See You in the Morning: Life with My Disabled Child

By Edna L. Uecker

Mrs. Ueckers care for her daughter with her familys help, and the memoir she has managed in the aftermath, is an inspiration.

Larry Woiwode, poet laureate of North Dakota; author, Beyond the Bedroom Wall and Words Made Fresh

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, came a car. It appeared over the rise, in our lane of the narrow highway. It was speeding directly toward us. There wasnt time to think or pray or cry out. The impacta deafening pandemonium of smashing metal and shattering glass. Swirling dust. Then silence. Then we both looked into the back seat, where five-year-old Sherida lay She looked as if she were asleep, except for one small trickle of blood making its way from her nostril to her upper lip. Within seconds, our life as a family had changed forever.

See You in the Morning tells the moving story of one familys courageous struggle in caring for their injured child following a horrific accident. Caused by a drunk driver, this wreck resulted in irreversible injury to a promising, beautiful girl. From the first agonizing days of Sheridas traumatic head injury through decades of intensive home care, author Edna Uecker shares how she learned to accept heartbreaking realities, let go of unfulfilled dreams for her beloved daughter, and find the unexpected joy in the daily life of her familys new existence.

Ueckers introspective prose is infused with a sense of reverence, uncompromising love, and incredible wonder. Brave, funny, and deeply spiritual, this memoir will comfort and inspire those facing similar challenges. See You in the Morning takes you into the heart of a family creating a life filled with unconditional love for their injured child in a supportive home environment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781462049127

Edna L. Uecker

Edna Uecker was born and raised in North Dakota. She has worked as a teacher, writer, and artist. Her writing has appeared in numerous publications, including North Dakota Living, MADDvocate, and Lutheran Digest, among others. She raised three children, one of them disabled. In 2012 after the death of her husband, Charles, Edna moved to Nyack, New York to live with her daughter Korliss and family.

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Copyright © 2016 by Edna L. Uecker

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Author photo by Chris X Carroll.

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ISBN: 978-1-4620-4911-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-4912-7 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 11/17/2016

CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Chapter 2: The Agony

Chapter 3: Searching for Help

Chapter 4: The Growing Years

Chapter 5: Our Life Moves On

Chapter 6: The Future

Chapter 7: The Finale

Chapter 8: Epilogue

Tributes To Sherida

Afterword

Acknowledgments

Author Bio

To my husband, Charles; my children, Korliss and Jonathan; and to other families with disabled children.

PREFACE

Most people experience feelings of aloneness sometime during their lives. I never realized, however, just how one-against-the-world loneliness felt until I experienced it while caring for my daughter Sherida, who was severely injured in a drunk-driving accident in 1958. She received multiple skull fractures that left her physically and mentally disabled. So severe were Sherida’s injuries that we were strongly encouraged to institutionalize her. However, we chose to take care of her at home.

In 1962, when we made this decision, we stood alone. Most government programs that assist families with disabled children didn’t come into existence until much later. We did not receive any lifelong monetary compensation from the driver after the accident. His punishment back then, after twenty-two convictions, was a three-month jail sentence, a suspension of his driver’s license, and a fine of $5,000. He had no insurance. We could have garnished his wages, but we decided not to, as we felt this would only bring more suffering to his large family. His father, feeling great remorse over the accident, later gave us an additional $5,000.

On a dreary Monday morning after Sherida had been in a coma for five months, we brought her home, semicomatose. Not only were we grieving for our injured child, but we were also worried about the anxiety our two-year-old daughter Korliss was experiencing. Medical bills had increased, our nine-hundred-square-foot home was too small to accommodate hospital equipment, and there was absolutely no in-home nursing care available.

In fairness to all concerned, I want to state that our decision may not be acceptable for other parents. For my husband and me, it felt right. Sharing our life with the outside world is difficult; it makes our family very vulnerable. If, however, the experiences we had with our daughter will grant encouragement and insight to other families who are caring for a disabled child, then this book will fulfill its purpose. Though our family is by no means perfect, we are survivors. In spite of disappointment, crises, dysfunction, sorrow, and periods of loneliness and stress, we managed to live a near-normal life enriched with many blessings. We discovered the joy and fulfillment that came out of the pain, and in retrospect, we were able to say, Thank you, God, for giving us Sherida to care for and love.

CHAPTER 1

The Beginning

The impact. A deafening pandemonium of smashing metal and shattering glass. Swirling dust. Then silence. Within seconds, our life as a family changed forever. The day: Sunday morning, June 29, 1958.

In 1954 my husband, Charles, one-year-old Sherida (Sheri), and I moved to Hettinger, a small town in southwestern North Dakota. Charles had gotten his degree in veterinary medicine from Colorado State University, and he was anxious to establish his practice. In the beginning, he set up his medical facilities in our garage. Later he moved to a downtown location and eventually built one of the first large-animal veterinary clinics in North Dakota.

Two years later our daughter Korliss Kay (K-K) was born. We had purchased our first home for $15,000. We had big dreams, and we were definitely on our way to becoming that all-American family.

