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.

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.

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.

May included two weddings, a half a week at the beach (during which time I saw one of my favorite ex-pats, Kate), my college reunion, Alisha’s graduation from Washington College, a concert, a celebration of Alisha’s graduation with her family, and working full time at Hershey Entertainment and Resorts. In my Google calendar, I actually have June 4 blocked off for sleeping in an effort to recover from that month. When I look back on my year, May sticks out as the happiest time. It was busy, and I put the miles on, but I saw so many wonderful people and love was everywhere.

June and July fell into place much like the beginning of the year. We managed a quick weekend at the beach, we attended Celtic Fling with my Mom and SW, and we saw Tom Petty with Dan’s parents. The rest of the time was filled with work and school for me. I was forced to cut back my hours because in addition to my two graduate classes, I picked up a psychology course at HACC to meet undergraduate requirements for teaching certification. Toward the end of July, I set a record for most accidents to a car in one weekend. Dan backed into it in his driveway, I got rear-ended on the way to work, and I opened my passenger-side door into a guard rail while trying to get my insurance information out for the rear-ending. Lionel spent a week in early August in the body shop.

August. August is when the world kind of went to shit. The previous blog entries about SW’s accident really only scratch the surface. On August 2, when my Mom came home from work crying hysterically, I vowed to remain as strong as I could. My resolve remained, and I supported her and tried to support him as best I could. I visited SW in rehab at Hershey more than his own daughter did. In October, he moved to a rehab in North Carolina that specifically treats brain injuries. The situation is so incredibly awkward, and the emotions stirred by the constant phone calls are mixed. We miss him, we feel bad for him, and yet how can we remain consistently dedicated to him when we are unable to get information? How can we support him if he never made the move for us to be family? But we try. We miss him. And we still cry.

It’s really been a mixed bag since August. September held a brief reprieve from all things problematic with Dan and I spending a week in an apartment at the beach. If I remember correctly, we only had one fight, and it was because I wanted to do my homework on the sofa. The whole sofa. Yeah, I’m a brat. We relaxed on the beach, which was empty since it was after Labor Day. We enjoyed our time together, and the peacefulness of Dewey Beach with no frat boys. Things picked up after that; I had to leave my job at Hershey because school and subbing were more important.

Now here we are. January. The holidays have passed, and the only thing on the horizon is the beginning of my student teaching.

I’m scared, and I hope this year is better.

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.

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.