I like vanilla, it’s the finest of the flavours…

23 03 2010

Today makes one year.

4:12 pm this afternoon to be precise.

My emotions over the past few days in reflection of the upcoming anniversary of sorts have been all over the board.  At one moment I feel full of thanks to fate or whatever higher power guided the events of that day to be lessened from their full potential.  The next moment I am anguished that the simplicity of it all created such a disturbance in my life and the far reaching effects of impacts on the lives of those around me.I drive that stretch of road at least sixteen times a week and even still, a year later, I cringe as I see the fading spray paint marks left by the sheriff to document the event.  I still tense when an individual follows too closely behind or worse yet I am forced to slow or stop on that road.  I had thought that by this point I would not focus my thoughts so greatly on the accident, but I was wrong.

I still have the salmon and white business skirt suit I wore that day.  It’s remained pressed and hung in my closet ever since and yet never since worn.

I’ve tried to think back on why for that one day I happened to drive my car instead of my husband’s, which surely would not have survived such an impact.  For a long time I’ve thought perhaps my reasoning was to have room for boxes of crap for a meeting the following day for work.  But no.  And I remember it now as I think back.  I had an appointment that Monday morning, for 6:15 am, for blood work to be drawn.  That’s why we didn’t car pool that day.  I never even followed up on the results of the blood work, but they must not have been bad for my doctor never called to have me come in for a remedy or plan of action.

There are good days.  Physically speaking.  Days when I leave the cane behind and hobble along with barely a noticeable limp and relatively no pain.  But relatively no pain is only a description for pain that is tolerable.  When I allow myself to think on my physical body I can always feel the dull knot at my lower back.  It feels like a hand, the fingers clenching into a fist and then randomly releasing, to spider the pain out and across my hip.  Yet, for the most part, I can ignore than uncomfortable agony and I do.  And on days when it is something I can disregard as such, those days are good.

The bad days though are unbearable at times.  Nothing sooths away the searing pain as it takes over my lower body, almost paralyzing me at times.  That same hand of pain feels like it is on fire and it ignites every area it comes in contact with.  On those days simply walking is a chore, as is sitting, lying, living.  No position is better than the former and nothing alleviates the hurt.  Those days arrive and leave me in a wallow of pity, wishing I had arrived at that turn in the road thirty seconds later or sooner; damning that woman to a lifetime of sorrow; wishing at times that the injuries had been great enough to prevent me from feeling at all.

I’ve never been one to want to change the past, I’ve always thought of the past as a lesson for my future.  Even the bad times and bad choices turned me down a road that lead me to where I am now and all in all that’s a pretty place.  But unlike bad choices in men and jobs and words and friends – if I were to have never been in that accident it would not have changed a course of events that were necessary.  I could have actually danced at my wedding or rode a roller coaster again or have unmedicated sex or a whole bevy of options that are closed to me now.  It’s the one thing in life I do wish I could change.



One response

30 04 2010

wow amazing info man.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: