I sit here gingerly enjoying TV without a care in the world, but you, you are stretched out on the old, tiny hospital bed. Every limb stretched out by a contraption trying to keep you still so you heal properly.
You danced on the thin line between life and death, a step away from the other side. When your eyes opened you had no idea what had happened. The reckless driving during the pouring rain. The skiding out of control, the poll, the panic and slam, the tragedy has begun. You ricochet back and flip 3 times before there is a screeching halt and then time stops. She watched from the car behind and her heart skiped a beat, then two, then reality hit her like a brick wall.
The car’s body is so contorted they can’t reach you, they start cutting even though they are convinced all they will find is a lifeless body, it is impossible that you made it. They reach you and they soon realize that you somehow escaped the grips of death. Unconciousness has taken you away long ago but there is a pulse and the miracle story now begins.
In the short term one more surgery awaits you, that makes two with the one you previously had, one that was needed to stretch your muscles back to where they are supposed to be. Your face is disfigured, you are no longer recognizable so plastic surgery will soon follow.
I wish I could be there, I know it would not help. But I hate that I am so disconnected from that world that your tragedy, although on my mind for the past 2 days, does not have an impact that I think one should have. I hate myself for not feeling worse, I hate myself for not being able to control it, but most of all I know the reason I am this way is because if I expressed every emotion, if I didn’t hide, and didn’t disconnect I would be a hot mess. That however does not stop me from praying that you have a speedy recovery, from loving you, and hating you at the same time for your stupid mistake, for doing this to yourself. For right now all that matters is that you are OK, that you are alive.
