“Owning our stories and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing we’ll ever do.” — Brene Brown

As I stood in the beach parking lot, on a beautiful sunny July day, I tried to make sense of a world I did not want to be a part of. A world I thought I would never be a part of. A world I had pushed from my mind each time he went to work. A world that those who love pilots try to pretend doesn’t exist.

When I met and married Chris, I knew that, in theory, his career choice came with certain risks, but I did not ever expect myself to be where I was in that moment. Perhaps that was naive of me. I had always told myself that life comes with risk. And Chris loves the sky. So, I pushed those worries from my mind, and moved forward, creating a life with the man I loved. 

Unprepared for what was going to happen. Not ready for the vast expansive darkness that trauma opened up under us. Not knowing the insidious nature in which it creeps into lives, taking more than it should. Not understanding all it would steal from us. Not knowing all the ways that trauma destroys. I knew immediately that our lives would be forever changed, but I did not know the fundamental and significant nature of that change.

As though I am looking at a picture, or watching a movie, I remember clearly the first time I saw Chris in the hospital. The sounds remain with me. The faces and the people who filled that space with us are etched in the memories of those days we spent within those walls. The feelings that filled my body, as we existed within those first few hours, when things were uncertain. When promises could not be made. It all still lives in this body. Reminding, just how fragile life can be.

Hope is what held us together. Even on the darkest of days, hope. The hope of a future. The hope of a life lived together, watching our children grow. Hope and a stubborn refusal to stop. The promise that we would keep putting one foot in front of the other, though those feet often felt encased in stone. There were days when we were certain we would not make it, but the faces of our little ones pushed us to keep on moving. Forward against the storms and the harsh conditions that engulfed our lives. Forward into the world in which we now live.

Ten years on, things have shifted in ways I would never have imagined they would. In many ways, I do not recognize the woman I have become. In some ways I am much stronger, but in other ways, I am more aware of my weaknesses. I have fears I would likely never have had, and an awareness of resiliency that I would have never known had I never gotten that call. Had things been different on that day.

I have watched Chris grow into a man I love more with each passing day. And though he sometimes still drives me crazy, as all loved ones do, I would choose no other road than the one I am on with him each day. I have watched my babies grow into kind, resilient and caring people, and I know I am the luckiest to call them mine. The accident has impacted them in ways I wish I could protect them from, but I also know they are who they are in part because of it. 

And then there is me. Going through the last ten years, I have learned so much about myself. I have watched myself grow, learning to accept the realities of being me. And though I have often felt weaker than I would want to be. Wishing for more grace, and agility to manage the obstacles put before us. Wishing I was a superhero, unyielding and full of only strength. Beginning to understand that no such person really ever exists. We are all impacted by the traumas that make up our lives, and we all deal with them in the ways we each know how. 

If someone was to ask me how to survive the tsunami that follows in trauma’s wake, I would say, honestly, that I have no more wisdom than I did on that day at the beach, with my children playing around me, phone to my ear. I don’t know. How do you survive in a wave that wants to drown you? How do you stand steady on a ground that wants to shake you apart? How do you survive in a darkness that makes it difficult to see the light? 

My only real piece of advice to offer is this. Hold on. Hold on to who you are as long as you can, understanding that by the time the storm is over, most of you won’t exist anymore. Realize that no matter who is in that wave with you, it is you who must find the will to swim. That only you can find the pieces of yourself that shattered in the shockwave. Only you can find your way back to the light. 

While there may be times when the hands of others who have gone before guide your path. Where the arms of loved ones and strangers offer you a place to rest. Only you can find your way to the other side of it. Only you can put in the time it takes to heal. Only you can survive what at times feels unsurvivable. Only you can take the steps each day. 

Try to remember though, these are the spaces we get to know ourselves in. The times when we learn to accept who we are. Learn of our strengths and weaknesses. Become humbled. Over and over. Learning what it means to be truly human. Understanding that being human is not something we should apologize for. Feel shame about. Instead, our humanity should be celebrated. Because it is in the human moments that we learn the most. Live the most. And love the most. It is in those imperfect moments that we can find ourselves and each other. Learning that our imperfections only add to our beauty. Telling the tale of our lives lived on this earth.

