Over night has been rainy, but it’s now dry enough to sit on the pathway in my neighborhood. It’s chilly for August. I’m in long sleeves.
My daughter just called me, but I think she got distracted. We went on a search for mud this morning; my headache demands an outing with little exertion.e
Now she’s sitting under a tree, digging. She’s wearing a new dress we got yesterday that is, miraculously, not really getting dirty. What a good play dress.
There’s a horse farm across the street, but they have corn growing this year, too. When I look up over the fields, the broad leafed trees behind them and a mist settling on them, I always get lost in imagining flying over them or being surrounded by them. Like that bird calling right now.
It has been 23 years since the accident. 23 years, today. What a 23 years.
Now she wants me to shake bush limbs over her head to pretend it’s raining on her. Those grey clouds tell me real rain is coming again.
This past August, as the anniversary of my accident passed for the 22nd time, I was, as always, surprised by how much better I felt when 3:05 passes (the actual time of the crash.) After 3:05, I feel like I can breathe easier. I made it. Another year.
One night recently, I was at a bar with a number of friends and at the opening strains of a particular song, one of my friends and I were like, “Oh yeah!” We clinked beers and nodded meaningfully to each other. I don’t know what his memory was, and it’s probably different from mine, but it was clearly important to both of us.
When I got out of the hospital back then, I wanted to “get so much better” that no one would know anything had happened. I think I meant that I would not know it happened. That I couldn’t tell. That I would forget. I was afraid I was permanently damaged and would never amount to much.
The sure way to miss success is to miss the opportunity. Victor Chasles
Write about the best opportunity you’ve been given and how you made the most of that opportunity.
The best opportunity I have been given was services with Missouri Vocational Rehabilitation. Voc rehab is a program run through the state department of education, and it is one that is meant to help people with disabilities live and work independently.
In the early days after the car accident and coma, when I was in rehab for head injury, I was offered the chance to apply for assistance through that program. At the time, though, I was so scared of being “damaged,” that I didn’t even want to acknowledge what was going on with me. I was fine. It was fine. I could handle it. Just let me get back to school and it’ll be fine. That was my mindset.
A crap-ton! And those are just the ones I remember! I don’t know how many I had while I was in the coma, but it’s safe to assume it was quite a few – most of my ribs were broken in the accident, both my hips, my femur had gone through my pelvis, my shoulder…
This winter, since I had some time to get “settled,” and I am in Ohio and its cold, I found Wee One some classes and activities. Not too many, because I don’t think its right for her, but some. We really liked The Little Gym in Seattle, but it’s really far from where I live, and I found a tumbling tot class nearby (and much cheaper!)
WO loves going, watching the other kids, climbing on things, and the trampoline. She is working so hard to jump these days and loves the trampoline, especially when I get on with her, hold her hands, and jump with her. To be honest, I like it, too, until I get off and then I feel it: my head injury.
On Tuesday, my 17 month old was putting rocks in my hand. After about 10 or 11, they started falling, so she put new ones into my other hand. I thought about this post as I sat in the sprinkling rain and switched from watching her concentrating little face to watching the top rock in my full hand, barely balanced in place. It tipped to either side easily if I moved my hand, so precarious was its perch.
This is the second installment of my top 10 90’s movies (Read the first one here.) Most of these movies came out when I was a little older, in college. They are in “chronological” order, meaning time of meaningfulness in my life.
Given the amount of drool, finger chewing, and tongue-running-over-gums I’m seeing, I can only surmise the Wee One is working on a new tooth. She didn’t really want to be put down yesterday, and I spent a lot of time wearing her and holding her close, during which time I could engage in a little mental exercise: