SPIRIT INNERVENTIO R

WRITER: LORI STRONG // PHOTOGRAPHER: FRED LOPEZ

On Oct. 22, 2009, outside on my driveway, my life stopped. I couldn’t breathe. I felt as though I had left my own body. “Why can’t I cry?” I kept saying in between my screaming.

Racked by disbelief and fear, I was numb — unable to consider the implications of the news I had received. At 38 years old, my best friend, my life partner, the man who took care of me and our children — my everything — had suddenly been ripped away from us. I found my home suddenly filled with people. My daughter Madison, who was 6 at the time, kept telling everyone “My daddy is dead!” in almost the same manner a child would announce a new puppy.

I held out hope her daddy was still alive since I hadn’t been officially notified of the plane crash. Perhaps the plane just simply went down and Scott was standing in some field wishing he hadn’t left his phone in his truck. I recall coming into the living room where the TV was on, and there he was. The news was showing old footage of him as they reported this unbelievable event. Their casual certainty directly challenged my desperate denial.

I felt lost and hopeless at the very thought of life without Scott. I drew my strength from him. We were the perfect balance. Any attempt at grasping the very notion of carrying on without him seemed futile. I remember telling my mom that I just wanted to die. Never had those words come from my lips with more meaning. Without hesitation in that sweet motherly voice, she reminded me of my children. At that moment, I was thrust into a role I didn’t want nor thought I was capable of filling: the role of mommy and daddy. I had to make one of the most difficult decisions of my life to push on.

Hundreds came out to show their love and support in honor of Scott’s life. People waited in lines wrapped around the block at our church to give their condolences. The viewing lasted four hours. Sherriff Gary Borders provided our family a motorcade escort from our home to the church both days. I know Scott was loved, but I never realized until that moment just how much. This has always remained in my heart.

My friends and family never left my side. My parents spent countless nights on the couch to be close to us. My four children slept in my room with me. We depended on each other more than ever, and the love of my family solidified my resolve. I was determined to carry on as best I could.

After Scott’s death, the remainder of my year seemed to slip away in a melancholic blur. Halloween, my birthday, our 18th wedding anniversary, Thanksgiving, and Christmas all dragged by. Days that had previously fi lled me with joy seemed bitter and hollow without my husband to share them. I was going through the motions in a feeble attempt at restoring normalcy for my children. Their lives had already been turned upside-down; I knew they needed the small measure of comfort that these traditions provided.

Over the next four years so much happened — graduations, driver’s licenses, dance recitals, homecoming dances, proms, fi rst dates, lost baby teeth. Through good times, and bad, we attempted to make sense of a life without Scott. We faced new and tremendous challenges because each child handled the loss differently. I sat with my little Madison more nights than I can count holding her as she cried, trying to explain why God needed her daddy. How do you rationalize such a travesty to a child so young and fragile? Simply put, her father was so wonderful, caring, giving, and loving that God needed him in Heaven.

I made many wrong decisions, as well as an occasional right one, as I struggled to come to terms with my new identity. You go into survival mode, and you do what you feel is necessary in light of such an impossible situation. Often times such a mentality is met with scrutiny and judgment rather than love and understanding.

My children were what kept me going then, and they are still the ones who keep me going now. Nothing is as important to me as successfully fi nishing what Scott and I started. In my eyes, although they too have made bad choices, there are no other children more beautiful, precious, loving, and deserving than Chase, Chandler, Michaella, and Madison.

Scott was my heart. He is in everything I see or do. When I look into the eyes of our children, I can see him. The boys somehow are even starting to act like him. When I look across the room and see Chandler standing like his father, or Chase using his hands to explain something to his sisters, nothing makes me smile more.

Today, life is far from easy; however, God has sent someone very special to help me. I believe Scott knows we are in good and loving hands now. I am grateful God has provided a man that not only loves my strengths but sees past my weaknesses, and who loves my children as much as I do.

I am closer with each passing day to coming to terms with my loss. I am able to move forward not because it is easy, but because I now know that I am strong enough. Romans 5:3-4 encourages me with its promise: “For we can rejoice in our suffering, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.”