Lesson #10: The What Is In Life

There’s always going to be “what ifs” in life. It’s easy to ask the “what ifs”. What’s hard is accepting the “what is”, the point that your life has come to. The life that your past has so generously concocted for you.

What if I hadn’t been so shy?

What if I hadn’t been a “band nerd” in high school? Would I be who I am today?
What if I had spent more time with him at the nursing home?

What if I had never moved out? Would I be better off now?

What if I hadn’t transferred schools?
What if I hadn’t tried out for cheerleading? Would I have met the friends I have today?
What if I had been more outgoing in class? Would he have talked to me more?
What if I hadn’t invited them out to the bar that night?
What if I hadn’t gone black Friday shopping?
What if I had gone shopping in Greensburg, instead of going in Pittsburgh?
What if I had stayed and taken a nap when she asked?
What if it hadn’t rained that day?
What if the patch of oil hadn’t been there?
What if I still drove the Buick instead of the Cobalt?
What if I had left 5 minutes earlier or later? Would that have changed anything?

It’s quite easy to spend hours pondering on the “what ifs”, running through the questions over and again. What’s the point wasting hours though? You can figure out exactly how these questions can be answered. Plan just how to avoid the incidents but what you cannot do is actually change the past. The past is set in stone. What we can do is take the past, reflect upon it, and learn from it. The faster we accept the “what is” in life, the more time we have enjoying that life.

What is: I am 21 years-old. I was in a head-on-collision two and a half months ago.  I was on my way home from black Friday shopping in Pittsburgh. It was lightly raining that day. At 1:31 pm I hit a patch of oil on the road which forced me into the other lane. I hit head-on with a pick-up truck. My speed was 45 mph, as was his. We hit at an impact of 90 mph. I fractured my femur and tore the tendons and ligaments in my knee. I lacerated my liver. I broke my jaw, fractured my nose in three places, and shattered the orbital floor of my left eye. I am recovering. I have a supportive family and the most wonderful group of friends. I have an amazing boyfriend who has stuck by my side through my worst days and never fails to make me smile. I hurt every day though, whether physical or emotional, some days worse than others. I am trying to stay strong and keep positive but sometimes I break. I’m not perfect and that’s okay. I may not look 100% me or feel completely myself, but I still am me.

I’m the new me. I’m the me that is choosing to accept the “what is”, rather than waste my time contemplating the “what if”. I’m the me that is grateful for all the incredible things I have in my life. I’m the me that now stops to take in the moments of life, rather than rushing through without awareness. I’m the me that is blessed to be here. I’m the me that survived.

Lesson #16: Remembering

“You hit a patch of oil on the road,” they say. “You went into the other lane. You hit head on.”

 

“You were on 119, almost home,” they say. “You are in the hospital in Pittsburgh. You're going to be okay.”

“What happened?” they keep asking.

“I can’t remember,” I say.

Remember. Memory. The one thing I long for the hardest right now. If only it would come back to me. If I could just dream it into existence, then I could answer everyone’s questions. The constant nagging would end. I could answer my own questions, the ones that tend to keep me up at night. What happened that day?

Our memory is something we never really stop to think about. It is just something that exists. But it is so easy for things to slip from our memories. Small details that once made a memory dissipate. Dates, times, words, tend to fade. What makes a memory? Why is it that your mind selects certain moments to put in the save box over others? Why is it my mind chose to avoid the time of 1:31 pm, November 23^rd, 2012?

“This type of thing happens all the time,” they say. “Your mind closes off to avoid the trauma.”

 

“It may come back to you over time,” they say. “Some experience dream recollection.”

Dream recollection? My experience might come back to me in a dream?  Aren’t dreams viewed as light, fluffy, upbeat interruptions of sleep? You wake up from a dream yearning for something or excited for what may happen. You don’t wake from a dream shaking and screaming, terrified of what did happen. My “dream recollection” would be more of a nightmare. To remember might scare the shit out of me at first. I may wake in a sweat, gasping for breath. It may hurt to remember, but I know remembering will help me to heal. I want to heal, to be able to move on.

I don’t want to remember. I need to remember. I need to know why I was in the oncoming lane. Was I forced over? Did I swerve to avoid the patch? I need to know if I tried to dodge the truck. Did I see the truck? Did he see me? Did I break? Did I attempt to diverge back over? I need to know who was there. Was I conscious when they found me? Did we talk? I need to know.

 “Have you had any memory recall about the accident?” they say.

“No. Nothing,” I respond.

“You know, you may never remember and that’s okay,” they say.

It’s not okay.

“I just need to remember,” I say.

Lesson #1: Scars

Scars are not meant to deface us, they are meant to define. They’re reminders of our journey, the struggles we have endured and overcome. They build character and strength. They cut, bend, and shape us to be our future selves. Scars remind us to cherish what we have. Not only are they reminders but life lessons as well. They teach us not to take advantage, not to underestimate. They instill wisdom and test limits. Scars are both exterior and interior. What one sees on the outside, another feels on the inside. A map from the past, leading to the future. Each scar is connected with a feeling: achievement, excitement, fear, anger. These feelings are what give definition, what define who we are.

Each scar holds a different meaning, an experience to grow from. The scar on my left ankle, a result of a shaving mishap at the age of 12, taught me to be more cautious, razors tend to be sharp. The scar on the front of my left leg, due to a curling iron drop, taught me that curling one’s hair is not something to be taken lightly; it is in fact a complex activity.

The scars that taught me the greatest lessons though are those most visible, the biggest. The ones that just don’t seem to fade as fast.

The scar across my right knee, the product of collision, taught me that hard work does pay off. Each day toward a set goal may be a struggle. It might hurt like hell. But one day it won’t hurt as much, and that goal that seemed unreachable becomes achievable. The scar down the center of my stomach, a result due to the seat belt, taught me not to take life for gradated; any second could be your last. You must cherish every moment. The scar stretching across my nose, from the impact of the airbag, taught me that the most important part of beauty is not on the outside, it is what shines through from within. The scars on my left hand, due to the shattered windows, taught me that life can go in any direction you want it to. You just have to have faith and take things into your own hands.

My scars define me as a fighter, a survivor. My scars are what give me strength and remind me that I myself am capable of overcoming anything. My scars are what tell my story, the story of who I am.