Ten years is a long time, and though the accident sometimes feels like it happened only yesterday, so many moments have passed us by. So much life has been lived in these gifted minutes. We have existed in these last ten years as authentically and honestly as we could manage. And though our path through the wilderness has not always been walked with perfection, we have tried our best to show gratitude for the lives we continue to live. Time changes nothing and everything. Something I am so very aware of on a day like today.

“Adversity introduces a man to himself.” — Einstein

This is the first year I have not written on the anniversary of the accident. We were busy that day, and I wasn’t sure I had much left to say. The last few days I have been thinking though. I have been contemplating the passage of time, and the lives lived within the moments that make up our lives.

When I was 26, I moved to Taipei, Taiwan to teach English. I had recently finished my undergrad and as a poor student who simply wanted to travel this seemed like the logical next step for me. I originally thought I would travel with a friend, but life had decided this was no to be, so I booked a one-way ticket, having decided my only option was to embark on this journey solo. Though I was nervous to go on my own, I was not ready to give up on my dream of living somewhere other than Canada.

I arrived at the airport with the name of the hostel I planned to stay at while I looked for a teaching job, and not much more. I did not speak the language, and I knew very little about the city I would soon call home. I had a couple of connections, people I had not yet met, and the faith that if I put my mind to it, I could make my way in a world I did not yet know how to navigate.

The first week, I ate only at McDonalds, unsure of how to order or where to eat. I walked the streets around the hostel, slowly expanding my route. I asked questions and sought out connections in a world I did not yet understand how to survive in. The city seemed overwhelming to me, and for the first few weeks, I was unsure if I was going to make it. Every part of my body missed the people and the home I had left behind, and I often wondered what I had gotten myself into.

Now, though this story may not seem relevant to what this family went through nine years ago, those first few weeks in Taiwan changed me in ways I cannot adequately explain. They showed me how to persevere, how to be brave and that I was stronger than I knew.

I have a vivid memory of sitting on a corner waiting for a new acquaintance to pick me up for a beach day with other strangers. In that moment, I felt so alone, so out of place, so inadequate and so overwhelmed, and because of this I sent a request out into the universe. As I looked at the numerous unfamiliar buildings surrounding me, I asked that I be made strong enough to endure until the world of Taipei became familiar to me.

Days passed, and before I knew it, I had friends and a job, and the city that once seemed so scary began to feel like home. In the end, I lived in Taiwan for 3.5 years, and I will always cherish my time there. I grew up in many ways, and I learned that when push comes to shove, I can survive. It was not always easy, but I did it, and from this I learned that though the world we live in may not always feel comfortable or familiar, with the passage of time we become a part of it. We understand it, and we are able to navigate within in.

After the accident, the world felt much like it did that day on the Taipei sidewalk. It was so unfamiliar to me that I did not know if I could survive it. There were moments, much like in Taipei when I questioned whether I would. I thought about giving up some days. I questioned whether I was strong enough to continue. I sometimes believed I would never get my bearings, and that the fateful July day in 2013 would break me. Break us. But then I remembered that sidewalk in Taiwan, and I told myself to hold on. Again hoping that with the passage of time, I would learn how to survive in a world I did not yet understand.

As I look back on the last nine years, I contemplate the idea that time heals everything, knowing that though this is not quite true, time does in fact play a role in our healing. I have learned how to live in a world that was once so unfamiliar that I did not think it possible that I would one day find myself here. No longer afraid that I am not strong enough or smart enough or together enough to make it these nine years. Finally understanding that this is not the point. Life is also found in the moments that make up the tough times, and with the passage of time we learn what those precious moments are.

Nine years later, Chris and I are somehow still here. We still exist. We have made it over the highest mountains and through the deepest valleys, aware that there are likely to be many more obstacles ahead of us. Over the years we have grown up in ways we didn’t know we could, our relationship evolving to become something it may not have had the accident never happened. I would not wish this journey on anyone, but through it we have become a couple of seasoned travellers travelling the pathways of life together. We are now less naive with a knowing that when things feel scary and overwhelming, sometimes the only choice available to us is to get up each morning. Understanding that if we just keep moving forward, we might not only get through it, we might also learn how to thrive within it.

“Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen:  room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.” — Pema Chodron

The number of times, since the accident, that I have had people insinuate, or say straight out, that they know better how I should move through it, are too numerous to count. I have had people tell me over and over that because I write this blog, that I am somehow stuck in my trauma. Most of the time, these same people, never ask me how I am doing. They never ask me how I feel about my journey, and where we find ourselves now. Instead, they misunderstand my words, and make assumptions that lead to condescending and misguided attempts to help me “recover.”

One of the things I realized very quickly after the accident is that people who have not lived it will not understand it. I also recognized that those who do not understand are often the first to make assumptions or give condescending and problematic advice. With each blog I write, I know that there will be people who do not understand who will read it, and that their take from it will be to question why we can’t just get on with it. But, this is the point I have been trying to get across in many of my blogs, and this is why I continue to write the words I do. First, I want to empathize with those who are going through it, so they know that someone, even if it is just one persons, understands the challenges they are facing, and just how scary those challenges can be.

In the initial months and years following the accident, I felt very alone, and in many ways I did not understand the journey I was on. Due to this, I struggled in ways that I feel are very unnecessary. The number of people who said or insinuated that I had to find a way to leave it behind me, and not wallow in it, far outnumbered the ones who took the time to support and empathize with me. This led me down a painful path, and the isolation I felt was in many ways worse than the initial trauma.

What people who are going through any sort of trauma or life upset need is support and compassion, not ill-fitting advice that tells them not to feel what they are feeling. This is beyond damaging. This can be life altering for those who are trying to come to terms with major life changes, and challenges. When I felt judged, instead of supported, this put me into a kind of spiral. I did not feel strong enough to defend myself, and I thought the best response was to show the world just how strong I was. I took on the belief that I had to be the one to pull us through and out. I ignored the signs my body was sending me, and I forged on, even as my body and mind faltered.

I carry no shame for my journey. I know that I did the very best that I could, and the fact that I am still here standing is a testament to just how strong survivors can be. I am only one among many.

I no longer understand the need for those who do not understand to offer their ill-conceived advice. That is not my journey. I would like to say though, if you find yourself judging or just not understanding why your loved one is dealing with their trauma in their way, maybe try to take a step back and question why that is your go to. Ask yourself why you need to make someone else’s struggles about you and your view of the world, because one thing I have learned going through all of this, is that I understand far less about the world than I thought I did. My opinions are simply that, my opinions. We all have them. Some are legit. Others are not.

In the blog I posted yesterday, I spoke of understanding, compassion, coming together and healing. As I look at it today, I stand by falling together instead of falling apart, but I do want to make one thing clear. This does not mean forcing yourself and your response to your trauma into somebody else box. Know that when you are going through it, that you should be the priority, and those who chose to minimize your experience are dealing with struggles of their own.

To be honest, when those who continue to tell me to let this trauma go, and learn to love life again in a better place, insinuating that I am a broken person who just cannot heal. It does twinge me just a little. It does make me angry that they continue to misunderstand and minimize my response to a journey that I am allowed to take. But, then I remember me at the beginning of it all. When I was searching the world for someone who understood me, and supported me. Someone to tell me, we understand, and we are here for you. And how when I found that for myself, how these people saved me in so many ways. And how these are the people I will always remember and be thankful for. The ones who didn’t just get on with it, pretending the trauma had never touched their lives. The ones who chose to stay in it so they could help others. These people are heroes to me. They are the best of the best. And though I may not touch lives in the ways they did, I will still try to as much as I am able to show others who struggle that they are not alone.

And take as long as you need to heal. I do not presume to know better than you, how you should live your life. The world needs people who are willing to share their stories, even as they know the judgment they may face.

So, while I said yesterday, as much as you can, be there for one another. If this is not your reality, if this is not what you have available to you in your life, know that there is always the option to find other new people to support you and love you. And know that there are people who do understand what you are going through and why it can take so long to find your feet again. You are not doing it wrong. You are not weak, you are strong. Own your journey, because it is your journey. And as much as you can, try not to let the voices of those who misunderstand you be the ones you hear in your head. Listen to the survivors. They are the ones who get it. They are the ones who know. And to be honest, I have yet to meet one who told me that I needed to stop living in my trauma.

