I do get tired of saying this. I know everyone around me gets tired of hearing this. I tire of thinking it. But far greater, I am tired of feeling it. I have a long way to go until I am pain-free, and at this juncture I am no longer going to therapy- I have no one to blame on my slow recovery to normal 33-year-old, but myself. I do, on the other hand, have so many people that have never been properly thanked. These people did not singularly save my life, and if thanked directly, would probably never understand the magnitude their assistance had on my life.
On September 6th of this past year I had a car accident, one which I was solely responsible for creating. My life ended on that day and I was given a new one. It has been a little over four months and I have made adequate recovery- I move like an 85 year-old! It's been quite trying, not just for me but for my friends and family who helped me find my feet again:
It was a Friday, I had missed my son's birthday, and I was a week out of surgery when Mark Adrean pulled me out of bed, made my mother stop feeing me oatmeal and go to physical therapy. I will never in my life feel a pain course through me like I did that day, and Mark has the pierced ear drum to prove it (he says). He had no time for my cries, he was more irritated at my lack of cooperation than anything else- and I still have the bruise on my knee to prove it (I say)! When I finished standing three different times, and thought ever moving again was feudal, I saw my friend, Sara Miller, standing over me. She wiped the tears from my face and told me everything would be better- not today, but soon. THAT was probably the lowest day of my life. Since then, I have been helped on my journey by so many individuals, who were either doing their job, or just randomly signed up at church to visit me.
To the entire staff at Warm Springs- Debbie, Hannah, Mark, Darlene, Brandi, Erin, Roger, Gina, Christine, and everyone who spent a moment with me. We laughed, we smiled, you kicked my ass and I fell on it. I am who I am because you "did your job." Thank you will never be enough.
To my church, First United Methodist Church- I had no idea how much I was loved until you showed up at my house and the hospital, prayed with me, my husband and family, and kept me company for the long torturous time I spent "imprisoned" in rehab. Carol, Paul, Kyle, Joy, Jarrell, Cally, Katie, Sean, Caiti and so many other I wasn't coherent enough to remember. I am who I am because you loved me. Thank you will never be enough.
To my friends at Bloomington High School and beyond- your prayers and well-wishes were invaluable. To the players who brought me roses and teachers who donated their dollars and food. The countless people in Texas and states reached only by highway and Twitter- the power of your prayers helped me in ways you'll never know. The my family is whole because you cared. Thank you will never be enough.
To my mother and father who uprooted themselves from the Grand Caymans (which I GET to hear about for the rest of my life), and flew to my rescue. They gave up their lives for an indefinable time so my family wouldn't fall apart. You planned parties, signed homework folders, and tucked in my babies when Vince and I could not. I cannot imagine the personal agony of watching your own child endure so much- and yet you kept us together when we were so close to falling apart. Thank you will never be enough.
I don't know why I was struck with the urge today to say thank you. It seemed like just as good of a topic to write about as any other- better even. And I like I so often said, "It's been fun, but let's never do this again!"