A Story, True Story Part 1

I'm not sure if I can write this. It's long and involved and long past. But it has been much on my mind, and I think I need to write it, should write it, so I will begin to attempt.

April 1976. Wayne, my husband, was driving from his early morning seminary class, which he taught, to the JR Simplot Company, where he worked. The road cut through a rural area, alongside fields, and was no doubt sparsely traveled in the early morning. But at a certain intersection--two-way stop--a young woman ran the stop sign and crashed into the driver's side of Wayne's car. Because she was driving a large car and traveling fast, and because she did not slow her car, it hit with great force, pushing the part where Wayne was sitting nearly to the center of his car. People who later saw it, a small Datsun station wagon (smaller than you're thinking) wondered how he survived.

Wayne's parents happened to be visiting, and as we sat at the breakfast table, the doorbell rang. It was Mel Priest--I don't remember if he was our bishop at that time or just a friend from our ward. He had come to deliver the news of Wayne's accident. His face told much. I believe he thought Wayne would die. Wayne had been taken by ambulance to the Caldwell hospital. We lived in Caldwell.

I think Goldie, my father-in-law, took me down to the hospital. That makes sense, but I may have driven myself. Anyway, I left my four-month-old baby girl and three-year-old son with Grandma. When I got to the hospital, I was told I could not see my husband, that he would soon be transported by ambulance to St Al's hospital in Boise because of his severe injuries, especially his head injury. He was not conscious, and they seemed to assume that there was no reason to see him since he was unconscious, but I still wanted to see him.

A police officer was there, speaking very sympathetically to the young woman who had run the stop sign and put my husband's life in jeopardy. For a long time they spoke, ignoring me, although I had told him who I was. I had a hard time feeling sorry for her. Her name was Susan Roblyer.

If this narrative sounds ordered and calm, please know that I am calmish now, 40 years later, but at that time I was less than calm, trying to be calm while I was actually frightened beyond my ability to convey in writing. My husband, young, father of six, good man, good looking (not that it matters, except to me) might die, and I could hardly face that possibility. I remember asking my father-in-law if he thought Wayne would die. I don't know what he said. I know I wanted my husband here with us, needed him here with us, with me.

We went home, and I prepared to follow the ambulance to St Al's. This time I took my baby girl, Alyce with me. After all, I was a nursing mother, ill-prepared and not willing to leave her.