The Vow: The True Events That Inspired the Movie (9 page)

All these thoughts tumbled around in my head night after night as the darkness turned to gray and finally the colors of the day would appear. Then I would get up, get dressed, and head out for another day at Barrow.

I intended to stay in Phoenix for the duration of Krickitt’s rehabilitation, so I had moved in with Krickitt’s parents once we arrived in Arizona. I had no idea how long I would be there. During those first couple of weeks I hardly thought about my job or any of our responsibilities back home in Las Vegas.

Gilbert Sanchez, the president of New Mexico Highlands University, had tried to call me at the hospital in Albuquerque when I was still in the ER. He was finally able to connect with me soon after we got to Phoenix. I told him what I could about our situation. There was still so much we didn’t know, though, and I explained that I had no idea when I’d be able to get back to New Mexico and my job. After Christmas vacation my team would need to start working out and getting in shape, and there were other athletic department responsibilities I—or someone—needed to deal with. I knew I should have been in touch with someone at the university to tell them what was happening and to work on finding someone to take my place while I was gone, but I just hadn’t had the time or the energy to do it. I had more or less deserted my team and my bosses in the midst of my tragedy.

Gilbert was characteristically generous and matter-of-fact. “Take all the time you need,” he told me on the phone. “You’ll always have a job. We’ll get whatever help we need for the department until you get back.” He also made me promise to give him weekly updates on Krickitt’s condition.

Our friends back at Highlands were already helping us in other ways too, without us even asking. My friend Mike collected our mail and sent it on to me in Phoenix. Some cheerleaders had temporarily moved in to our apartment to take care of things there. And when our landlord heard what happened, he told me not to worry about the rent. If we could pay him later, that was fine, but if not we should just forget about it. I was stunned by his generosity and grace.

Some of Krickitt’s friends had come to visit her while we were still in Albuquerque. After she was moved to Phoenix, other old friends came to visit and decorated her hospital room with Christmas lights and a little tree.

Krickitt’s two former roommates, Lisa and Megan, weren’t able to visit from California until after Krickitt was moved to Phoenix. By the time Lisa and Megan came, Krickitt looked much better than she had in the Albuquerque ICU, but she still didn’t look anything like her normal self. However, because she had improved so much since the wreck, and since I saw her every day, it didn’t occur to me that somebody who hadn’t seen her since the wreck might be shocked by her appearance. Therefore, I hadn’t said anything to prepare Lisa and Megan for the sight of Krickitt with her partially shaved head, her doll-like stare, and the general look of a person who has been in a coma for three weeks. When they arrived, Lisa eagerly rushed into the room to see her friend. She took one good, long look at Krickitt and started trembling. She opened her mouth but was unable to speak. I quickly escorted her to a private family meeting room down the hall. We spent several minutes there, crying together, before Lisa was ready to return to Krickitt’s room.

Like all the thoughtful friends who came to see us, Lisa and Megan were almost like visitors from another planet. They were from a world where people got up, ate breakfast, went to work, watched TV, ate in restaurants, read magazines, took care of the yard, and did all the other normal, everyday things of life without even thinking about them. My world had become a world of doctors, hospitals, hospital food, therapy, living with my in-laws, dealing with collection agencies and medical bills, making calls to our insurance company, and spending as much time as I could with Krickitt. My job, my team, my friends, my married life—it was all like a distant dream.

After only a short time in therapy, Krickitt was obviously improving. Each morning she seemed stronger, more alert, and more talkative. The disturbing stare was nearly gone and she was beginning to interact more naturally in conversations.

The therapists were still being very careful with her, though. They had her move slowly, walk with a harness, and work simple puzzles. Once she could understand conversations and answer questions, the doctors started assessing her memory and other mental skills. At first she sounded like a little girl when she responded to questions. She would speak in a few one- and two-syllable words after long pauses. She had to concentrate hard on what she would say, shaping the words slowly and carefully as though they felt unfamiliar. Yet she improved every day.

I wasn’t surprised that just a few days after Krickitt started emerging from the lower levels of the coma scale, she wanted to write in her journal. She slowly and pain-stakingly dictated the words while her friend Julie wrote them down. “Life is very good. Therapy is very confusing at times. I miss the way things used to be with steady Bible study and church meetings, but I know that’s the way things are. The Lord is constantly teaching us. I know He has me in His right pocket and I’m very safe there. I love to see Him really work in my life, and I know He’ll use me in His due time.”

My wife may have been confused, she may have lost some of her memory, but she still knew her God. She knew he was in control, and she knew he was working in her life and intended to use her to do his work in his time.

Not long after that I was sitting with Krickitt, who was talking with a therapist that was probing carefully for what Krickitt could remember. Her “I love you” had been the first sign that things were slowly moving toward normal. Her words about God were another sign. Now I was ready for even bigger proof. I wanted my wife back.

“Krickitt,” her therapist began in a soothing voice, “do you know where you are?”

Krickitt thought for a minute before replying, “Phoenix.”

“That’s right, Krickitt. Do you know what year it is?”

“1965.”

She was born in 1969
, I thought, somewhat frantically.
That’s just a little setback—nothing to really worry about,
I tried to convince myself

“Who’s the president, Krickitt?”

“Nixon.”

Well, he was the president when she was born,
I justified.

“Krickitt, what’s your mother’s name?” the therapist continued.

“Mary,” she said with no hesitation . . . and no expression.
Now we’re getting somewhere. Thank you, God!

“Excellent, Krickitt. And what’s your father’s name?”

“Gus.”

“That’s right. Very good.” He paused before continuing, “Krickitt, who’s your husband?”

Krickitt looked at me with eyes void of expression. She looked back at the therapist without answering.

“Krickitt, who’s your husband?”

Krickitt looked at me again and back at the therapist. I was sure everyone could hear my heart thudding as I waited for my wife’s answer in silence and desperation.

“I’m not married.”

No! God, please!

The therapist tried again, “No, Krickitt, you are married. Who’s your husband?”

She wrinkled her brow. “Todd?” she questioned.

Her old boyfriend from California? Help her remember, God!

“Krickitt, please think. Who’s your husband?

“I told you. I’m not married.”

Krickitt and Kristi Pinnick were gymnasts together at Desert Devils Gymnastics Club. Krickitt then went on and received a full gymnastics scholarship at Cal State Fullerton.

My official photo as Coach Kim Carpenter of the Highlands Cowboys. Krickitt said the uniform made me look like a little boy.

With help from her roommates, I sneaked up and surprised Krickitt under this balcony to propose.