“Courage, dear heart.” — C.S. Lewis

One thing I have learned, living in the aftermath of trauma, is that it is easier to fall apart than it is to fall together. In the early days, we tend to come together. We hold hands, and we show our love, and we promise we will be there for one another. We become the best of ourselves, as we work to support another through the toughest of times.

For some reason though, as the days wear on, instead of remaining together through our suffering and our grief, we tend to fall apart. After Chris’ accident, I did not understand that as the days, months and years wore on, things were going get much worse instead of much better. When trauma enters our lives, it tends to push our buttons, every single one of them, over and over again. Creating a reaction in ourselves, and a reaction in others that we do not know how to reconcile.

When we are triggered, it is very difficult to be our best selves, and when there is trauma, everyone who experiences it, will be triggered. For many, when we feel vulnerable, we pull into ourselves in an effort to protect. Leaving us alone and lonely, at the time when we need our loved ones and our communities the most. This is one of the major tragedies of trauma. Not only the loss of ourselves, and the future we thought we would have, but also the loss of our loved ones and the futures we thought we would have with them. For reasons I do not understand, tragedies and trauma create fractures in relationships that may not have fractured otherwise. Perhaps it is the uncertainty and the fear that accompanies it. Maybe it is that people do not know how to support one another through a scenario in which both are struggling. It could be that anger over losing the lives we thought we would have and the fear that we will suffer without end, bleeds into our relationships in ways we do not understand. Adding to the trauma. Exacerbating the tragedy. Increasing the fear, leading us to act in ways we might not otherwise.

Suddenly, yet somehow also slowly, families, friendships and communities break down, falling apart instead of falling together. Love that will always be there, though we may not realize it at the time, feels like it does not matter anymore, as we fight for our survival as we live through the trauma. Not understanding that if we could just reach across the chasm that has grown between us, pushing us into places we do not really want to be, we would find that though we are afraid and full of a feelings of anger, on the other side there is compassion, understanding and love.

But, how do we do this when we are triggered? When fear has invaded our bodies, telling us to fight no matter the outcome, believing this is the only path to survival. How do we reach out to the other, when we can barely reach out to ourselves? These are not questions I know how to answers yet. I cannot tell you, because this was not my path. All that I do know, so many years after the accident, is that when living though trauma, we will one day understand that falling together and allowing ourselves to be vulnerable and open, is so much more healing, than pulling away and falling apart.

So, take a moment, if you can, to look around you, as we all go through what we are all currently going through. Take a little time to ask yourself if you have begun to close and protect or open and heal. Because survival is not only about surviving. Survival is about more than just getting through the day. It is also about remembering that you have to live in the aftermath. And though you may feel that your anger is justified, and you do not care about the relationships you lose, there will come a day when you will look back, because things always end one way or another. And you will look back and wonder if the collateral damage was actually worth it. Because one thing is certain, not matter the outcome, you will have to live in the world you helped create.

“Trauma is not what happens to us, but what we hold inside in the absence of an empathetic witness.” –Peter A. Levine

Every day on the anniversary, I spend time thinking about the accident. I go through the events of the day. Where I was. What I was doing. Who I was with. The phone call. Saying goodbye to my babies. The hours it took to get to him. The plane. His coworker, as we drove toward the hospital. Walking alone through the Emergency Room doors. His boss and coworkers. The room. Him broken on the bed, bruised and battered. Relief as he recognized me. Holding his hand. The nurses’ expressions. The doctor’s tone. The sense of urgency. The sounds of the people suffering around us. The complete lack of control. The pain. The uncertainty. The prayers. Minute by minute. Hour by hour. Day by day. Week by week. Month by month. Year by year.

So much has happened since that day, eight years ago. In many ways, it feels as though a lifetime has passed us by, but in other ways it seems like it was just yesterday. When I think about that day, I can elicit those feelings without much effort, it will always live alongside of me. It will live with all of us. The ones who cannot help but remember that day. Who cannot forget it, no matter how hard we may try.

