A Good Society

Once in a while our eyes are opened to what’s right in society. The news often reports criminal activity and the negative things which happen. Saturday night I witnessed a lot of goodness when a tragic accident happened in our neighborhood.

 Image Credit: KSL & Tyler Woolstenhulme

While making dinner, I heard sirens rush past our house and then a loud helicopter engine, which made me realize something was seriously wrong. Apprehensively, I walked outside to see a life-flight helicopter hovering low in the sky, appearing to look for the right place to land. I hurried to the top of the street and saw a lot of police cars blocking the road. I know and care about those people who live in the homes where the police cars were. A fearful chill ran down my spine as I worried about what was going on. I spotted a few other neighbors hurrying to the scene and decided to stay out of the way. I waited and watched at the top of the street.

The helicopter landed and after what seemed like forever, I saw one neighbor leaving the scene and walking back towards his home. I rushed in his direction to find out what was happening. Obviously shaken by the sight, he spoke quietly with a sad, regrettable tone in his voice and told me a young boy, who he didn’t recognize, had been hit.

“Why hasn’t the helicopter left yet?” I anxiously asked, fearing that the boy might not live.

“I don’t know, maybe he didn’t survive or maybe it’s not as bad as they thought,” he said with a trembling voice.

Image Credit: KSL & Tyler Woolstenhulme

It’s a heartbreak for sure when tragedy strikes, but when an innocent child is involved the pain is more intense. I didn’t know who had been hit, yet I felt sorrowful, not only for the boy, but the whole family affected and the driver of the vehicle. Upset by the news, I paced back and forth for a moment longer, wondering if I could be of help or if I’d just be in the way.

My feet turned and reluctantly carried me toward the accident. I recited in my mind what I would say and do to give support and care to my neighbors. I silently prayed for inspiration to do and say the right thing as I headed in their direction. I witnessed the helicopter lift in the air and speed toward the Wasatch Mountains where our renowned Primary Children’s Hospital is located. Relieved by the thought that the boy was now on his way to the best medical care in our state, I also realized how serious his condition must be.

When I reached the accident site, I observed a neighbor leading eight to ten children away from the commotion. These children were obviously in shock and a wise neighbor had the foresight to get them away from the scene and over to her house. I admired her clear mind and calming influence as she walked with them peacefully across the road, now closed to traffic, toward her house. I’ve respected this neighbor for many years, but my esteem for her grew by leaps and bounds as she seemed to know just what was needed and calmly did it.

Another neighbor filled me in on the details as he knew them. A young family was leaving a baptism celebration which was held at our neighbor’s home. While walking to their vehicle their three-year-old boy left his mother’s side and darted out into the road. In that split second lives were changed forever.

Another neighbor who happens to be a doctor gave the young boy CPR and medical attention until the paramedics arrived. Other neighbors gathered to give care and support to the families involved.

Later I learned there were no drugs, alcohol or speeding involved. The police reported it as an unfortunate freak accident. The driver was not at fault and had no time to stop when the boy darted out in the street.

Regrettably, the little boy died later that evening and the whole neighborhood is mourning the loss of a boy who most of us personally didn’t know.

Through the sadness, I’m amazed by the love and care of people. Too often our attention is drawn to what’s wrong in our world. Yet most people are genuinely good. Our beliefs may differ. We may not agree on how our city, state or country should be run. We may wish our neighbors would be more thoughtful at times and about certain situations. However, when it comes to a crisis, most people pull together and I witnessed that last night. Today, I’m grateful for the society we live in and the thoughtfulness of others. I’m thankful for police officers and investigators who are steady in horrific circumstances. I’m grateful for how quickly medical assistance can arrive in an emergency. I’m thankful for neighbors, friends and strangers whose best character traits can be realized and appreciated in a tragedy. I’m grateful to know even strangers mourn with those affected by heartbreak. I’m fortunate to live in a good society where most people do care about others.

