The Vow: The True Events That Inspired the Movie (15 page)

In my heart I wanted Krickitt to improve so badly, but encouraging her was a risky proposition. As with anything I did during those days, I never knew how she might react. But my time as a coach had taught me that you have to push people to achieve their potential; they’re not always going to see how far they can go as well as a coach can. So I pushed Krickitt because I thought it was best for her. However, one little nudge of encouragement might not get any reaction from her, but the next one could set off a flood of anger.

“Quit telling me what to do! Leave me alone!” she would shriek at me.

“I’m only trying to help you get better,” I would explain yet again. “You want to get better, right?”

“I hate you! Why don’t you just go back to Las Vegas or wherever it is you come from?” my wife would say to me.

“Because I care about our relationship and I love you.”

At times, her face frozen in a bitter stare, she would turn away without another word. It seemed to me that these interchanges would never end.

Most Thursdays, on the return flight to Albuquerque, I would be looking down at the desert as the sun came up ahead of me. The faint glow of the sunrise always reminded me of the glow that had filled the church when I watched the woman of my dreams—the woman God had saved for me alone—walk down the candlelit aisle. There, holding each other’s hands in front of our families and everyone we loved, we had both made a vow. The woman I loved more than any other had looked steadily into my eyes and proclaimed in a clear, confident voice:

“Finally today is here, the day that I give you my hand in marriage. I’m honored to be your wife. I’m all yours, Kimmer. And I love you.”

But she no longer thought she was my wife. She didn’t want to be mine. In the disoriented state she was in, she did not know what she wanted. I felt she had no more love for me. Just a few months after our wedding, the woman I had married seemingly hated me. And it was breaking my heart.

6

A NEW REALITY

R
egardless of how my wife felt about me, I still loved her. And I was determined to keep the vow I had made to be faithful and to devote myself to her every need. Even though it was exhausting, both physically and emotionally, I continued to make that weekly trip from Las Vegas to Phoenix to be with Krickitt and encourage her during therapy. I had become almost relentless in my pursuit to push her to her physical limits. When I was with her in the physical therapy room, there was no longer any sign of a husband, just a coach.

I knew Krickitt wouldn’t appreciate my effort; instead she hated it and often she let me know just that. At times she was quiet and agreeable, but the more I prodded her to push herself, the more she screamed and got upset. She was still acting and reacting like a child and at times was unguarded with her speech.

The doctors had warned me that she could be very uninhibited, and there were times when uninhibited only began to describe her. I had to learn to expect the unexpected. Even with people in the room, she’d sometimes express inappropriate thoughts or grab me without any warning. Then when I would resist she’d say something like, “You don’t love me any more. You don’t love me because I’m disabled!” I have to admit that part of me wanted the physical part of our relationship back, but it was just too strange emotionally—at that point she was more like a daughter to me than a wife. Oddly enough, later in the day she could be back to declaring she hated me. When it came to Krickitt’s emotions, anything could happen at any moment.

Krickitt’s doctors thought a visit to our apartment in Las Vegas might jog her memory of me. Her mom flew with her from Phoenix to Albuquerque, and my parents drove in for the big event. We were all hoping against hope that when Krickitt walked into our home, she would suddenly remember everything and return to being the woman she had been before the wreck.

When I got home at the end of the day, Krickitt was friendly. But even though she had just seen me a few days before, she really didn’t act as if she had any interest. Her mom said that when they arrived, the two of them walked around the living room, looking at the furniture, the pictures on the walls, and the books in the bookshelf. Mary said Krickitt revealed no emotion whatsoever. As she stood in the middle of the room and looked around, it was obvious that she remembered nothing about it.

Krickitt asked what her china pattern looked like. Her mom handed her a plate. Krickitt lifted it close to her face, then set it down again. “That’s nice,” she said simply. She had no remembrance of the pattern she had painstakingly chosen after a lot of shopping around and getting advice from her mother and friends.

As I led her on a tour of our apartment, I would ask her questions about different things I thought might ring a bell: pictures of the two of us, furniture we’d picked out together. None of it brought back any memories. My wife was a stranger in our own home.

Krickitt’s doctors had suggested we watch the video of our wedding. They hoped it might trigger something in Krickitt’s memory about her married life. When I asked her to watch the video with me she agreed. We sat together on the couch and watched the entire ceremony. I could sense that she knew how important it was to me that she remember something—anything—about the event, and she tried to be encouraging. “I recognize that girl—that bride—in the video as me,” she said thoughtfully, “but I don’t have any connection with her. I don’t know what she’s thinking and feeling. I see the two of you exchanging vows, but it’s like watching a friend on video. I don’t know what the girl on the screen is thinking.” There was no emotion in her voice as she spoke about our wedding, and I could tell there was no feeling for me in her heart.

A few weeks later I was in Phoenix helping Krickitt with her therapy, as usual. What wasn’t usual was that after the session, her physical therapist asked me if I’d like to help him coach a boys’ basketball game after he got off work that afternoon. Grateful for a break in the routine, I accepted Scott’s invitation.

