Out Alive: A journey through loss with a heart alive

By Tammy Hagins

A book of hope and understanding for every moment of wondering, Will I ever truly feel alive again?


When Tammy Hagins's husband died in a tragic accident at the age of [ ], Tammy found herself on an unexpected and unwanted journey of grief. As she held her five-year-old daughter through long nights, navigated the endless paperwork surrounding Kevin's death, and learned the joys and challenges of receiving help from others, Tammy thought over and over, This is not the way life was supposed to go.

Out Alive is the heart-wrenching, hope-filled story of Tammy's first year as a young widow. Writing for anyone experiencing shattered dreams, Tammy draws on her background as a counselor as well as her personal story to come alongside us in our own experiences of loss. Brutally honest about anger and fears, haunting regrets, and midnight wrestlings with God, Out Alive is a tribute to what it looks like to climb tenderly back to new life. As Tammy writes, despite all the unanswered questions, she holds a heart that is "alive and intact, possibly even more alive than it had been before my husband's death."

If you are wondering how your life became something so different than what you had planned, find encouragement and companionship in Tammy's words as you embrace the beauty and the struggle of living with a heart alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098329372

Book preview

Acknowledgements

Foreword

I hate death.

All death is trauma, and all death is wrong. Death was not written into the first lines of our created history, so when it came crashing onto the scene, it did so with an obscenity it has been flaunting ever since.

There is perhaps no more luminous truth than the one formed in the belly of those who follow Christ: Death has no sting. This is, truly, the hopeful anchor of our soul. This truth is an ultimate one, though, and sadly it gets tossed around when someone dies and can land with tremendous accusation in the hearts of those left behind; those whose hearts are bleeding. Resurrection hope is the final reality, but when it is handed to a grieving heart it can seem like a kind of heavy-handed cheerleading: Please hurry along your grief because we do not know how to bear with you this unspeakable moment in your life.

Death first. Then resurrection. Death is long, and hard.

There is simply nothing like grief, and in grief there is nothing like sudden grief, and in sudden grief there is nothing like the complication of trauma. This book is a jarring and tender venture into all three. Tammy is generous with the story of her husband Kevin’s horrific death, and even more so with her laborious, impossible task of continuing to live herself while caring for their daughter Davin.

As you weave through the first year of her life after Kevin’s brutal passing, you will find yourself riding the unpredictable waves of Tammy’s grief, the impossible and comical daily-living-again realities in the face of shock, the re-living the story at times in ways only the heart knows and the body holds.

Tammy’s journey is punctuated with people. It is a delightful thing to read of Christian community which showed up as the literal hands, feet, silence, and tenacity of Jesus. God wove his way into Tammy’s life and heart a thousand times over through the love of her faithful and watchful community. She shared lavishly through her writing, and her community rose to the cries of her heart; at least in babysitting and phone calls.

Nicolas Woltersdorf says, Every lament is a love-song. This is a book of a thousand laments; some for love of family, some for love of partnering in parenting, some for love over an ease with God—all for love of Kevin. 

—Jan Meyers Proett

Introduction

This book comes out of my journaling in the days, weeks, and months following my husband Kevin’s sudden death in the Grand Canyon. Right after I informed one of my friends of the news, she encouraged me to write. She knew my tendency to shut down and compartmentalize and, wisely, invited me to write something down, no matter how small, each day. She said she’d save it to help my daughter Davin and me remember later what she knew our minds could not hold in the days to come.

As time went on, I began to post many of my writings on Facebook, mostly as a way to keep friends updated, so I wouldn’t have to answer the same questions and tell the same stories over and over. But also because I needed to know I was not alone. Little did I know at the time that these posts would become a lifeline.

My journaling increased, and at one point, the same friend told me I was writing my book and that she’d thought of a title: Out Alive. I quickly dismissed the idea of a book, thinking no one would want to read my laments and day-to-day struggles through this unwanted path of grief. But in time, it became clear that many others were relating to the struggles grief can throw you into.

To share my experiences on Facebook and have people respond helped me feel less alone in what felt like impossibly alone days and nights. Nothing I wrote was intended to be a guide through grief, or a theology book, or even a book at all. They were records of my journey as I experienced it at the time, usually late at night as I was struggling to sleep. The writings are uncut and raw, with very little editing—because I was not writing for an audience, but to keep my heart open and alive. Journaling became one of several lifelines that helped me make it out of the canyon with a heart that was alive and intact, possibly even more alive than it had been before my husband’s death.

