November 14, 2004 to November 14, 2011

They say time is a great healer, and in some ways I believe that is true.

But I have also learned that time can sometimes give us a clearer picture of something — and that clearer picture can make the pain even deeper when we look back.

On November 14, 2004, my then husband and our 6 1/2-year-old son were involved in a horrific car accident.

My ex-husband survived, but Alex sustained a very complicated set of injuries. Truly, only by the mercy of God — and His plan — is Alex still here.

This post is actually harder for me to write now than it would have been then.

Back then, I was in survival mode.

My youngest child was only three days old. I had to tell my 4-year-old that his daddy and brother — the brother he was inseparable from — had been in a serious car accident.

I had to ride to the hospital while looking at my precious three children in the back seat, so innocent and unaware of what was happening. I fully believed I might arrive and learn that my oldest son had gone home to be with his Father in heaven.

I asked God to give me strength.

I knew I would have to let Alex go if that was what God had ordained. Alex was not mine in the ultimate sense. He belonged to God. I had only been entrusted with him for the time God allowed, not the time I wanted.

I even called a friend who had lost her daughter the previous year to help me prepare.

Then came the whirlwind.

People in the waiting area.
My babies leaving with a dear friend and not coming back for two days.
My newborn staying with me so I could nurse him when needed.
My oldest baby lying in the PICU — and at that point, I did not even know what PICU meant.

Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.

No one who has not been in that position can fully understand that feeling.

My 4-year-old understood enough to know something was terribly wrong, but he was still so tender and little. I had to watch my children leave while I stayed with Alex.

I had to just do what needed to be done.

Now, when I think back to those moments, I break down.

I felt like I could not help any of my babies.

Seven years have passed since that day.

I understand now that God brought His hands in to help us on that November day in 2004.

The trauma has had many blows over these years. I have watched my oldest son come back mentally while still remaining in an incredibly fragile physical condition. I have watched my other children go through far more than I ever did at their ages. My heart has been shattered over and over again.

There have been many times I had to leave them for days, and sometimes weeks, to go to the hospital with Alex. There were times I had to kiss them goodbye while heading out the door and see the concern on their little faces, knowing I could not take away their pain.

I have tried to teach them that God is always there for them.

He is.

But it still hurts.

Seven years has healed some things, but in other ways the anniversary of the accident is harder now than it was in those first few years.

Some dear people in my life still cannot talk about the day of the accident because it remains too real and too painful.

Time has allowed me to grow in ways I never could have imagined. I feel deeply for others who suddenly find themselves in trauma because I understand that kind of pain in a very real way.

I hate hearing a medical helicopter.

And when I have been in the PICU with Alex in more recent years, I am no longer the rookie parent. I am the veteran.

When I see new families come in, I cry for them. I hurt for them. I know some of what may be ahead.

Time does many things.

For this mom, seven years later, the trauma feels more real in some ways than it did at the beginning.

Because now the shock is not blocking everything.

Now I feel the pain more deeply.

Time….