My time with him was nothing short of a blessing. For two hours I completely forgot about having a wife who didn’t know who I was, having a towering stack of medical bills, and being completely exhausted every day and every night of my life. I got completely caught up in the strategy of the game and trying to help Scott’s team come out on top.

After the game the two of us went to the snack bar. We debriefed a little about his team’s performance, and then he brought me back to reality. “I know you’re getting discouraged about Krickitt,” he said. “I honestly don’t know how you keep going.”

He knew the truth of Krickitt’s situation—and mine—so I didn’t hesitate in opening up to him. “It’s tough. Really tough,” I admitted. “Sometimes I get so excited when I think we’re about to have a breakthrough, when I think she remembers something that would link her life to mine. But then she does or says something hateful because she thinks I’m pushing her too hard in therapy—or for no reason at all—and it tears my heart out. It’s the toughest coaching job I’ve ever had.”

“We can keep on helping Krickitt,” Scott continued. “Physically she’s making incredible progress. If she hadn’t been in such good condition because of her gymnastics, she’d never have made it this far. But your well-being is important too. Krickitt needs somebody strong, confident, and forgiving; you’ve got to be that to her, but you can’t do it by yourself. You need God, Kim.”

“You’re right,” I said. “But it’s tough to think that way when just getting through the day often seems like an impossible task.”

“God hasn’t forgotten you,” he said with quiet confidence. “God will never forget you. He says he will never leave you comfortless, and he won’t. You can’t use him up or wear him out. Hang on to him, Kim. He’s the most powerful force for good you have. He won’t forget you. So please don’t forget him.”

Lying awake at the Pappas house late that night, I mulled over Scott’s advice. Maybe I’d forgotten to take my troubles to God. Perhaps in all the exhaustion and desperation I had overlooked the most powerful tool of all for Krickitt’s recovery. It wasn’t that I hadn’t prayed. I had, and often. But I knew that my focus had been on Krickitt and my desires for her and us, not on God and
his
desires for us. I needed to focus more on him. I needed to trust him more, because he is the one who is all-powerful, not me. So I made God a promise that I would always remember to trust in him and his amazing power.

That evening I thought about that first night in the hospital in Albuquerque when Krickitt’s cranial pressure was increasing by the minute and we didn’t know whether she would live or die. During the course of those uncertain hours, I had felt myself gradually but steadily trusting God with my wife’s life. Scott’s advice three months later was like a refresher course in putting my faith in God’s ability instead of in my own.

The more I trusted in God’s wisdom and power, the more at peace I felt, even though I knew he might take Krickitt away from me at any moment. I was coming to a point where I had hopes of it working out, but I reached the conclusion that it may not. As painful as that thought was, I made a commitment to myself and to God to continue to physically be there for Krickitt until at least the day came when she no longer needed my support and could live on her own. Then I would ask her what she wanted. If her desires did not include me, I would honor her wishes and let her go. I knew I had made a vow until death do us part, but I also knew that I had to keep a real perspective. I often wondered when that day would come. I knew it was a day I would have to face, but I lived in fear of the possible outcome.

From time to time there were tantalizing signs that Krickitt was beginning to accept her new life. One day I was talking to her mom on the phone and she mentioned that Krickitt had told the therapist she “missed that guy who calls and hangs around.” I was overjoyed that she remembered my visits and seemed to have a desire to spend time with me, even though she didn’t always act like it when I was actually with her.

I did my best to call Krickitt every day I wasn’t with her. But one night I didn’t call at my usual time. A couple hours later the phone rang, and it scared me. When I answered the phone it was Krickitt’s mom. She said, “Kim, there is someone here who wants to talk to you.” I was ecstatic. She put Krickitt on the line.

“Hi, this is Krickitt.”

“Hi Krick, I’m really glad you called.”

More silence. Then, “Well, I gotta go now. Good-bye.”

Those were the greatest words I had heard in months. I believed right then that we were going to make it and that Krickitt felt something for me down deep, but she just couldn’t put the pieces together on the phone. This was the first of many times she’d call, say a sentence or two, and hang up. But I didn’t mind that those conversations were so short. They were just more confirmation that my wife was warming up to me.

A few weeks after that first call from Krickitt, Mary called with some more encouraging news. Krickitt had been looking in the mirror, focusing on the place where her skull had been dented in the wreck. She touched it as she inspected it, feeling around it with the tips of her fingers.

“Hmmmmm,” she said. “Maybe I really did have this accident.”

Since Krickitt had first come out of her coma, she had kept telling us she felt like she was in a dream that we were all part of. She insisted there hadn’t been a wreck and she had never been married. She believed she was trapped in a nightmare and knew she would eventually wake up. Her reaction in front of the mirror was the first solid indication that she was beginning to realize that her dream world might be real after all.