The weeks leading up to our Grand Canyon trip were full of anticipation and excitement. Kevin was finishing nursing school, and we were celebrating this accomplishment with a long-awaited trip to Havasupai Falls at the bottom of the canyon. We had both dreamed of seeing these turquoise waters for years. As I’ve re-read my Facebook posts anticipating our new life after graduation, I still get chills thinking, But this is not what I meant! This is not how is was supposed to go!

March 13, 2013, a week before our trip Only a few more minor assignments and one more day of clinicals and Kevin will be finished with nursing school! I’m finding myself really grateful tonight that this chapter is coming to an end. In two weeks, life is going to look so different for us. I can’t wait.

March 21 (the night before we left, posted with a photo of the falls) Can’t wait to see these in a few days! We’ve been trying to get down to these falls for almost our entire marriage…glad it finally looks like it’s going to happen.

Little did I know how different life would be or how much it would cost us to see such beauty.

Part 1–

The Fall

March 26, 2013—the day my life changed forever. This pivotal day began as a beautiful morning in the Native American village of Supai, part of the Havasupai Indian Reservation, in the bottom of the Grand Canyon seven miles below the rim. The village is considered the most remote community in the continental U.S., and is only accessible by hiking, horses, mules, or a helicopter that comes down a few times a week to transport people and supplies. We were just at the end of our spring break trip, having fulfilled one of the dreams of our entire marriage—seeing the glorious turquoise waters of Havasupai Falls.

Like most trips in our marriage, this one was a whirlwind, where we crammed in as much sightseeing as humanly possible. We began what was meant to be a five-day adventure of the West, exploring the town of Santa Fe. We enjoyed looking at art and checking out a local coffee shop in the plaza in town. Then we went to a remote Native American Village on top of a mesa.

Kevin and I both were so eager to introduce Davin to new experiences and cultures, so we loved touring this fascinating place and catching the warm smiles and greetings of the people living there. One beautiful older woman was taken with Davin and offered her one of her homemade pies. Davin devoured it, leaving quite a few remnants of it on her face, exclaiming it was one of the best things she’d ever eaten.

We spent Saturday night at the Lowell Observatory in Flagstaff, taking in the stars, Kevin pointing out constellations to Davin that didn’t really exist. He had good stories to go with each constellation though, so we all stayed entertained as we waited in the line in the cold to look through the large telescopes. We saw some of the moons of Jupiter, a ring around Saturn, and great close up views of the moon. Davin and Kevin interrogated the poor guide at the observatory, asking every possible question there was to ask. He was such a good dad, and she shares his deep curiosity.

Sunday, we spent the day hiking and exploring the South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park. We were a little sad that Davin seemed more interested in the hotel pool than the big hole in the desert, but we were determined to make a nature lover out of her, so we persisted in taking her on small trails and pointing out new plants and animals to her. After a day full of hiking, we spent the night on the Hualapai Reservation, making our last-minute plans for the highlight of our trip: Havasupai Falls. We had a traditional Native American dinner, then the next morning, as much fry bread as our stomachs could hold before we began making our way to the hilltop—the parking area where people leave their cars before either hiking or taking a helicopter seven miles down to the village of Supai.

As soon as we got to village, we put our things in our room, and began exploring the breathtaking series of turquoise falls. On the hike down we played games like Simon Says and follow the leader with Davin to keep her engaged in the walk. It was so much fun to watch Kevin fill the hike with silliness for our girl. It was a warm day in the bottom of the canyon, so we took frequent breaks in the shade, occasionally taking dips in the river to cool off. As we approached the first falls, we were in awe, as they were even more beautiful than we had imagined. As we hiked further down, the beauty only deepened, as each waterfall was more impressive than the last. We spent the afternoon taking pictures and swimming in the cool, silty water.

Our hearts were full from the beauty we were able to drink in during our time there, but afterward we were eager to begin our trek home, as Kevin was graduating from nursing school back in Colorado the next day. The trip was meant to be a celebration of so many years of grueling work and study and a time to reconnect as a family, as nursing school had been exhausting for us all.

After breakfast, we walked back to our hotel, talking about the beauty of this wonderful place we’d finally been able to see, and dreaming about our future. We arrived at our room and packed, trying to keep out only what we thought we’d need for the several-hour-long horse ride ahead of us. We’d chosen to ride out of the canyon because Davin was only five, and none of us were up for seven miles of uphill hiking.

