt. Jefferson. The way he delicately
explained his vision gave me a sense of comfort. We met at my house for the
retelling of the story. I sat on the couch with a childhood friend of mine.
Across from us, Zach and another journalist, Carol, both taking notes and
asking questions. I laughed, I cried, I spoke of Tommy fondly, I reminisced, I
went through all of those crazy emotions in the span of 3 hours or so. They
departed the house and went to work. Zach kept me informed of the progress of
the story. We met again to clarify some questions. He went back to work on it.
More clarification through texts and then a final phone call to go over the
article and its contents. I gave him my blessing and then waited for the
outcome. I knew it was to be published Sunday. However, Saturday seemed like a
day that would never end. The anticipation was painful. Then I got a message,
the link to the online version. http://www.statesmanjournal.com/story/news/2016/01/17/love-and-loss-mount-jefferson/78367928/
It is beautiful.
Selfishly, I am so glad I told my story. I
will forever have a small, professionally written novella of my life with Tommy…he
captured the beauty of our love and the beauty of that tragic day.
Selflessly, I am glad I told my story. I hope
that my vulnerabilities can help or inspire someone. Just one person and this
was all worth it.
P.S. I love you, husband.
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