Unanswered Questions

After countless scans and more blood tests than any lab person wants to read, the findings of my injuries – while not great - were actually better than what people scurrying around the ER appeared to fear.  No one would give me a drink because of the possibility of me needing surgery, and oh, how I begged for a Diet Dr. Pepper to somehow quench my thirst and ease my pain.

The ER doctors and nurses tended to me and asked where my worst pain was – it was my left ankle.  I remember forcefully telling the person manipulating it and trying to figure out exactly what was wrong, “I really don’t like you right now.”

The CTs showed I had a talus fracture in my left ankle, a compressed vertebra and multiple transverse process fractures in my back. The right side of my body seemed to take the force of something in the accident and my right hip was already heavily bruised and purple. The blood from my right ear required more than a dozen stitches to bring it back together.

When the great staff at the hospital did their due diligence and realized I did not need immediate surgery, I was able to have my Diet Dr. Pepper. I was in excruciating pain, but there was no internal bleeding and all my internal organs seemed to be functioning as expected.

My fractured talus needed special care, so it was decided I would be transported to Macon on Monday for surgery on Tuesday.  They were gracious to schedule me first thing in the morning so if I was okay, I could come home the same day. Six screws and nine hours later, I remember waking up and knew with the amount of pain I was in, I did not want to go home. I stayed in the hospital one more day and should have stayed longer, but unfortunately, we had to return to bury our daughter.

I was discharged on July 4, and we requested no visitors so we could rest and prepare for visitation the next day. I was sent home with more medicines than I cared – opioids, blood thinners injected through my waist area, and a catheter down my leg of pain meds that was in theory going to keep me out of pain for a few days.

In reality, my pain spiked beyond measure. I was doing fine in the recliner one moment and then less than 30 minutes later I was screaming, “Cut if off, cut it off.” At that point, I did not care if someone cut off the cast or my leg; I just had to have relief. James unwrapped the bandages, cut through the gauze, and cracked the hardened cast to bring relief to what we could only imagine was my ankle swelling beyond the cast itself.

“I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”  Psalm 139:14

Our bodies are incredible and have the ability to protect themselves and heal themselves. It is truly amazing I am still here on this earth after sustaining such a trauma. However, that leaves so many unanswered questions.

If I could sustain being hit, why not Sophia? If God spared me, why didn’t He spare her? God surely had the power to protect me, so why would he allow me to live and Sophia die?  Surely God loves her as much as He loves me. 

Is her life really over? Has she done all that was required of her here on Earth? Why would an 18-year- old girl with so much life and love be struck down in an instance?  Did God not hear my prayers for protection of my children? Does He not care about the heartache we are feeling?

These questions haunt us as we try to understand God’s plan in the midst of our pain. We continue to try to make sense out of it all.  But we can’t. We do not have answers to these questions that roll daily through our minds. Sure, we know all the “Sunday School” answers, but those don’t currently bring comfort to our aching hearts. 

No answers now….at least none that feel right in this mother’s mind.

Family Identity

It was the day after being struck by a truck that landed me in the hospital and our daughter in heaven. Richard had summoned our boys home on Saturday, but getting them home was a larger task than requesting most 20-something year-olds home.

We have always encouraged our children to experience this beautiful world and take advantage of God’s great creation. Tifton is an amazing town and a great place to raise a family, but we have prompted them to explore our incredible planet with its unique features sprinkled around the globe. Our children had taken that to heart, and so we now were on a quest to bring them home.

All four children have been out of the country, and most of them have traveled there without us. Whether it was for pleasure, a mission trip, or to visit friends, crossing country boundaries means experiencing different people, food, and landscapes that make them unique. It was not rare to have us all scattered to different places, and this weekend was no different.

James, stationed in Guam at the time, was the first to be called. With a 15-hour head start on the day, it was almost midnight on Saturday there when he learned Sophia had passed away. Matthew had tickets to the Atlanta United game that day and had spent the night with friends in Gainesville when he got the call. But Richard could not reach Daniel. He had traveled to Italy to celebrate with his best friend Logan who just finished his master’s degree. On that day, they had rented a car to drive into Croatia to conquer yet another country. Finally, through friends and relatives of Logan, on the roadside in Croatia, Daniel heard the heartbreaking news for the first time.

Matthew made it back to Tifton on Saturday afternoon while I was still in the ER, but it took both James and Daniel over 24 hours travel time to make it to Georgia. As God would orchestrate it, their planes landed 15 minutes apart and just a gate away from each other. I can only imagine the lonely plane ride for both of them as they tried to process the events of the prior day, and I am certain the embrace in the terminal was full of emotion.

Friends picked them up from the Atlanta airport and brought them to Tifton, arriving Sunday afternoon. The reunion of these amazing four men in my life: Richard, my husband of 28 years, James, Daniel and Matthew, was captured from my hospital floor. My best friend Suzanne caught the huddle where Richard briefed them on my condition, tears were shed, and prayers lifted up.  

Richard has a saying that he has preached in our home and lived out through the years: “Peer pressure is only as strong as family identity is weak.” This principle has aided in keeping our children from going down a path filled with many regrets. They are surely not perfect, but neither are their parents, so perfection is not what we were ever striving for in raising them. We always wanted them to know they had a home full of unconditional love, fierce discipline, and much forgiveness.

Our early years of raising them consisted of, “We don’t behave that way; we are Fishers.” Or when prompted to do the right thing, “We are Fishers; we act this way.”  The main theme: We’re Fishers.

The hospital hall was cleared on the second floor so the men in my life could come directly to my room before seeing others. We spent time together and shed more tears before they headed out to the hallway to see friends and family.

