Ok, I think you’ve all heard enough about pain. I’m going to give that four-letter word a little vacation…if not in real life then at least in the blogosphere.
My accident occurred five years ago. Not on the dot. Not even in the month of September. But it happened half a decade ago. Of course, I know the exact date. And you probably do too if you’ve been following this blog since Day 1 (major props if you have and you aren’t my mom).
Of course, there is often an extension of the celebration or grieving: you just got married and now you’re jetting off to Jakarta for your honeymoon. You lost a loved one and you’re formally mourning for a year; informally mourning forever. But specific dates trigger extra excitement or forlornness. Do you forget your birthday? Your wedding anniversary? The day of a tragedy? (September 11th, for one, will never let us forget that horrific day).
I didn’t realize that five years had passed since my accident until about five days after the exact date. On August 27th, I glanced at the calendar, looked at what I had done five days prior, and was impressed that I had carried on as usual. With some pride, I evaluated how far I’d come in the coping realm and got back to whatever I had been doing.
But here and there I feel a hole, a sadness. I watch someone sprint down a crosswalk to make a light and realize I haven’t made that seemingly pedestrian move in over five years.
For the next week, I will observe the anniversary of my accident by writing about all of the things I haven’t done in five years. Please join me on this journey.