When we hear about accidents, or instances of trauma, we often think about it in the short term. We think about the moment, and the aftermath in terms of days and weeks. Some of us may think of it in terms of months. Rarely though, do we think about it in terms of years. But, it is the years that matter. The years of lost fathers. Lost mothers. Loved ones we may never see again. The injuries, both mental and physical, that may never truly heal. The pain that stays with us. Some in the body, some in the mind, some in both. While we may learn to live with it. To function within it. To ignore it, and rebel against it. To accept it, and inspire those around us. To be the strongest among the strong. It is something we would rather not live with. Chronic pain is not good for anyone.

On the day of the anniversary, when I think about the accident, I start with remembering the day. But from that first day,t I follow its line. The trauma line. I picture all of the branches, and the places it has travelled. Its stubborn refusal to be relegated to just one day. One month. One year. I follow the years and how they have changed not only us, but many of the people around us. I am sure there are people it touched that I have not considered. Not contemplated. I sometimes wonder at the others who may be remembering this day with us. Marking this anniversary. Thinking of the tragedy of the day, and the tragedy in the days that followed.

And while I may wish this blog could be more inspirational, I cannot pretend that this trauma has any kind of meaning beyond what it really is. Sure, we may have grown in ways we may not have otherwise. Of course, there are wonderful days we would not have had, had we never met Trauma. Yes, we have grown into the people we are today. In some ways more resilient than we would have been. Stronger in ways we may not have known. More aware of the pain of others. Understanding of the fragility of life. But, I would never choose it. Never ever would I have chosen this path. I will not pretend that it was worth it. That it hasn’t taken more than it has given. And though the human condition wants us to wrap trauma up in a neat little bow, acting as though we have become better people because of it, to me, that is not the reality of trauma. Or at the very least, that has not been my experience with it. Trauma takes. Trauma does not give.

On this day eight years later, we have made our way back to the city where it all began. My children spent the day with their father, on a beach not far from the beach we were at when I got the call. I sit at a desk, attached to the room where my children sleep, listening to my classmates discuss the lessons of the day. And in many senses, yes, life does go on. But, not for all of us. Where there once was eight, now there are seven. One of us is no longer here. A child has lost their father. So on this day, eight years later, as I think of the accident. As I think of the eight of us, I think of how a helicopter accident actually impacts a family. A community. How it rips everything apart, leaving devastation in its wake. And I am aware that in reality, no matter how hard we try to convince ourselves otherwise there is no silver lining.

I chose to mark this day remembering who we were before, who we were after and who we are now. I acknowledge the suffering that trauma creates, and the fact that though, as humans we want to believe there is a happy ending, this is not always the case. Sometimes there is just trauma, and the paths that flow out of that trauma. While some roads may be beautiful and full of meaning, others are sad, leading to nowhere good. I have lived both, and sure this makes for a life experience felt more fully, pain is never an easy thing to live with, no matter how strong we may be.

If you happen to know someone who is affected by something traumatic. If it happens to be you. Remember if you can, that trauma does not take place in a day or a month or a year. Trauma stays with us. Like a scar on the knee from a childhood bike crash, or a surgery that saved a life. It does not leave just because we want it to. Trauma stays as long as it feels like it, and takes what it does. And while we may have control over our response to it, at least theoretically, it impacts us in ways we cannot not even imagine. So, when you know someone who has been impacted by trauma, don’t wonder why, months or years later they are still ‘not over it.’ If you care, educate yourself to do and be better, when it comes to supporting someone you purport to love and care for.

And for those struggling under the weight of it, know there are others fighting this battle alongside you. We may not personally know you, we may not now know your circumstances, or how you found yourself here among us, but know that you are not alone. There are millions out there just like you. Fighting to make it through the day. To sleep at night. To get out of bed. And when by chance we find another survivor, we will find that we speak a similar language and that we, in many ways understand each other’s challenges. We will never see one another as weak, or disappointing, or less than, but instead will see the strength we all have in common, and the battles we have all fought along the way.

And to those who are no longer among us, we will not forget you or your formidable strength and courage. We understand how hopeless things can feel, and how cold the darkness gets. We have met isolation, hopelessness and loneliness. We honour you and remember how hard you fought. We remember you as father, mother, sister, friend, child, loved one. We remember you always.

In the weeks leading up to this day I have spent a lot of time reflecting and thinking about what I would write. It seemed impossible that I would find the words and I wondered if this year was going to be the one I stopped writing this blog for good.  

It has been seven years since the accident. Seven years. A lot happens in seven years. Our babies have grown into children and that traumatic and life-changing day has become a distant memory in so many ways. I no longer think about it all the time and the waves and reverberations tend not to knock me off my feet in the same way. I find myself battle-worn. I am not the same woman who woke up on that day. We are not the same family. A different one walks in their place. Not better. Not worse. Just different.

In the midst of all the chaos following the accident, I have tried to find clarity. I suppose I believed that in time I would discover some reason for it all. The answers for all those whys. I called my blog “Searching for Solid Ground” because I thought that one day the shaking would stop and the earth would finally feel solid beneath my feet. I worked toward this in the most studious and tireless manner. I hoped for a return to normalcy. I longed for the days when I would be comfortable and that everything would just stop.  I searched for the feeling of peace and contentment. Somehow as the years passed I began to believe this was the goal.

But on this seventh anniversary of the day that everything changed, I find myself realizing this was and is not the point. We may never know or understand why this moment came into our lives. We may never know or understand why all the chaos following that moment happened. I suspect there will never be an “aha” moment. Instead, I think these years will be looked back upon as a time of extreme highs and extreme lows. We have learned how to live with pain and yet still somehow find beauty in the little things. Sometimes the only thing to do is put your head down. Listen to your heart. Turn your back to the wind and hold on for dear life. Because living with trauma is one hell of a bumpy ride. You cannot expect it to get easier and should always prepare for it to get worse. Much worse. Life makes no promises and reprieves are not often given.

In this insane time in history, we are all living through collective trauma and when our lives change in an instant it can be jolting and terrifying. Our brains struggle to find the world and the person we were before it all happened. We crave something we like to call “normal.” The new normal. We wish it would all disappear and that all of the pain and uncertainty would be replaced with peace and promises.

The thing is, in traumatic times, we have no choice but to go through it. To accept there is nothing you can do to change it. The only thing to do is to learn how to swim in the waves and hold your breath when you are underwater. And though your attempts at survival may not be pretty that should not be the focus. Survival is never picture perfect. It is normal to feel confused and upset and messy in all kinds of ways. Making mistakes is part of the process. Try not to put too much pressure on yourself to be flawless and inspirational. You don’t need to aspire to be something that in truth does not actually exist. I did and it only made it worse.

If I could change anything in our journey I would change this. The expectations I had for myself and my family were crippling. Had I accepted I was a mere human being, perhaps it would have been less painful. In times like these, we have no choice but to feel the pain and uncertainty. They refuse to be banished. I wish I knew that then. Instead of exerting my energy and my tremendous will to push the pain and uncertainty away, I needed to welcome them. They were coming no matter what I did. Like flooding water or days of drought. You cannot wish them away. You can only try to survive in the moments and in the days that follow.

Feeling afraid in times of upheaval and uncertainty is normal. Facing your mortality is hard. It brings up all kinds of gunk and goo. It pushes us to our limits. So when you can, be gentle with yourself. Try not to judge your ways of coping. Try not to condemn yourself for struggling to accept that you are not in control. That the world around you is changing too rapidly. Allow yourself to grieve all you have lost and all you are losing. There is nothing wrong with grieving. Feel sad on your sad days. Angry on your angry days. Courageous on your courageous days. Hopeful on your hopeful days. Laughter and joy are always waiting in the wings. Somehow pain and beauty manage to live side by side.

If you are new to this world. If you have not lived through trauma before buckle up. Buckle up and remember if you can that you are stronger than you realize. It is okay to feel your feelings. They are a part of this journey. Do not look to others to show you the way. Find your own inspirations. You are allowed to follow your own pathways. Trauma is a very individual experience. Though there may be similar ways in which we all react, it is a personal journey.

