The Stained Magnolia

Time-Out

I felt a sharp pain in my side. Instinctively I cradled my barely visible bump. The pain only intensified. For a split second I was relieved because this meant I was actually able to feel something again. I had spent the better part of a week walking around comfortably numb. I didn't feel hunger. I didn't feel tired. I didn't, really even feel sad, at least not what I would have called sad before...

Even little annoyances like dried out contacts, or that fuzzy feeling you get on your teeth when you drank too much wine the night before, or the way your head gets itchy when you haven't washed or brushed it in a while, none of those things bothered me. I was parlyzed with grief.

My best friend, Lisa, had to help me remove my contacts that had stayed in for three days straight. My 13 year old son, Hudson, not so gently reminded me to brush my teeth. They forced me to pull myself together for this funeral. I was showered. I had on makeup, and Lisa had fixed my hair and bought me a long black flowy dress. So I was here. I was presentable. Unlike my husband, I was alive, but I was a shell of a person. I had walked around like a ghost since that fateful night, not able to think, or hear, or feel anything.
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We were on our way to a fundraiser for the hospital where my husband, Blake, had just been named the head of his department. It was the first time we had felt comfortable enough to leave Huddy at home alone, I was more than a little nervous. I was begging Blake to just let me call and check on him, or drop-in on the Alexa in the living room. My carefree and playful husband looked over at me. He was laughing but also trying to reassure me that we had raised a very responsible teenager.

Blake had taken his eyes off the road for less than a minute, when our Subaru beeped and flashed, alerting us that we needed to stop. A man was in the middle of the road waving his arms trying to get our attention.

The man was bleeding. He had a gash above his eyebrow and there seemed to be some glass stuck in his matted blonde hair. He was maybe 20 years old. Blake used the flashlight on his phone, to try and examine him in the dark. Then he motioned for me to join them. I exited the car and followed them over to the side of the road.

"This is Mathew," Blake began, "I need you to stay right here with him while I check on his girlfriend. He says she is stuck over there in the car."

He pointed to a green Acura NSX that was currently upside down on the other side of the road.

"Shouldn't we just call 911 and wait for EMTS?" I asked.

"Ashley, I am a surgeon. I have to help if I can." He sighed. I don't think he expected me to understand.

He handed me his phone. "Call 911. Tell them you are here with me and that I am head of trauma at Grady. Tell them that I think our friend Matt here, might have a brain bleed and needs a head CT."

"Blake.." I was trying to process all of this.

"Ash, babe, this young woman needs me. Stay here. Stay with him. Stay out of the road under this tree." He gently kissed my forehead. "I love you."

Before I could say another word, he was across the street. It was so dark I couldn't see what was going on over there, so I focused my attention on the man beside me and the instructions my husband had left.

I called 911. "Yes. There has been an accident," I started to say.

"No, I am not hurt." I answered the dispatcher's question. "My husband and I came across the accident." I paused and held onto my baby bump. "He's a trauma surgeon at Grady. Yes. His name is Dr. Blake Anderson. He believes-"

I was interrupted by a sudden explosion. The car had exploded.

"Blake! BLAKE!" I screamed. I hoped maybe he was far enough away from the car that was engulfed in flames. But there was no response. I wanted to run and find my husband. I started to take just one step in the road, and Mathew grabbed my arm.

"Miss. I can't let you go over there... There is nothing you can do."

There was a slur in his words, but he was clearly not going to let go of me. Despite being injured, he was a great deal stronger than me. He wrapped both arms around me. As he hugged me he must have felt my pregnant belly.

He asked, "Ma'am are you expecting?" I got the faintest whiff of whiskey on his breath.

"Yes. In fact I am 17 weeks today."

"Congratulations." That seemed so odd to say as we watched our loved ones burning right before us.

We stood there for a long time while we waited for the EMTS, firemen and police to arrive. When they did Mathew, went over to talk to the police and I stood frozen to the spot. I couldn't move.

The medics emerged from behind the charcoaled car with two body bags. When I saw them load the zipped bags onto stretchers, I hit my knees. My fallen was softened by a pile of white magnolia flowers, stained with blood.

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The excruciating pain brought me back to my reality. The preacher was still rambling on reading bible passages. He was getting to that part where the pastor tries to encourage those that don't believe in God to look further into the bible. I always hate this part of a funeral. It almost seems like a pastor in a timeshare realtor, but instead of a condo in Mexico he's trying to sell you on Heaven. Instead of promising sandy beaches, this pastor was promising that you would one day see your loved one again, if only you just believed.

I always considered myself a believer. But right now, let's just say God was on a time out. I couldn't reach out and talk to a God that would take away my husband, but leave behind the drunk he was trying to help. I couldn't talk to a God, that would leave my perfect teenager fatherless right when he needs him most. I couldn't talk to a God that would finally give me the baby girl I had been praying for, only to take away her father before she was born. While I was sure God was real, I sometimes just wished he wasn't.

This would all make sense and be easier if it were random. If I could just blame the universe or chance. This pastor was rambling on about trusting in God's plan and knowing that he wouldn't give us anything we can't handle. I was standing there, waving the white flag. I had been a faithful follower. We went to church. I read my bible. We were good people. My husband saved lives! But God couldn't spare his. I was angry and I was hurt.

I wanted to reach out and make the preacher man just stop talking. Just leave me here with my husband's casket, and let me be. I might have actually said something, but then that pain in my stomach came again, this time taking my breath away.

I felt a trickle run down my leg.

This was a good sign. Was my water breaking? It was too early to go into labor. I felt more stabbing pain radiating. I felt weak in the knees and light headed. I could feel more liquid gushing from my pelvis and down my legs all the way to my shoes. I lifted my dress just a bit to take a peake. It wasn't amniotic fluid, it was blood. I was bleeding. This was definitely not good.