We crammed the last of our belongings into our only bag, a green backpack that had made several overseas trips with Kevin and me. It was cool outside, so I asked Kevin if he needed a fleece. He said no, so I decided to wear his, thinking my hoodie would be too heavy and get hot too quickly. We did one final sweep through the room to make sure nothing was left behind, then went to the front desk to turn in our keys, thanking our hosts for the wonderful time we’d had in this rare place. Both the scenery and the people had been so inviting and beautiful, we knew we would treasure the time we spent there.

After checkout, we went outside and stood, waiting for our horses to arrive. As we waited, another couple joined us and we began to talk and get to know them. Kyle and Alex had just started dating and were on a whirlwind trip much like ours, with a hot air balloon ride scheduled for later that afternoon. We were a little jealous, but at the same time eager to get back for Kevin’s pinning ceremony. It represented the beginning of a new life we were excited to start.

We continued waiting, growing a little impatient, as our start time was now over forty-five minutes behind schedule. Kevin got cold and grabbed my orange sweatshirt out of the backpack and slid it on. As we talked, another party of four came up and joined us.

When the first group of horses arrived, we were hopeful, thinking they were ours. But as I began counting them, I realized there were not enough for all of us. Another group of people who had just arrived went over to the horses, and the guide told us this was not our group—that more were heading our way. We watched the first group ride off—both my family and the others pretty disappointed and growing restless. We knew we had a long day ahead of us, with a lot of miles to cover, and were ready to get on with the trip.

Finally, we heard horses running up the road. Around the corner came our guide, wearing a black hat and sunglasses, trotting his horse towards us and herding in seven more. He dismounted and began looking around, sizing us up—deciding which horse to put each of us on. First, he loaded our bags on the pack horses, piling on so many that the top-heavy creatures looked like they could just fall over. After the bags were secure, he began picking our horses for us—a decision that, unknown to me, would change my life forever.

He put me on my horse first, asking if I had riding experience. I said yes and he adjusted my stirrups, hurriedly and unevenly, and handed me the reins. He then assigned each person their horse and helped ˙them get on and ready to ride. At the end, he asked who was going to take the girl and Kevin and I looked at each other, shrugged, and I said I would. Davin, who was the princess of daddy’s girls, wanted to ride with her dad, but Kevin and I knew I was the better rider, and also that my mamma-bear heart would not relax unless she was with me.

As we began to move away from our loading point, the horses started to run. At first, I thought, Cool! This is fun. He’s going to let us canter a bit! Not your average trail ride.

But cantering gets old quickly and I soon wanted to make the horse slow down. When I realized that despite many years of riding experience, I couldn’t make the horse stop, I quickly grew very concerned. I don’t mind cantering a horse as long as I have control—but it was clear that I did not. On top of that, the trail was full of rocks and tripping hazards, so my concern turned to fear.

The guide kept pushing the horses up the trail from behind, making noises and encouraging them to run every time they began to walk. Was he trying to make up for lost time? Whatever his reasons, it made me mad. The constant running was scaring Davin and me, and the constant bumping around in the saddle was hurting us both. It was taking a lot of work to keep us both on the horse.

Finally, after quite a bit of pushing into my don’t be a bother or make waves personality, I asked if we could slow down. The guide said no, that we were in a hurry because we were running late. I told him the roughness was hurting my daughter, as she was almost sitting on the horn of the saddle, and he said I should put her on Kevin’s horse. I thought about it, thinking, I’m just being stupid and selfish, keeping her on here with me. Kevin can take care of her.

I reluctantly put my hands under her arms and began to lift her to hand her over, but I couldn’t make myself relinquish control. Something in me would not let me move, so I said, I don’t know. We’ll see if it gets better, and we kept going.

At first, Kyle and Alex didn’t seem to mind the pace, but as our horses began competing for lead on an increasingly narrow trail, we all began to question the safety of the ride. Kevin’s horse came beside mine and I told him I was uncomfortable and wanted to slow down. I didn’t like that our guide was pushing so hard. I wanted to get off, but then the thought of how we would get out came rushing in. A seven-mile hike with a five-year-old child uphill and out of the canyon felt impossible—and regardless, we didn’t have the supplies and water needed for an eight-hour day of hiking. Plus, we decided there was no way we would make it out in time to get back to Colorado for Kevin’s pinning ceremony.

I felt trapped, thinking, We don’t have a choice.