Laura’s Story, Part 5

My name is Christine Scott. I’m a forty-six-year-old mother of five children and I grew up with a mentally disabled sister. In my first segment of Laura’s Story, I recounted her birth and slow development. In Part 2, I told about the impact of her seizures and Part 3, her fight with cancer. Part 4 revealed how I learned about the accident which lead to my father’s death.

Life has a way of going on, even when tragedy strikes. You put one foot in front of the other and get through the hard times. I wish I could say my family survived the year my dad died by praying and relying on our faith, but I can’t. We weren’t the praying type. I believe it was the love and faith of others that carried us through those dark hours and days.

Laura & I

Even though I wasn’t aware of it at the time, my dad’s death shook the small community of Morgan, Utah, and those good people surrounded us with their love and support. Our house was being sold out from under us so we had to move and with Dad gone, there was no longer a reason for us to stay in Morgan. We had planned to move to Ogden, but after his death it was decided we should move in with my grandparents in Kearns, Utah.

My dad passed away on a Wednesday and we had his funeral on Saturday. It was a closed casket viewing because his head was crushed during the accident, with only a graveside service.The service was simple, the way he would have wanted it. Since he was an army veteran, his plot was donated along with his headstone.

Roland Sinfield, an angel in our lives and a colleague of Dad’s, sold equipment and hang gliders out of my dad’s shop and put collection jars around Morgan to raise money for our family. After daddy’s funeral, he gave my mom $700 from those collection jars to help cover funeral and moving expenses.

We had many other angels in our lives and my aunt Jean was one of them. Single handedly she packed up our house—which she deserves a medal of honor for this amazing feat. I’d spent the previous summer in the field by our house, catching the biggest grasshoppers I could find. I put them in mason jars and stacked them in my closet. I don’t know how many jars I collected, but the bottom of the closet was pretty full. After all these years I think Aunt Jean is still traumatized from cleaning out that closet.

Laura, age 12

We moved in with my grandparents in Kearns, Utah. In less than two weeks after my dad’s death, my mom enrolled Laura and I in new schools.When I asked my mom about this time in Laura’s life, she doesn’t remember much about how the events affected Laura. She was struggling through her own pain. She does remember sitting with a counselor at Hartvigsen, the special education school in Granite School District. While getting Laura enrolled, Eric, who was only eight weeks old, began to cry. Laura told the counselor he was crying because we needed to teach him how to talk. My mom said it was so cute and one of her favorite memories of Laura. I’m happy she’s able to look back at this difficult time and find a small amount of joy.

In addition to the angels in our lives to help us through this time, we had our habits and routines. Doing activities which were important like going to school, washing dishes, caring for our newborn baby brother Eric. By getting back to our normal lives—we began to heal.

Family photo with the grandparents we lived with after daddy passed away.

Recalling my dad’s death, I take a great amount of comfort in how we survived this tragedy, in how our family and community pulled together for us. No one wants bad things to happen in their lives, myself included. But if tragedy strikes—I know my family and I will be all right because we’ve been through some pretty rough circumstances and came out stronger in the end.

Thank you, Christine, for sharing how your family coped with the loss of your father. I know from my own experience the value of the love and support from family and friends. The kindness of strangers in a community is heartwarming and uplifting . The total impact of many is huge in carrying us through difficult times. I like the saying, “if you care and you give, you are a caregiver.” This segment of your life truly demonstrates the variety of caregivers. While your mom was the major caregiver for you, your sister with special needs and an infant, thank heaven there were angels that carried her through those dark days. Generally speaking, we often don’t realize the difference we can make in another’s life.

I’m grateful for the angels in my life and in yours.

 

Laura’s Story, Part 4

Christine Scott

My name is Christine Scott. I’m a forty-six-year-old mother of five children and I grew up with a mentally disabled sister. In my first segment of Laura’s Story, I recounted her birth and slow development. In Part 2, I told about the impact of her seizures and Part 3, I told about her fight with cancer. Processing the memories and spending time reminiscing with my mother about my sister’s life is exactly what I needed—and my mom too.

