Yesterday was the most productive day in months. I believe I
am healing. Purged pounds of old paper, filled the green bin, got a filter for
the new fan unit, and had two walks. Now I’m getting ready to scoot around with
the broom, dust mop, and vacuum cleaner as it’s tea and stories day. I may go
in search of Valentine cookies for my writers. My mind is busy thinking about moving
into the little house. There are advantages. Less house to clean.
If I had a “do-over” button, I would re-do my part in the
events of August 6, 2019. There I was, walking home from town, minding my own
business, when a distracted driver changed my life. In the cross-walk at 9th
and H sts. on a sunny afternoon, wearing a bright pink hat and light colored
shirt, when my eyes were filled with the grill of a big truck. I ran. The truck
grazed my left side. I grabbed the stop sign pole so my knees wouldn’t buckle
and drop me on the sidewalk. Two men in a car right next to me asked if I was
okay. I was trying to breathe. I said I was okay. The woman driver rolled down
her window and yelled “sorry”. And off she went. I wandered off home in shock.
My magical thinking says if I get home
I’ll be okay.
If I had a do-over, I would dramatically collapse on the
sidewalk and holler for help. The driver would have been cited and I would have
been examined.
But the big do-over is about my responses to the incident.
Before that day, I did not make plans through the filter of age. Now I do. I
got old that day. For the first time, I felt vulnerable and fragile. The
ensuing time line makes me believe that the brain disorder was a result of the
shock and strain of running from the truck. Now I want to rebuild my self-confidence
and give up the double checking and self-doubt. I lived. I ran for my life and
I lived. The flashbacks make me relive the trauma and I don’t want to keep that
going. It’s bad enough that it happened without the echoes every time I cross
the street. I’m a walker and that is my future.
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