Our close friend Patrick hugged Daniel’s neck and sincerely asked how we were all doing. Daniel spoke with confidence as he told Patrick, “We’re Fishers; we’re going to be okay.” Daniel was not being arrogant or nonchalant; he just was certain of his foundation of who he is and what it really means to be a Fisher.

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praise of him who called you out of the darkness into his wonderful light.” I Peter 2:9

All four of our children have chosen to identify and become followers of Christ. Their identity is strong in God and in our family. The foundation in both of these groups has made them who they are and continue to direct their paths daily.

The valley we continue to walk through is dry and filled with stifling dust, which sometimes makes it even hard to breathe. However, we know we are going to be okay, because after all, we are followers of Christ….and we’re Fishers.  

A Parent's Worst Nightmare

We left the house early that Saturday morning in order to stay on our triathlon-training schedule. It was for beginners like us, and although I have run many races and Sophia swam and ran in countless competitions, we were yet to tackle the swim, bike and run together. But, we had our sights set for August 11 and had been making strides to improve our overall health and athletic ability.

The day was going to be busy – bike, attend a funeral for a dear friend, and host a dinner party for 30 at our house for a couple getting married this summer. We loaded up the car, headed to the outskirts of town to park, and began our 12 mile out and back course.

After getting situated on our bikes, Sophia commented how her new biking shorts purchased just days earlier felt uncomfortable. We laughed and I assured her she would appreciate them as the miles progressed. We headed north, approached another two-lane road and seeing no vehicles coming either way, we headed west on our journey.

My mind fails me – or saves me – for I cannot remember much of the actual accident.  But I do remember the nightmare. In the ambulance standing at the end of my stretcher was a well-spoken man whose words I did not want to hear. “Mrs. Fisher, we did everything we could…”

Sophia had passed away. My one and only daughter was gone.

The nightmare continued as I was taken to the emergency room with injures still to be determined. Pain had overtaken my body and surely my heart was damaged – it hurt the worst. Richard left the house earlier than we did that morning for a run with his running group. Efforts were being made to contact him.

He made it to the ER knowing I had been in an accident but there had been no mention of Sophia. My bike rides many times were alone, and he had not put together that Sophia was with me that dreadful morning. It wasn’t until he was in my ER cubicle that he learned the apple of his eye was gone.

With no strength to stand, he began his nightmare.

He had the daunting task of calling our three boys to tell them of the morning’s events. He had to make more phone calls to family to inform them and ask them to come quickly to our side. I do not know how he had the strength to do what had to be done in the next few hours, but as he stood by my side, he was strong and broken, all tangled up together.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”  Psalm 23:4 (emphasis mine)

As we are literally maneuvering through this valley of death, we must keep moving. There are days where we feel as though we are literally crawling through the desert land. We look out in front of us and see only the dry, parched land with no end in sight. This is not a metaphor for me. With the multitude of injuries to my body, it is many times physically hard to get out of bed. I have to be intentional to rise up and move forward. It hurts - both physically and emotionally.

There are moments in this desert when my family and I see an oasis around us. We have a few good days and then it all dries up only to leave us with more desert land in every direction. We are thankful for those scattered good hours or days, but the desert land far outweighs the any fertile, lush land.

The nightmare lingers. There is no way to go back and change the course of that dreaded summer morning. However, we are determined to move forward. We will not set up camp around the devastation and loss. We will walk through this valley and carry the memories of Sophia with us as we search for the mountains where the view is much more inviting.  

The rest of that verse states, “I fear no evil, for You are with me.” God is here in our midst. Even in our worst nightmare when we feel as though all hope is lost, He walks with us through this valley. It does not always feel like He is there, but we trust His character and His Word, and we know God is with us through it all.

Thank you from the Fisher Family

Over the last two months, our family has felt an array of feelings like none we have felt before in our lives. Broken. Despair. Hurt. Anguish. Grief.  This roller coaster ride of emotions we have experienced since the tragic loss of our daughter Sophia is new territory for us. We have embarked on an uncertain path of life we are unclear where it will lead.

However, in the midst of the pain, we also have experienced other emotions from our community, family, and friends to a degree like none other. Support. Friendship. Love. Caring. Sacrifice. Hope. The way in which our community banded together and wrapped their arms around us has been overwhelming. We are so very thankful for your unwavering love toward us and could never fully express how your outpouring of support has given us the encouragement to move forward each day.

After the birth of our three boys, we asked God for a precious daughter, and along came our sassy, redheaded Sophia. We know children are a gift from Him and ours to raise and direct in a manner pleasing to God. Although far from perfect, we have strived to direct all our children to their purpose and calling in life. None of us knows how long or short those lives will be, so we took and continue to take steps to make most every moment count.

We never could have imagined Sophia’s life would only last 18 years here on earth, and we were certainly not ready to say good-bye. Nevertheless, while there is nothing that could completely take our pain away, your support toward our entire family has helped ease the pain. We know beyond any doubt we have countless people around us who sincerely care about each one of us.

Thank you! Thank you for your cards, flowers, texts, gift cards, charity donations, food, gifts, prayers, visits and overall love toward us. We are privileged to live in a community that binds together in the midst of both joys and sorrows. You have walked with us and continue to shower us with support as we try to define our new normal. 

As we all move forward through this wave of grief, we believe it is important to live by Sophia’s mantra: Be Happy. Happiness is a choice, and we encourage you to continue to love others and be a compassionate community.

Thank you for walking with the entire Fisher family during these difficult days.

Richard, Lynda, Tobey James, Daniel and Matthew Fisher
#behappy