Most will get through it. Sadly, though, many will not. Trauma is not a nice place to dwell. The winds are strong and the darkness that comes with it can fell like the blackest of nights. The light can be hard to find and somedays you will want to give up. Try not to. Because maybe there is a corner just around the corner. Maybe one day you will be able to look back with your own answer. Maybe there will be a reason after all. Maybe.

“Fear is inevitable, I have to accept that, but I cannot allow it to paralyze me.”                         –Isobel Allende

The trauma of the accident brought fear into my life. Though I had struggles prior. Though I had tough times.  I always kind of believed. In a somewhat naive fashion, I suppose. That really bad things wouldn’t happen to me. In some ways, I guess this is how a lot of us function. Believing if we believe it happens to the other person somehow we will be protected. It won’t happen to us. We will be the exception. We will not ever have to face our own mortality. The mortality of the people we love.

When Chris almost died. Surviving only by some miracle. It tore that illusion apart. We were lucky. Chris did survive. But it made us realize, sometimes worst fears are realized. Sometimes nightmares do come true. Though I never wanted it to. Though I fought it as hard as I could. This thought chose to settle into my brain. I now knew first hand. We are never truly safe. Change comes whenever it feels like it. We have very little real control over our lives. Our loved ones will die. One day so will we. Though this is true for everyone. I chose to deny this to myself. As far as I was concerned, I had the say. Then, our world fell apart. Then, I got the call.

I have spent the last few years processing this thought. And when bad things happened again. When our world could not be controlled. It all became proof. It cemented the thought in my brain. It trampled down the pathway. It became a place that I regularly visited. Whether I wanted to or not. If I did not visit in my waking moments, I did in my dreams. I spent every moment with it. I walked those paths day after day. Night after night. Sometimes waking in the night, my heart pounding, convinced I was dying. Controlling my surroundings to protect myself and loved ones during the day.

But, this way of living. This way of living is tiring. Always waiting for the shoe to drop. For the next bad thing to happen. Wishing for the feeling of comfort and safety, but never being able to ever really feel safe. Knowing bad things happen all the time. And, I will be honest. Bad things have happened since the accident. Things beyond our control. Hard things that would have broken even the strongest. We have been through more than is bearable. Some days it does not feel fair at all. Some days it feels like those first days following the accident. Some days it has felt all-consuming.

I think I am starting to realize though. This is life. I am starting to realize we all have our stories. We all have our traumas. Everyone around us is struggling in their own unique way. And we could probably all use a really good therapy session or two. Or for loved ones and peers to gather around. Show us we are loved. Promise everything will be okay, though we all know some days it really won’t be. I think I am starting to understand life is not meant to always be easy or good. And though I don’t like to admit it, it seems we aren’t always meant to thrive. A part of being human is admitting that life is really freaking hard sometimes. Sometimes life is not what we want it to be.

But maybe this is where we find grace. Maybe this is where courage lives. Maybe this is how we grow. Knowing the good times can be fleeting, so enjoying them for what they are. Cherishing the little things like a good cup of coffee, a smile from a stranger, a hug from a child. Accepting that our lives are made up of big and little moments. Sometimes the ones that seem the most boring and mundane are actually the most precious. The ones we should hope for more of. A lifetime of. Working to not care that our house is small, that we are not the richest or the most popular in all the land. Understanding that this is the only life we have. Sometimes it will be great. Other times it will be truly awful. Awesome and awful mixed together again and again to create our own unique path.

Achieving happiness is not a goal to aspire to. Feeling only joy and comfort is not worth striving for. Because life is ever-changing. Mostly beyond our control. In many ways, we live in a world of opposites. Good and bad. Joy and pain. Light and dark. But in other ways, we live in a world of grey. Or yellow, if you prefer. In between the extremes. Experiencing the human condition. Accepting that it is okay to feel afraid sometimes. We are all afraid of something. Still, we can work to move through it. Past it. Finding another path to trample. All the while, accepting one another and life as the flawed and chaotic beast that it is. Honouring the journey of those living it alongside us. Not always agreeing, but allowing it to be what it is. Who knows. I am not an expert. It’s just a thought.