On that Sunday morning, my husband, our two young daughters, and I decided to visit my father, who lived in the small town of Richardton, North Dakota, seventy-five miles from our home. We planned to leave early so we could attend services with him in the little church where I was baptized and confirmed. While I dressed Sherida in her summer playsuit, she bounced up and down, as did her thick, sand-colored braids.

Hurry, Mommy, Grandpa will be waiting for us, she said as her large blue eyes, fringed with fur-like ebony lashes, danced with excitement. Sheri’s satin-smooth skin, tanned by spring’s sun and wind, was the color of toast. She had plump, pink cheeks I loved to kiss and gently pinch. Always inquisitive, her daily How come? questions were endless. A determined, beautiful, intelligent, and energetic five-year-old—that was our Sherida.

Two-year-old Korliss Kay, fine-featured with olive skin, dark hair, and huge brown eyes also jumped up and down with excitement as she imitated Sherida. We were going for a ride, and that was enough for her. Be happy, she said.

When I walked our daughters to the car that morning, I was aware of the sun, shining through the leaves of the trees in our backyard, casting lacelike patterns on the lawn. The morning air was filled with scents of a newborn spring day. We were all in a good mood as we drove along North Dakota Highway 8, listening to soft music on the radio of our 1958 Mercury Club Coupe. I was looking forward to a special day with my young family and my father.

I’m one lucky woman, I said to Charles.

My husband looked at me and grinned. You bet your life you are, he said in his usual joking manner. You’re married to me!

We had driven approximately forty-five miles, passing only an occasional car. Sunday morning traffic in rural North Dakota is almost nil. Then we saw it—the other car—coming over the rise in our lane of the highway, speeding directly toward us. There wasn’t time to think, to pray, or to cry out. Charles turned to avoid a head-on collision, but we were hit broadside, our car making a total about-face. It happened within seconds. This was inconceivable. Accidents happened to other people. We were frozen momentarily, and when I looked at Charles, I saw my own hysterical disbelief reflected in his eyes.

Are you able to move? he asked.

I’m fine, I answered shakily. I can move.

Korliss Kay had been standing on the seat between Charles and me. In 1958, there was no seatbelt law. At the time of the impact, I had clutched her to me. Both of us were partially under the dashboard, but I was grateful she had not gone through the windshield. Though she was crying, she had only a few cuts and bruises.

Simultaneously, we turned around shouting, "Sherida!" No answer. She lay on the back seat with her head turned toward the side of the car that had received the full impact. One small trickle of blood made its way from her nostril to her upper lip, but there were no visible cuts or bruises. On the seat next to her lay the book she had been looking at, opened to page five. She looked as if she were asleep.

Charles, realizing Sherida was not breathing, rushed around the side of the car and gently carried her to a nearby ditch where he began to administer artificial respiration.

My robotic movements were rigid and mechanical as I led Korliss Kay away from the demolished car and the settling dust swirls. The whole scene—our daughter lying in the ditch with her father bending over her, pale and shaky, and both Korliss and me crying—seemed surreal. Like a hypnotized sleepwalker, I felt I would awaken soon from my daytime nightmare.

Dreamlike, I watched the driver of the other car walking unsteadily toward us carrying a can of beer in his right hand. He was bleeding from his mouth and I could see his front teeth were missing. Obviously, he had been drinking.

But now I awakened, the thunder in my heart whipped inside me. I stood looking at him for a few seconds, and then I made an eerie sound. My pain and fear came from deep, deep inside of me and finally erupted into a piercing scream. Seemingly, it came from a far distance and from another person. I ran toward the man, scratching and clawing him until Charles yelled at me to stop. My outburst ended in gasping sobs.

By this time, Charles had gotten Sherida to breathe. Almost immediately, the convulsions started. Her rigid little body quivered with intermittent spasms.

Since the accident occurred near a farm, the family who lived there came to our assistance, offering to call medical help immediately. Dr. Hankins from Mott arrived shortly, though it seemed like an eternity. After he examined Sherida, he said gravely, This child is in serious condition.

We lifted her gently into a volunteer car and took her immediately to the hospital in Richardton. At the hospital, we paced the floor anxiously for at least an hour. The diagnosis indicated Sherida had multiple skull fractures. She was taken by ambulance at once to the Dickinson airport, twenty-five miles west of Richardton, and then flown to St. John’s Hospital in Fargo, North Dakota—the only neurological center in our state.

Everything moved very quickly—perhaps too quickly. The pilot who flew Sherida to Fargo visited us at the hospital later and informed us that because time was so essential, the hurried nurse had forgotten to bring ice or oxygen. Sherida’s temperature soared during the flight. Several times she stopped breathing. Not having ice or oxygen during crucial hours may have contributed to her already-apparent, extensive brain damage. Later, Charles wondered if flying the plane at a higher altitude would have lowered Sherida’s temperature. We will never know.

Charles’s parents, who lived in Dickinson, loaned us their car to make the three-hundred-mile trip to Fargo since there was no room to go with Sherida on the plane. They took Korliss to their home, and