Twelve Years and Wondering

I'm sitting at a local coffee shop, working on getting a job, working on moving my things to Austin from Charlotte, thinking about moving my stuff from Indiana to Austin, hoping to get my favorite from Orlando to Austin, and it occurred to me. On February 2, it will be 12 years since I was in a major car accident. Normally, I don't dwell on such things, but I was just contemplating the blessings that I have received since then.

That moment, on a freezing cold, bright and clear February day, I was sixteen, huddled in my letter jacket and heading home from track practice when I pulled out in front of a semi truck. I remember it now, and it's making my palms sweat, and my eyes sting just a little. I saw it coming, I inhaled a sharp breath, and felt with my whole being, the crash, pop, the metal twist, the explosion of glass and the crack of my pelvis as it split into two. I felt myself spin and jerk, and I knew I was going to die. I watched the front of the truck as it penetrated the passenger side, then it miraculously climbed onto the hood and avoided my frail, expendable body. I spun; the truck flipped, spilling tons of grain into a vacant field. My truck spun almost until it his Allison What's-Her-Name's driveway, an eighth of a mile from the intersection.

People rushed toward me as I kicked my way out of my mom's Chevy Blazer, broken pelvis and all, the door covered in bloody scratch marks and debris. I stood up before someone told me not to. Then my world went dark, and I lost my sight. My first thought was that I would never see my dad's smile again. That memory still makes me teary, and I was overcome as someone led me back into my demolished truck. Slowly, as my blood pressure evened out again, my sight came back like a numb limb that has been slept on too long. I sat there, on my mom's leather seat, thinking 'oh boy I'm in trouble', and 'Oh God, I need to tell Emali that I'm okay'. I'm not quite sure which thought took precedence, but they were both in the forefront of my mind.

Eventually, sirens made their presence known, along with the medics I had known since childhood. They laughed with me, and comforted me while we made our way to the hospital. When we wheeled into the trauma bay (I ended up working that the same hospital's ER later on), Bill and Kyle were there waiting for me. Two guys from my high school who knew I was in trouble, and came to help me. I'll never forget that.

My parents showed up; Emali and her parents showed up. I heard her family coming all the way down the hall, and I remember being overwhelmed with sorrow that I had put them through that, again. I miss that closeness. But everybody was there, and three days later, I was released from the hospital, with a broken pelvis and a concussion.

It's been twelve years, and I have never forgotten how lucky I am, and how blessed I am for everything that happened that day. I don't usually wax poetic about such things, but I am so blessed to be here, so blessed to have the opportunity to walk every day (the docs thought I was paralyzed for a bit), I have the opportunity to express myself, to hug my family and friends, to express my love, to chase my dreams, to be thankful for every small thing that comes my way. I am especially thankful for my two guardian angels, and for all the people who were there to catch me when I fell.

All these years later, the overwhelming sense of blessing and awe are as powerful as they were back then. Good God, thanks.