 

How come when we finally get our lives into a good place, it seems like forces combine and everything falls apart? At least this is how I used to feel before I grasped a better  understanding of adversity and how it can work in our lives for our progression.

After Laura’s recovery from cancer, life was good for my mom. Laura’s hair came back in thick and with soft waves. She gained weight and stopped catching every virus which came along. Mom’s career at Ogden Weber was blossoming. She had a support system and was learning new things every day.

Then my dad felt like it was time to have another baby. Mom didn’t agree. That ship had sailed years ago for her.

But in the end, Mom lost, Dad won, and my little brother was on his way, which put ten years’ difference in age between us. I can say I didn’t blame my mom. It was like starting over again with another new family. This meant she’d have to quit her job to take care of a newborn and she’d have to face all those what-if’s she’d experienced with Laura.

My brother, Eric, was born on September 2, 1979, a month after his due date and weighed over eleven pounds. Laura loved him. She often touched his hand and made funny faces at him.

Dad, Klaus Hill

At this time, my dad was under a tremendous amount of stress. In addition to my brother’s birth, one of his business associates was pressuring him to motorize a previous hang glider he had built. This man weighed much more than anyone who’d flown this particular hang glider before, which was making it hard to get the design right.

We were currently renting another older home, which the owner sold out from under us. There weren’t any houses for rent in Morgan, so we started looking at rentals in Ogden and my dad would make the drive to Morgan—which meant I’d have to change schools. This was the backdrop to the tragedy which struck my family.

You should have some type of warning before your life unequivocally changes so you have the chance to do things differently—to take advantage of those last moments to say “I love you” and “goodbye.”

October 10, 1979, I woke up late and feeling grouchy. I thought I had missed my bus and daddy offered to give me a ride to school, but I glanced out the living room window and saw kids still waiting in line for the bus.  So I hurried to my bus stop while my dad’s old car rattled by. I had no idea I’d never see him again, but over the years I’ve always regretted not getting that last ride to school with him.

It was during lunch I found out. I was in line getting my food—enchiladas. It’s funny how certain details stay with you for a lifetime. Two women stood at the far end of the room glancing at all the students. When I recognized my neighbor, my stomach fell.

Suzanne, my neighbor, motioned for me to come over. I wandered over, carrying my lunch tray. She told me to leave my lunch and that I was needed at home. Those were the only words she said to me, no matter how many times I asked her what was wrong. She just walked me to her car and drove me home in silence while I silently fought the urge to scream at her.

People I’d never seen before crowed into my living room. The county sheriff was there. Everyone stood like statues. I don’t remember who told me my dad had been killed while taking the glider with design flaws on a test flight. I’m assuming it was my mom. I don’t remember if she held me while I cried, but I hope she did. I don’t even remember if Laura was there. I’m thinking she might have still been at school.

Our adversities don’t define us unless we let them, but experiencing the death of a parent when you’re in your childhood changes your life. You learn the world isn’t a safe place and death is very real and can strike at any moment—a fear I’ve always carried for every person I’ve ever loved.

Laura’s disability served as a blessing for her because she didn’t understand death or “going to heaven,” which is what my mom told her every time she asked where daddy was. While alive, he was away from us so much she thought he’d simply be home in a few days. I wonder how long it took before she stopped waiting for him to come home.

I wouldn’t trade these experiences because they have made me more compassionate. I wish my kids knew their grandfather, but the trials we must pass through are not given to us by chance—every hard time in our lives has a specific purpose, a specific design. We may not understand that purpose in this life, but some day we will, and that knowledge is what keeps me going during the dark days.

Thank you, Christine, for sharing such tender and difficult memories. I love the pictures of your dad and can see the passion he had for hang gliders in the expressions on his face.  I imagine this caregiving journey for your sister took an unexpected hard turn with the passing of your dad. I look forward to your next segment and learning how you all coped. 

