The Sadness

The following notice was on our Base's Facebook page:

"In response to the swimming accident that occurred Sunday, a U.S. Air Forces in Europe Traumatic Stress Response Team consisting of chaplains, mental health representatives and Airman and Family Readiness Center professionals will be available at the Health and Wellness Center 24 hours a day. Walk-ins are encouraged. All counseling received will be undocumented."

This notice gave me, "permission" if you will, to share some of the sadness I referred to my previous post. I have refrained from writing about it since JB is a doctor. He gets information that the general public may not get, and we both want to make sure that we are sharing is public knowledge and not knowledge we have but should keep to ourselves.

We got word late Sunday night that Cheryl, a woman we know very well at Incirlik, was involved in an drowning accident at a local Turkish beach. I will skip the details because details can get blurry in translation. But what is known is that she is in very critical condition as she was without oxygen for an extended period of time. She was actually transfered here to Germany late last night, and as I write this, JB is up at Landstuhl, where she is now a patient. (This is the same hospital where I will deliver Abigail.)

Not only does this woman live two doors down from us, but she was the NP (nurse practitioner) that was seeing me throughout my pregnancy. In fact, she handled all the details for my transfer to Germany and was in my backyard the night before I left giving me a present for our little girl while she petted Scrubby. She is JB's immediate supervisor at the Clinic, and the two of them worked wonderfully together. John said that they talked numerous times a day, and he only ever had positive things to say about her. She has two young children who were with her at the time of the accident.

If you have been following my blog for a long time, you may remember the scuba diving accident JB and I were involved with back in November of 2009. A woman in our dive group drowned. I was the last person to talk to her alive. This was a very traumatic thing for me, and I think that her accident, coupled with Cheryl's accident this past weekend, has left me with a real dislike for the ocean. I hate to admit this as the beach has always been a major part of my life. But I have actually felt anger toward the water. That sounds so dumb, but it is how I have been feeling.

I also hate the feeling of unexpected loss. Just two days ago I got word that one of my very good friends lost her father-in-law in a freak accident at his home. They are obviously reeling from this tragedy and trying to make their way through something turning their world, so quickly, on its axis. I remember my best friend Kristi's loss in 2007 when her brother was killed in a small plane crash. When I was a new teacher, my athletic director was killed when his truck slid on some ice into the path of an uncoming train. He jumped out and saved his daughter but was unable to save himself.

Death is so sudden. So final. And often, so very unexpected. Is it easier if we expect it? I don't know. But with death comes the knowledge that we will never see that person again, ever, on Earth. I know this can happen. But when it does happen, I never seem prepared for the emotions that begin circling around me, inside me. They keep me awake. They dominate my thinking.

I know, that as a Christian, life on this Earth is but a vapor. I know that my real life, my forever life, will begin, when I leave this Earthly body. I know that. But I also know that my Earthly body and heart feels sadness. I grieve for people whose lives will be forever impacted by something that came "out of nowhere." I hate pain. Sadness. It stinks.

I hope we all remember as we hug our friends and family and loved ones today, how temporary life is. We can only deal with today. Today I love the Lord. I worship Him. I celebrate my 34 years on this Earth. And tomorrow, I thank the Lord for another day. It may be my last day. I pray we always remember that.