Two months

Yesterday was two months since my mom's accident. Today is the two-month anniversary of the worst day of my life.  Sometimes I ask myself whether it really was the worst day. The timing was certainly terrible, three days after my grandfather passed away and four days before my brother's wedding. I was also 8 months pregnant and stranded in a hotel with two small children in an unfamiliar town several states away from home. Can it get much worse? Probably, but I shudder to think how and would rather not go there. I think the thing that makes it the worst though, beyond the trauma of the actual day, is the long term effects and results of the day. Had the outcome been different, had things turned out better, more positive for the long run, it might not have been as bad as I perceived it to be.

To be perfectly honest I try not to think back on that day. When I first arrived home it helped to talk to a very selective few, to tell my story, to explain what happened. It was part of the healing process for me. Today, however, I don't like to talk about it more than I have to. I prefer to put the story behind me and focus on what I have to do to survive each day now. Putting one foot in front of the other is far more important to my survival than rehashing old wounds. That's why I prefer not to talk about the past details. They can't be changed and having to think or speak about them only dredges up a painful past I can't do anything about. I have to focus on the here and now, and on making a new future. Please don't ask me to tell my story again. I will tell you only when and if I need to do so.