This year has been one of the worst years of my life, major life-events-wise. And yet here I am. Surviving. Thriving. Surrounded by people who love and support me.
I wrote this with pen and paper in a journal. It wasn't right after the incident. I was on autopilot in those days, a bit out of my mind. But it was closer to the events than now, a year later. It's amazing and a bit scary how much I can forget when my body is in survival mode.
"Did DeAngelo come home last night?" I asked. Dan shrugged. D was 22 years old. He could stay out all night if he wanted, I supposed. "What are the odds that he'd go to work without stopping at home?" the question was rhetorical. He would just skip work. He'd done it before. With any luck, he'd call and let them know he wasn't coming in. More likely he'd no call no show. I sighed and finished my coffee. He'd never learn. I sat my empty mug on the bedside table, turned my phone's do not disturb mode off, and headed for the toilet. A notification buzzed. I had a voicemail. I went to the transcription.
" Hi, Alice. My name is Lauren. I'm in nurse at medical center of Aurora ER. DeAngelo was in a motorcycle . . ."
I didn't need to hear read the rest. My ears started ringing until I couldn't hear anything else. I was only somewhat aware of my own voice repeating the word fuck on a loop. I handed Dan my phone so he could read the voicemail as well. The back of my neck was tingling and not in a good way. I imagined that if I had spines like a porcupine they would be at full attention. I struggled to breathe. My hands were shaking. My body shook.
Suddenly this was a very different Friday than it was only minutes before.
Suddenly my whole life was different than it had been minutes before
I was in the kitchen talking to a nurse in the ER. How much could she tell me? How much should I ask? "I got a message about my son. I don't know if he's still there." Calmly and patiently she looked up the information for me. He was moved from the ER to room 427. Visiting hours had already started and I could come visit whenever I was ready. "Remember to put on clothes!" the nurse joked. I chuckled. "So inappropriate" I thought. Also the thought of visiting hours was laughable. I was going to see my son and no locked lobby door was going to stand in my way. Visiting hours my ass.
That's it. That's the end of that journal entry. There's so much more to tell. So much more to unpack. So much hurt and frustration and anger and worry and crying! Every day with the crying! So much grief.
For this one year anniversary, I want to spotlight my gratitude. I'm so thankful that D is still alive. I'm so grateful I didn't lose him. I'm thankful he's mostly recovered and has no brain damage. I pray he'll stop doing stupid shit and live a long life.
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