I hoped we would soon be forced to slow down as we began our ascent. I asked Kevin, one last time, if he thought we should switch Davin over to him, and he said it didn’t matter. I had him slow down and again had my hands ready to hand her over, when the guide motioned to the back of Kevin’s horse, saying, Let her ride behind him.

When I saw he wanted her on the back of the horse, the decision was clear…no way!

I’m going to keep her with me, I said.

It would be hard enough to allow her to ride in front with Kevin, but on the back, it was far too dangerous. She was likely to fall asleep on the long ride out, and then she’d fall off for sure. I squeezed my right arm around her and kissed her little pink Hello Kitty hoodie. I’m keeping you with me, I said.

Finally, the horses slowed to a walk as we crossed a bridge and entered a new part of the canyon. I looked up at the differences in color as the sun began to illuminate the canyon walls. It was stunning. I’d only seen such southwestern beauty once before, many years back, when we had hiked to the bottom of the canyon with friends. On that trip I had over-pushed myself on the way down and got really sick hiking out, so we had to stay with a ranger in a cabin halfway up. I had been in and out of consciousness, but remember so well how stunning and breathtaking the sunset and sunrise had been.

As I remembered that trip, I began to relax, thinking, Who gets to do this? We finally made it down here. We’ve wanted to come for so long. So many people don’t even know this place exists and yet, here we are. This is amazing!

I soaked it in vowing, I’ll always remember this beauty! This ride is going to be unforgettable. I’m so glad we came.

I grabbed my camera out of my pocket and snapped a few shots, hoping to capture the breathtaking beauty—one of me and Davin, one of Kevin behind us, then one of the trail ahead. I looked ahead, noticing the trail was about to ascend, so I quickly crammed the camera in my pocket and zipped it up so it wouldn’t fall out.

Within less than a minute of my this is awesome thought, everything changed. We began heading up the incline, my horse finally submitting to being second in line behind the leader. I was relieved my horse had moved over because there wasn’t room for competition on the narrow trail. My horse stumbled on a slick rock—first with his front hoof, then with the back. It scared me and Davin both, and I held her more tightly, telling her it was OK.

Trying to convince myself it was OK, I rationalized, We’ve been on much worse. The donkeys in Petra (Jordan) took us straight up a cliff and there were no problems. It didn’t look possible, but it was, and these horses do this every day.

As soon as that thought went through my head, we heard rocks fall and a loud noise. Davin was worried and asked, Mama, what happened?

I looked over to my right and was shocked to see a horse lying in the ravine several feet below us. Oh shi…uhhhh?!? Ummmm....

Mama what is it? Davin grew more worried.

A horse just fell, I think. Oh my God. I’ve never seen that happen.

Davin began to cry, sad for the horse. I went back and forth between trying to calm her, trying to hold steady my spooked horse on the narrow trail and trying to see if the horse down below was OK—all while also trying not to freak out in my own mind. I looked down into the dried riverbed, with my breath held, hoping that the horse was OK.

When I saw it move, I breathed a sigh of relief as I told my concerned girl, I think he’s OK. The horse is moving.

At that point, I focused on my own horse, worried it was going to take off down the trail, as the horse in front of me was getting very restless. Selfishly, and completely unaware of the magnitude of the situation, I grew annoyed, Great! More time! Now we’re going to be even more late!

The guide turned his horse around and rode down the trail to the riverbed, where the horse was lying. As we waited, my thoughts drifted to our bag. Oh crap…my computer. I hope that wasn’t the horse carrying the bag with my computer. That’d be expensive to replace.

I looked behind me, scanning the horses and saw my green bag strapped to a packhorse in the middle of the line. Phew, it wasn’t ours. Now we just have to wait.

Suddenly it dawned on me—the horse that fell didn’t have baggage on it and there was no baggage lying beside it. I looked down the trail, wanting to catch Kevin’s eye for reassurance, but didn’t see my orange sweatshirt. He didn’t have time to take it off since last time I turned around, I thought.

Then it half hit me, but in a disbelief way. Not expecting the answer to be Yes, I yelled down, Wait! Is that my husband?

I wasn’t thinking of the impact that question would have on Davin. I totally thought everyone would say No, that he was around the corner and it was just a pack horse. But as the question left my mouth, and I looked down at the guide, who was looking up at me, I heard a haunting, Yes.

Suddenly, my heart dropped into my stomach. Really? The answer was supposed to be No.

