Can't Help But Think..

My mind has been replaying it as if it happened yesterday. I can hear all the same sounds, see it so vividly, and sometimes feel the earth shift underneath me. I still get scared. I still find it hard to process that everything that came with and will continue to come with what happened.

July 29th, 2018... I remember so much from this day.

It was warm, but not blistering hot. I had the day off from work which was something that never happened at that point in time because I gladly took the shifts that no one wanted. My best friend was working though, so I drove out to see her.

We talked for hours. We always do. It's like every single time we see each other it's going to be the last ever and we need to get everything aired out in our lives before we part ways. Little did I know that in a few short minutes, that could have been the case.

It was raining. My favorite song was playing on the drive home and I was so happy. Summer was in full swing and I had so many plans ahead, so many things that I wanted and was supposed to do. It all came crashing down in less than three minutes.

I lost control. What else is there to say but that? I was at the mercy of a half-ton metal square and God. I can still feel when it started. I couldn't fix it. I had to just accept it and breathe.

It happened so fast but I can describe everything I felt and heard. The tires spinning, the glass shattering, my head hitting the top of the truck, and the blood that immediately ran down my left side... I was alive... Holy shit, I was alive.

I didn't know what to do. I was trapped in the car and who knows what was going to happen. I remember not feeling any pain. Shock had set in and I was running on pure adrenaline. Everything that happened next was right out of a movie. Cars stopped to stare, I started crying uncontrollably, and a man walks over as calm as possible to see if I was still breathing. He told me that he was an EMT and he had already called for help, but would be right back and not to panic because everything was going to be alright.

Before he left to go grab something from his car, he asked if he could help me with anything and I told him I need my phone. The calls I was about to make would not be the most fun things I've ever done. First it was mom. She arrived in less than five minutes (impressive considering we lived about ten away). Then it was Rachel who saw it all happen, but wasn't sure it was me. Then it was the Braatz's. Jill was asleep, so that took a little extra effort.

By the time I had called who I needed to, the gentleman was back and carrying a scarf. He reached in through the shattered glass and wrapped my arm to stop the bleeding and to ensure no more glass would be lodged into my already destroyed left side. If it weren't for him, I would have been a complete mess.

When the ambulance arrived I was nothing short of calm. They walked over to me and asked if I could walk to the road (which they really didn't want me to do for fear of me making things worse) and I told them I wanted to try. I needed to make sure I could still walk, so into the ditch and towards the road I went. I climbed onto the gurney and immediately regretted my decision.

The hours that followed were dreadful. Staring at the ceiling because I couldn't move my neck, running back and forth with doctors for various scans, and having to lay on glass that they couldn't get out because it was under the brace around my neck. Not only was I uncomfortable, but I was ready to leave. I just wanted to wash the dirt, grass, blood, and glass out of my hair and go to bed.

When I was discharged was when it all started to hit me. Carrying the scarf that was wrapped around me by the man who pulled over, I walked into the hospital bathroom. I needed to breathe. I needed to be alone for a minute. I needed to see what has happened to my body. Looking in that mirror was what took the most strength to do. Looking in that mirror meant this was all real and I couldn't wake up from it. Looking in that mirror showed me what I didn't want to see.

Down my left side were deep gashes that stung when I moved. On my head, the same only covered by my hair. Across my right collar bone, marks from where the seatbelt held me tight. I cried. Hard. I still cry sometimes. It's a work in progress.

The rest of that summer I felt trapped. I was back to relying on other people to get me everywhere. I felt like I couldn't enjoy the freedom I took for granted not long before, and I still feel that way. I'm still working on getting over it. I'm still working on feeling okay in the car again. I'm still working on not crying every time we swerve a little, even to avoid a pothole.

But I have battle scars. My left arm is riddled with them. Beautifully drawn by God to show that I am stronger than what I thought. I was ashamed of them, I still am sometimes.. but they remind me that I am alive. I'm beginning to ignore that they're even there. It will only come to my attention when someone points them out again, asking to hear the story about why I have them. My spine is still an issue, but there are ways around that one.

I still have that scarf. It sits comfortably on the shelf in my dorm room closet and makes the occasional appearance when it's extra cold. It reminds me of the man who took the time to make me feel safe even though I could have been far from it. It makes me feel strong and I sometimes think of it as a gift from a guardian angel.

And here I am, over seven months later at nearly 1 am writing about this because I can't help but think bout it. Think about all the things that could have happened. I can't help but be thankful that I am alive and that I can share so much still. And sometimes, I can't help but cry about it and that's okay.

I'm still working on getting better, but it means I'm alive.. and I can't help but think about that.

It may not look like much, but these are with me for the rest of my life. (not to mention the herniated discs in my spine)