By noon, I had cried so much and so hard that I had a huge headache, and it was getting worse and worse. I called the doctor’s office, and they called in a prescription…two prescriptions, maybe…I don’t really remember. Something to help with the headache. I have no idea how the prescription(s) got to our house.
I don’t remember a lot about the rest of that day.
I remember it seemed like we took turns falling apart – me standing in the kitchen, my knees going out from under me as I sobbed; hearing Joe sobbing and running to hold him; Joe doing likewise for me and Jenna. I went from intense pain…to surreal detachment, like I was watching someone else’s life…and back again. Back and forth.
People started arriving in the early afternoon. Someone brought sandwiches and sodas. Another one brought boxes of Kleenex.
I opened the front door to a couple we’d known since before Jason was born, and the husband (who I had never seen cry) broke into sobs and reached out to give me a big hug. My instinct was to try to comfort him.
A group of people from our old church arrived. I remember one gal being in a constant swirling motion trying to figure out how to go to Arizona to tell her daughter about Jason. She wanted to make sure she could tell her daughter in person. It was something about using someone’s frequent flier miles, when to go, how to get off work. It went on and on, and seems like so many other people from that group were caught up in the swirl of activity over it. Maybe they needed something to focus on.
I just remember sitting there watching all of them, thinking how I had called Eric, my mom, my sister, practically everyone I knew…and had told them all over the phone about the death of our precious son. I couldn’t figure out why she needed to tell her daughter in person. There’s no other way to say it – it was just surreal.
Some other people stopped by – Jason’s co-workers from the hardware store; people I knew from our local Albertson’s; some people from our homeschool group. Our neighbors called, trying to tie together all the cars in our driveway and what they’d heard about a car accident close by.
At one point in the afternoon, I answered the phone when it rang. It was a young man from one of Jason’s classes at the college, asking to speak to Jason about a math problem he couldn’t figure out. When I told him Jason had been killed in a car accident that morning, he thought I was joking.
About all I remember about the rest of that day is indescribable pain…and numbness…and feeling like it was all so surreal.