Lori Rasmussen

March 17, 2010 was the day I lost my parents in a terrible car accident.  That was three weeks ago today and my life has changed in ways I never could have imagined, and the word “surreal” doesn’t begin to describe the circumstances that have continued to unfold in the aftermath of this awful event. I’ve always thought of serious blogging as an exercise in narcissism, but everyday since the accident I’ve felt more and more compelled to put some of what I am feeling into words as I try to make sense of a world without my mother in it. This blog is mostly for me, but if the things I am planning to talk about resonate with others who have experienced grief or tragedy, it makes it easy to share.

First of all, the accident. My parents were killed on a two-lane Texas highway south of Austin as they made their way to Port Aransas on the Gulf Coast for Spring Break. My own children, Colin and Sophie, aged 10 and 7, and another teenage girl were in my parents’ minivan. The beach vacation was an annual whole family affair; I had to work that day, and my husband and I planned on heading down about 6 p.m. that night. My parents and children wanted to get an earlier start. We still don’t know exactly what time they left their house in Mustang, Okla. that morning. All we know is at  about 9:49 a.m, my step-dad, Bruce, an  extremely cautious driver, apparently crossed the center line and collided head-on with a pickup truck driven by a teenage boy, whose friend was in the passenger seat. My mother was killed on impact. Bruce was mediflighted to a hospital in Austin where he died later that day. My children were taken by ambulance to the wonderful Dell Children’s Hospital, where my son spent several days after the crash.  The two boys in the pickup were treated and released from the hospital.

I got the call about 11:30 that morning while at work. The mother of the other little girl traveling with our family called me frantically and told me there had been an accident, that my children were both in the hospital. She gave me the name of a social worker at the hospital and the phone number, that’s all she knew. I could barely breathe as I made the phone call. “Your children are here. They are conscious and alert.” There are no words to describe the relief I felt when I heard those words. Any mother can probably imagine it. “Your parents were taken to Brackenridge hospital,” she continued.

I asked a co-worker/friend to Google that number and place the call as I got more familiar with my children’s conditions. “Guess we won’t get our beach trip this year,” I thought to myself. “I hope Mom and Bruce aren’t banged up too bad.” My co-worker said he had Brackenridge on the phone, and Bruce was there. Mom was not. “That’s strange.” Maybe she just hadn’t been admitted yet,” I thought. I quickly brought my boss up to speed on what I was working on, grabbed my purse and left the office. It was only while driving home from work that a feeling of dread began to overtake me. My husband, Greg, had also spoken with the hospital, we planned to meet at home and immediately leave for Austin. We had already arranged for his mom to take our dogs for a few days while we vacationed at the beach, he had not yet returned from dropping them off when I arrived home.

I now had a few minutes to think since we were already packed for the trip. Who would be able to get me information about where my mom had been taken? The Texas Department of Public Safety, I reasoned. As a reporter, I know when you want to talk to a person at DPS,and not an automated phone system, you don’t call the main number, you call the Public Information Office. I quickly found that number on the Internet.

“Hello,” I said in my big,  important professional voice.”  I am trying to get some information about an accident that occurred near Austin this morning. My family was involved in that crash, and I can’t locate my Mom, I guess I am just trying to rule out that there may have been any fatalities associated with that accident.”

Silence.

This was the PR person I was talking to. The guy who talks to the media, not to families who’ve lost loved ones.

“I don’t know any names or specifics, ma’am. All I can tell you is I know of one bad wreck near Austin and there was a lady killed in it.”

Now I was silent as I processed what he had just said to me.

“Maybe it wasn’t the same wreck,” he said softly, and that’s when I first realized my Mom was probably gone.

We got on the highway and headed south. By now it was almost 2 p.m. It was less than 30 minutes later when my step-brother called and confirmed what in my heart I already knew. I didn’t know I was capable of crying that hard or hurting that much. I got another phone call saying my son was now in ICU because his liver was injured and that needed constant monitoring. The chaplain called and said neither child knew their grandmother was gone, and we decided to wait and tell them ourselves. Greg and I both felt we needed to be there for them when they found out. The worst feeling of all was I was seven hours away from Austin, and my children, and my step-dad who was now a widow. That gave me seven hours to really think about what was happening, the decisions we were facing, and the realities of what I was going to be facing in the coming weeks and months. Seven hours. Total blur. I remember we stopped at a Dairy Queen to use the bathroom. While waiting on my husband, almost out of habit I ordered some ice cream to eat in the car. I remember it didn’t taste like anything and I threw it away.

We got to Austin, found the hospital, and went to Sophie’s room first.  Her injuries were the least severe, so we planned to wheelchair her up to her brother’s room in ICU and tell them together. Just before we walked into her room, we got a text message that my step-dad had died too. More aching and tears. A nurse gave me a chair to sit in while I collected myself before I walked in. I didn’t know what she was going to look like. We were told most of her injuries came from the seatbelt, but we also knew there were some “cuts” from all the broken glass.

We walked in. Her perfect, beautiful face broke out in a million-watt smile. The most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen in my life.

“I thought you’d never get here!” She grinned.

We fussed over her, then went upstairs to her brother’s room where he was sleeping. We woke him up and fussed over him a bit too. Greg and I joined hands with them in a big circle and broke the news. More crying. I knew this was only the first of so many tears to come. We told them that their surviving the crash would have been the most important thing to their grandparents, and that is true. The other child in the car, the 15-year-old “foster grandchild” to my mom was also okay, and her own mother arrived around the same time to be with her. The nurses said we could sleep in the hospital beds with the kids if we wanted that night. I went with Sophie, Greg stayed with Colin, and at some point during the night we switched. Neither of us really slept at all that night, but at some point, I dozed off for about 30 minutes, woke up thinking it was all a dream, but reality quickly set in. That was how that first day of my new life without my Mom began.