 Jim and I settled in Marshfield in June of 1988. We moved here from Aurora, CO in search of a lower cost of living as our income had changed. We moved to this area because Jim had two sisters living in Springfield. Both he and I had been married before. I had two daughters living in Colorado and Jim’s daughter lived in Oklahoma. Both my daughters stayed in Colorado when we moved here. Jim’s sisters have both passed away.
As our son began to deal with mental health issues such as anxiety and depression when he was young, he started to self-medicate. This led to suicidal thoughts and drug use. It eventually led to problems with the law. We started getting anxious from worrying about him. There were days when we didn’t know whether he was alive or dead. It was a very scary time for our family.
Late one night my boys asked me “Where is daddy?” I told them…he stayed late at work. The next morning they asked, “Where is daddy?” I told them he had to get up early to go to work. The truth was, I didn’t want to tell them the truth. You see…I didn’t know where Daddy was. But I knew he was off somewhere in a drunken stupor and I just hoped and prayed that he was safe, and more importantly, that everyone else was safe. For every driver in his path and every person he met, I prayed for their safety more than I prayed for his. Sometimes days would go by with no word from him, no call, no text, nothing…just fear…fear that he could be in jail, or dead, or heaven forbid, have killed someone else in an accident.
For years I didn’t know, I didn’t know my husband struggled with alcoholism, depression, and suicidal thoughts. When the disease of alcoholism reared its ugly head, it did so with a power and all-consuming darkness I had never felt. Darkness and fear consumed my thoughts and life off and on for years. On Friday, January 29, 2016, I was preparing to leave to serve at a women's ministry event where we were expecting over 500 women to attend. My husband, Chris, was to drive one of the buses that would transport the women. Late morning I heard sirens go past my house, and then more sirens, and then more and more. I stopped, as I often did, to pray for all those involved, both as victims and as responders. I also began to get uneasy, as I knew Chris would be traveling that highway home anytime.
I attempted to call him several times over the 30 minutes or so, only to have the calls go to voicemail. I told myself to quit worrying, that he was occupied at our farm. The uneasiness persisted, and I prayed for God to give me peace and calm, and to do away with 'unjustified worry." I remember thinking, if something truly had happened to him, a highway patrol car would be sent to my house. When I was 25, my best friend died of ovarian cancer just before I started Medical School. I once described that loss as an explosion without any sound.
About a year and a half later, I was talking to a classmate, Paul, whose dad had died when he was 14. He said, "You're mad at God." I had grown up in church, so immediately I wanted to deny that. I thought that it had to be some kind of terrible sin, but then I realized he was right. My Chaos began Dec. 23, 1996, when I was one month away from turning 42 years old. My husband went out to play basketball with one of our sons, some nieces, nephews, and friends. He never returned home. He fell on the court with a massive heart attack and was unable to be revived.
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