The guide helped the horse up as I was digesting his yes, and lying on the ground, under the horse, in my orange hoodie, was Kevin. I saw his leg move. I’m not sure if it moved on its own or from the horse getting up, but it gave me hope and I began praying. Oh God, please…God, please let him be OK.

I wanted to be down there but hesitated as I didn’t know how to best get off the horse while keeping Davin safe. I finally managed to slide off while holding Davin on, then pulled her off and held her close. She got a glimpse of Kevin and began screaming and crying, Daddy…Daddy. My daddy. Mommy, is he OK?

I’m not sure which was worse—seeing Kevin lying there while I was trying to figure out how to get to him, or hearing Davin’s cries. Both felt unbearable and I just wanted to make it all stop. I don’t know, Baby. I’m going to check, I said, trying to sound calm while my head was spinning.

I asked Alex if she could watch Davin at the top of the hill. She said yes, and Kyle and I ran down to try to help Kevin. Davin wanted to go with me, but not knowing what was going to happen, I told her to stay. I’m so glad I did.

As I got to the bottom of the trail and went around the curve of the riverbed to where Kevin had landed, the guide ran past me, saying, He’s talking so maybe there’s a chance…I’m going to get help.

As he left, Kyle and I continued around the corner. Each second of that time feels like minutes in my mind. As I approached Kevin, the first thing I saw was his glasses on the ground, shattered. My first thought was, Oh no. This isn’t going to be good. I bet he’s going to have some broken bones.

Then I went to, How’s he going to ride out without glasses...or drive home? I guess I’ll be driving the whole way.

My brain was still not comprehending the enormity of the situation. My eyes were fixed on his glasses as my mind tried to troubleshoot, Can we get him glasses at a Walmart, or does he have an emergency pair somewhere?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kyle take steps towards Kevin, and knew I needed to move beyond the glasses. When I got to him, the first thing I noticed was a pool of blood under his neck. He was bleeding bad and blood was coming from his nose, mouth, ears, and the back of his head. I cried out to him, Kevin…can you hear me?

I wanted so desperately for him to open his eyes and sit up and say he was just a little beat up, but he didn’t respond. He was moaning with each breath out, his mouth full of blood. I didn’t know whether to turn him over because he was gurgling and I was afraid of him choking, or to leave him alone so we didn’t paralyze him. All I could see or hear was him. I felt paralyzed myself, not knowing how to best help, terrified that I was going to lose him. I buried my face in his shirt and prayed, God, no. Please no. Please, please, please, God. Please let him be OK. Please. Please, God. Jesus help! Help! Please help him! I don’t know what to do. Please wake him up.

I’m not sure how long I sat there, begging God to fix Kevin. For a few seconds, I thought, He’s going to be OK. There is no way God’s going to take him from us right now. He’s still young. He just finished nursing school and we were going to have another kid.

But somewhere in the midst of my pleading with God, I felt a sense of, He’s going to die.

As I watched, a song I’d listened to on our drive in a few days before kept going through my head. The singer asks God to speak to me of goodness and love and to let my lips taste that you’re good.¹ As I watched Kevin bleed more and more, and I listened to his moaning gurgles, my repetitive prayer was I need to know you’re good, God. Please help me to know this at a deep level or I’ll never get through this. Don’t let today take away my belief in your goodness and love.

Something in Kyle clicked in and he took off his shirt and said, Here, maybe we can stop the bleeding.

We decided that the risk of paralyzing him was less important than controlling the bleeding, so we carefully lifted his head and put the shirt under it, not knowing exactly where the wound was. When we did, more blood came out and we put his head back down on the waded-up shirt. His face was cold and losing color. I offered one more prayer before a solid realization set in, God is not coming in this. He’s not going to fix this. Kevin is going to die.

I looked up, in shock. Someone was yelling down to us, asking if she could help. I said I don’t know. I don’t think so. She yelled back with a New Zealand or South African accent, I’m a trauma nurse.

My heart lifted, and for a few seconds, hope flooded back in. I thought, Maybe he will be OK.

With a bit of excitement and relief I yelled back to her, Yes! Please come down!

She ran down, wearing a white fleece, looking very serious. She knelt beside me and just looked at him, taking it all in. He’s having trouble breathing through the blood, should we turn him over? I asked.

She agreed, saying we should turn him to his side. As we turned him, she moved behind him to get a better look, and with a look of disbelief, pulled a rock out of the base of his skull. She held the blood-saturated