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world”

— Fred Rogers

Though it has not been easy, I have tried to be open about how the accident has affected us, as individuals and as a family. It is not always comfortable, because though there are many who understand us, there are also many who do not. Still, I have attempted to the best of my ability to tell it like it is. To share the scary feelings. To talk about the uglier side of surviving trauma. In an attempt to support others going through something like we went through. Though we are often told to push them away and negate them, these feelings are as much a part of the journey as when we are at our most inspirational. When our world fell apart, I did not know this. I thought we could just ignore the pain and focus on the things we were supposed to focus on. The positive pieces.

In the early days, in many ways, we felt very alone. To me, my feelings felt bigger than they should. Unfortunately, I did not know this was normal. Both Chris and I had been taught, that the important thing was to just keep on moving. To not think. To just do. To focus on the positive. To hide the negative emotions away. While this way of moving through the world can be helpful in some circumstances, after the accident I found myself struggling to do just that. We had two very young children, and as a mother, I was already emotionally and physically busy. My body was still recovering and I was still adapting to motherhood. I felt like we were just hitting our stride. Then, everything changed.

For the first year, I thought to myself, “no worries, I got this.” I focussed on all the things we had to be grateful for. I focussed on protecting and sheltering my children from the trauma. I focussed on Chris’ healing. I focussed on all of the positive emotions and tried to ignore all the pain and the hurt I was feeling. I put on a brave face and I carried on. I did my hair and I put on makeup and I took charge. And then, the bottom dropped out again.

It appears that to some my honesty makes me a ‘victim’ in the most negative of terms. They condescendingly wish me peace and happiness. They hope one day, I may be blessed enough to move forward. But to wish this for me is to misunderstand me. My life is not filled each day with doom and gloom. Through all of this, our family has lived some of the most beautiful of days. We know we are lucky in so many ways and we are grateful for all we have. But, if I only talked about that. If I focus only on the things that would make us inspirational, I would be dishonest. It would also be a loss. Because one thing I have actually been blessed with is the ability to write how things feel. And sometimes the negative parts of the journey need to be talked about openly.  They need to be shared. After the accident, I did not need to read an inspirational book on those who had already survived. I needed to know how they survived.

I needed a person like me. Someone who had lived it. Someone who is living it. I needed to be told, much of your support system will disappear. Don’t worry, it is not on you. You may find yourself the angriest you have ever felt. Don’t worry it will pass. Many days will be hard. You will get through them. In so many ways, you will truly see life for the first time. In a sense will get used to it. People will say you are broken. Don’t believe them. Your pain will be used against you. Don’t allow it. I needed someone to tell me. Shani, be you. Allow yourself to heal how you heal. Feel what you need to feel. Process what needs to be processed. Be who you need to be. We all grieve differently. We all heal at our own pace.

It has taken some time, but I have learned to accept our journey for what it is. I am comfortable with the choices we have made and the lines we have held. I do not aspire to use simple words like peace or happiness. I aspire to allow life to be life. To understand that some days are light and some are dark. To admit we have struggled. To acknowledge we sometimes found ourselves on our knees. But through it all, we continued to get up again and again. At times on our own, at others because of a helping hand. And even when we are hurting the most, we believe there is a way through. Slowly understanding vulnerability is not weakness. In some circumstances anger is justified and tears do not make us less than. And finally, I have found myself here. Head up, eyes forward, becoming increasingly comfortable in the fact that I am human. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And if you happen to find yourself in the thick of it, try to remember to look for people who understand what you are going through. It won’t always be easy to find them, but watch for them. Then talk to them. Meet up with them. Know they are out there. They will not judge. They will not tell you to get over it. Move on. Enough time has passed. Because many people who have lived through trauma understand that time is not always linear. Sometimes it circles back on itself. Sometimes, many years later, we are triggered. People who have lived through trauma will realize that feeling the less popular emotions does not make us a “victim” in the negative sense of the word. They will know, as I do, that sometimes life is not easy. Sometimes we struggle. But, that is okay.