I Should Have Believed Them

On April 24, the restorative dentist pushed back from the chair in the treatment room in which I sat. “Congratulations,” he said.  “You are all finished.” They were words I had prayed to hear.

It had been 21 months to the day since the funeral of my wife, Eleanor. She died July 20, 1998, from injuries sustained when a speeding car ran a traffic light and rammed into the taxi taking us to the airport in Durban, South Africa. We had been there to participate in the General Council meeting of the Baptist World Alliance and to help lead a writing workshop for Baptist journalists from the Third World.

The accident occurred about 6:30 a.m. Saturday, July 11. We were admitted to St. Augustine Hospital in serious condition. Eleanor was the first one taken to surgery. I followed. Afterwards the doctors said we would both recover, but three days later Eleanor lost consciousness and never woke from her coma. The board of directors of The Alabama Baptist arranged for us to be medically evacuated back to the United States after the doctors in South Africa certified that was Eleanor’s best chance to survive. However, she died about 34 hours after we landed in Birmingham.

The next day I was operated on a second time. This time they began the process of rebuilding my face, which had been shattered in the accident.

Maxillofacial surgery is done from the inside, so few scars are visible. The doctors also gave me a new nose and began restoring my mouth and jaw.

The day after my second surgery, I asked the doctors how long the recovery process would take. When they told me between 18 months and two years, I did not believe them. Recovery from heart transplants do not take that long. Now eight surgeries after the accident and more hours in the dental chair than I can count, I know I should have believed them.

The restorative dentist called his work a “full-mouth reconstruction.” Now I boast a lot of porcelain to go along with the plates and clips that hold the facial bones and eye sockets in place.

There is still a small problem with scar tissue. If something has to be done about it, it will be a minor problem, so I repeat what the doctor said:  The medical work is finished.

I am 20 pounds lighter than when the accident occurred. After my annual physical, the doctor pronounced me in good health. This spring, I participated in two 5K races. I learned to scuba dive in October and have been on 10 dives since then.

I have learned some other things, too. I have learned to fix a cherry cobbler, cook a roast and prepare vegetables and salads. Eleanor enjoyed having people in our home. I have tried to continue that hospitality. Four or five times I have had dinners for 10-12 people. Some of the mishaps are embarrassing. My children and their families have suffered through being the guinea pigs of my culinary ventures.

How I am doing emotionally is not as simple as how I am doing physically. One author whom I recently read pointed out people sometimes live on the fringes of their being. They live out of fear, out of hurt, out of need. These almost neurotic emotions keep people from living out of the center of who God created them to be, he wrote.

Looking back, I know I have lived on the fringes most of the time since the accident. The hurt has been deep. The fear, almost overwhelming. The need, immense. I did not recognize these needs at the time. Because I did not know the road signs of grief, I thought I was doing fairly well. I worked hard at my job. I attempted new things. I faced the emotions as honestly as I knew how.

At times, the emotion is still intense. Moments of grief come like giant waves leveling everything that dares to stand against them. About the time the doctor announced my medical work complete the waves of grief were constant and strong. Now they have subsided a little. It is easier to keep balance.

One of the most helpful things for me has been preaching regularly and leading a church as interim pastor. Through my years as a state Baptist paper editor, I have preached and served as an interim pastor on a regular basis. My first understanding of vocational calling was to be a preacher and pastor. Eleanor used to say that I changed — and not for the better — if I went very long without preaching.

Serving as interim pastor has reminded me of who I am in Jesus Christ and what I am supposed to be about. It is helping me reclaim my center and move away from the fringes. I am not there yet, but I am making progress. Please pray for me as the journey continues.