 

 

Life Must Go On

With the tragedy of the car accident and Mark in a coma my life felt like it had stopped. One night Dad drove me to the grocery store to pick up some essential items. It was awkward to be amongst happy and carefree people who were walking up and down the aisles, chatting with another about what they needed to make delicious meals, or what they wanted as a treat. This common environment now seemed outlandish. Weren’t these people aware of the pain and trauma that was so prevalent at the hospital just a block away? I had become used to seeing individuals filled with worry and heartache; it seemed odd to be around healthy and happy people. I felt out of place.

I was grateful our children had school, homework, friends, and activities which kept them busy, yet it was difficult to support all their endeavors. Thankfully, I had family who helped. Near the last day of school there was a party for the children and parents which included dancing. I’ve always loved to dance, but now it took all the strength I could gather and to put a smile on my face a do a line dance with my child.

I bounced back and forth between a world full of tragedy, pain, illness and sorrow at the hospital to another full of pleasure, comfort, good health and happiness at home. I appreciated the reprieve from the hospital, yet it made me uncomfortable. It just didn’t feel right to be away from Mark.

My thirty-second birthday was six weeks after the accident. I wasn’t in the mood for celebrating, but it was a big day despite my feelings. At the hospital, Mark was lifted out of the floatation bed he was in due to a large blood clot in his right leg and strapped into a big white reclining wheelchair for the first time. His eyes were wide open with a terrified looked as they moved him from the bed. I thought he must be frightened by not having control over his body while being moved. He was upright for one hour three separate times that day, which felt like a giant step in the right direction. I even saw him move his fingers while he was sitting up, which brightened my day.

I came home to a kitchen decorated with balloons, cake and happy birthday signs made by the kids. After dinner and cake we were off to Christopher’s first Pinewood Derby Race. My dad had spent hours helping him make his car. I was grateful for the time he took to support and help make this race possible for Christopher. Two days before the accident Mark and I went to the Cub Scout meeting with Christopher where they passed out the pinewood box kit and talked about the race. Mark and Christopher were excited to work on the car together. While driving to Ogden that stormy tragic day, Mark told me all about the cars he’d made as a kid and how he looked forward to helping Christopher with his car. There was no doubt in my mind that Mark was as excited about this Pinewood Derby Race as our son was and the memory of our conversation hung over me like a dark cloud. I knew that if Mark was awake he’d be terribly disappointed he was missing out.

Excitement filled the building as parents and children gathered for the big race. Despite the fact I was amongst family and friends, I felt as uncomfortable at the Pinewood Derby Race as I did at the grocery store or the school dance, but I knew life must go on and I didn’t want to deprive our kids of any happiness. I smiled and cheered for Christopher’s car as it zoomed down the track and beat every other car and finally took first place. I was thrilled for him, yet heart-broken for Mark. I watched Christopher get his trophy and we took smiling pictures, yet inside I was crying and I couldn’t help but wonder if Christopher was too. I was delighted that he won, yet grieving for his missing Dad. I felt torn between two different worlds causing opposites in emotions. It was a bitter sweet birthday with milestones happening in both the worlds I was living in. It was also the day I realized that no matter where I was life must go on.

Chris with Grandpa

Christopher’s winning smile

Receiving 1st place

 

Once again he wins the race.

 

 

 

 

 

 

All bragging set aside. The red car wins by a landslide.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1991 Pinewood Derby
1st place trophy

My favorite part of the pinewood derby experience is the next time Christopher saw his dad after the race, he took his prize car and trophy to the hospital and gave them to him. The car and trophy stayed on the nightstand next to Mark’s bed during the many months of his next recovery stage at the rehab hospital. When Mark came home from the rehab hospital, I asked Christopher if he wanted to keep the car and trophy in his room now. He said, “No, I gave them to Dad.” To this day, nearly twenty-four years later, the car and trophy are still on the nightstand next to Mark’s bed. This token of love from a remarkable eight-year-old boy is still appreciated and the memory of it will be cherished forever.