One of my very good friends from childhood is pregnant.
This freaks me out severely until I remember that I’m 27 years old and it is completely normal to be married and have children at this age.
I’ve ruminated on all of this before, but it never fails to dredge up some sort of odd jealousy in me. Realistically, I do not want to be engaged or married or pregnant, but I feel like I should be.
We have an apartment.
The past few weeks have been busy. Sort of. I’ve been freaking out because I don’t have a job up here, and I don’t have a job down there… I’m looking for jobs down there and applying. I have a solid date for when I’m moving—August 8.
I guess I’ll no longer be a small town girl. I’ll be more of a suburban girl. Although I guess we can still count Elkton as a small town.
It’s not Lebanon though.
It’s bittersweet, really. I’ve wanted to move out for awhile, but I didn’t expect to move two hours away and out of this state. I’m hopeful that eventually Dan can find a career up here so I can be closer to my family. I’m going to miss them so much. It’s nice to be able to drop in on my grandmother because she’s been a huge part of my life since I was little. My cousins randomly ask me to house sit or dog sit or babysit. As weird as some people think it is, my Mom is one of my best friends.
While I’m excited to live with Dan, I’m also worried about finances and the eventual resentment that may build up if I don’t find a job. I’m concerned about living in another state, even if it’s only for a year, because I’m attached to PA. I have a lot of 717 pride. I’m getting nervous, I guess.
It’s probably to be expected.
Every year has ups and downs, but 2010 was a bipolar year indeed. The emotions were extreme, and the austerity was only intensified by the stress of taking graduate courses online. By the end of December, I felt numb. It was only fitting that over Christmas break—a time free of sub calls—I got wretched cramps and laid on the sofa pondering the meaning of life.
But December isn’t the summary of 2010 by any means. It’s merely the bitter, cold ending to a tumultuous year. Honestly, I don’t feel as though the year started until May. The first few months involved settling into the routine that I embraced when possible: school work, substitute teaching, time with Dan. We managed to go to Shamrock Fest in March, the event that we honor with bringing us together in 2009, but we left early due to the torrential rains that had us completely soaked. But in May, I was running around like a headless chicken on crack.
It’s amazing how quickly life can change, and how much tragedy can put things in perspective. How good we had it comes up in my mind far too often these days, and I also think a lot about how life will never be the same again. I have a lot of questions now. It’s beyond wondering why this happened; now I wonder about what links us to each other, and how it can be affected, strengthened and broken by unfortunate events.
Have you ever asked yourself what makes a family? It seems that blood and marriage mean nothing in the face of misfortune. For better or for worse were just lines recited, because when the “worse” reared its difficult head, the responses were frightening. Family is made up of those who stay by your side in the face of adversity. Most importantly, family is love. Love is tested by everything that has happened and everything that has changed. Love gives us the courage to continue on with day-to-day life. Love is what makes us cry and what makes us hope. Love is what makes us reach out to strangers and, in turn, love them as family too.
I’ve also learned so much about friendship in the past two months. My best friends have showed concern, given me a shoulder and sent their prayers to whatever gods they believed in, all with the hope of giving some comfort to me, to my Mom, to everyone affected by this accident. I am grateful that people have been there for me, because I don’t think I could have handled this on my own. The fact that my friends will check in allows me to talk about how things are progressing, about how I feel and allows me an opportunity to vent. If I held all this in, I would die.
My own strength has been tested. I’ve had to be strong for my Mom because this is even harder for her. She is watching someone she loves dearly struggle, but she’s kept at a distance. It’s so difficult on her, and I play the role of friend and family. I must listen, advise, and—most importantly—love her, because she is my mother and she has always supported me and would do so if it was me in this situation. Still, it’s been difficult for me to watch her endure this trial. What’s hardest, though, is visiting SW. I try to keep my head while I’m there, but it’s so hard not to cry. He’s not capable of being the same person, but he is—somewhere in there—the same good person he was before the accident.
Watching the recovery process has been difficult. I haven’t been able to visit as much as I would like to, but each time I do, he looks a little bit better. Most of the time, he knows who I am right away. There are times, though, when he mistakes me for my Mom or knows who I am but can’t remember my name. One time he compensated by calling me Denise Jr. His tone is different, though; he sounds confused. You know that feeling when you have right after waking up in a strange place and not knowing where you are? From his tone, I’d assume that’s what a traumatic brain injury is like all the time. Lately, he’s been very sad that he can’t go home. He cries, and asks my Mom or his sister or me to help him, because we are family. And family helps.
But we are helpless.
I worry that SW will never be able to comprehend the sentiments behind what we’ve written. And I constantly wonder how long this will take, and how we will weather this storm. At times we can feel completely overwhelmed by what is going on in our lives, but we keep hoping things will get better.
Things were good. I didn’t realize how nice life was until everything changed and the emptiness filled its place. Little things catch me off guard, and I wonder if that will ever change. Will things ever go back to being good, or will good be redefined?
We just have to take it a day, a week, a month at a time.
Life can change so quickly. Just a matter of seconds can change the course of years, and mere minutes can determine life or death. One doesn’t usually consider how fragile life is on a daily basis when going about work that seems both tedious and straightforward. In this case, climbing a ladder on an ordinary day to do a task that wasn’t quite part of the job description but nonetheless a responsibility borne by an overburdened plant manager almost cost a life. And now those of us who love this man sit reeling in the aftermath.
Tragedy is personal. Nine years ago, the nation faced September 11 and a week later that paled in comparison to a car accident at my high school. A year ago, my godfather was killed in a traffic accident; he left behind a wonderful, loving wife and two sons who have since become fathers without their father in their life. It is horrifying what these families have gone through. To anyone who has lost someone completely, who has had someone suddenly ripped from their life, my sadness may seem selfish. I make no apologies for my egocentricity. I acknowledge that each individual disaster is its own experience. All I can do is live in this moment. I am heartbroken. I am helpless.
So I continue to stalk Facebook for news and ask friends for prayers. I carry on spreading the word about this horrible accident, his condition, his prognosis to those who care to listen. I keep talking about him with a stiff lip and no tears because I am resolute in my strength. I wait for news; all sources report slightly different descriptions, but it’s all I have to go on at this time. I fear actually seeing the damage, because I know my strength will leave me and I will have to face the magnitude of what happened. In text it is just a story, a bad dream. The change has not yet been realized in this house, though the emptiness is starting to show itself.
Now that I know how quickly things can change, I try to stay optimistic, but I fear bad news. The helplessness mixes with hope, but nothing is finite. I must subsist on the love and prayers of friends and family and maintain my own good thoughts. I must remember that many people feel this tragic heartbreak, because many people love this man. My biggest hope is that he knows how much we all care.