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.
