10/18/2015

 

Four years, 2 months and 7 days since Scott’s accident. We plug along every day and try not to dwell on the past and move forward. Try to forget what’s happened and look toward tomorrow. Unsettled is how feel tonight. And I cannot shake it. Something happened to me tonight. It is so stupid and so insignificant to most people. The fact that something so inanimate and something so not important would trigger a memory that I thought I forgot.

I spent that night at the hospital praying and hoping that Scott would live through the night. It’s funny that I don’t remember the time of day or the day, for that matter.  It seemed like it had been days before I had a shower or a hot meal. At some point, I don’t remember how the actual connection came about, we were invited to the Ronald McDonald house across the street. I remember a woman coming up to us and handing me a ticket with access to the charitable housing. I was so grateful to her.

She walked us across the street and gave me specific instructions. Because we were in Camden, NJ, security was tight. You had to be buzzed in and if you weren’t on the list, you didn’t have access and would not be let in. I was nervous but appreciative for the opportunity to have a place to stay.

At some point, and I can’t remember where, Matt and Doug had ordered sub sandwiches to eat. I don’t think I realized at that moment the pain that they were in and probably never will. It’s just something we don’t talk about. And why would we, I mean the past is the past, can’t change it. But maybe I should. We made our way through the Ronald house to our room. I’m from a small town in Michigan and I can say that once I was buzzed in, I had never seen anything like it. Of course, I had ever seen anything like Camden other than on tv.

To the right was a kitchen, with at least 6 refrigerators. To the left was a sitting area, which actually was really nice. Straight ahead was a corridor to the elevators. At the end of the hall and to somewhat to the right were rooms that people were staying in. I remember seeing a young couple with a baby and I wondered what their story was, prayed for them that it was nothing serious.

I couldn’t wait to get a hot shower. Hadn’t had one in days. The boys were chilling, eating their subs and trying to be supportive. I locked myself in the bathroom in hopes of having a hot shower and any resemblance of home, comfort and safety. I walked into the bathroom and saw brand new towels. They were royal blue. VO 5 shampoo in the shower, Lever soap and Crest toothpaste. I was honestly impressed with everything in the bathroom. It was clean. And keep in mind that all of the items at these houses are donated by generous people who either have been through it or just care enough to help out.

I remember crying through the entire shower and wishing for enough water pressure to take all of it away. I knew the boys needed to shower too and all I wanted was to get back to the hospital and be with Scott. I opened the curtain and grabbed that royal blue towel and wiped all the water away. I dried myself off and saw the royal blue lint all over my body. I couldn’t get it off. But I had more important things to do and hurried myself and told the boys to do the same. 

Well, what happened to me tonight was a flashback of that day. Which is absolutely ridiculous, it’s been four years for God’s sakes. It’s time to move on. But it triggered something in me tonight that I just can’t shake. Finally, we have our own place and we are making it ours. From top to bottom. Every fixture, every light switch, room by room, plant by plant. Bought new towels this weekend to match the whole ensemble in the master bathroom gray and royal blue.  Worked my little ass off today and couldn’t wait to get a hot shower. Used my new towels for the first time tonight.

 

Royal blue lint all over my body…..

 

 

1/30/14-My first Peer visit as a volunteer with the Trauma Survivors Network is tomorrow. TSN is a national support group for victims of trauma and their families. It's a forum for those who have experienced trauma and have survived and gives an outlet for everyone involved to connect, communicate, encourage and comfort others who are experiencing or have experienced some form of trauma.  The members of this group have stories of survival from traumatic brain injury to amputation to limb salvation. Everyone's story is different but yet still the same. Every survivor has a similar story of day after day of hospital care, life-saving surgeries, months of grueling physical therapy and most importantly the will to live or at least regain skills to have their life be as normal as possible. Most of everyone that I have met so far has a greater will to be a better person and help someone suffering than before their trauma.

Several months ago, a new chapter of TSN was formed here in my new hometown of Charlotte at Carolinas Medical Center. CMC has one of the best Level One Trauma Units in the nation. In this situation I hate to use the word 'fortunate' but fortunate we are to be some of the first members of this elite and amazing group of people. Fortunate to have incredible trauma surgeons in New Jersey who knew incredible trauma surgeons in Charlotte. Scott's orthopaedic surgeon here in Charlotte, Dr. Bosse, had a huge part in starting this group. As a matter of fact, he is the leader on a huge national research project, partly funded by the Department of Defense, on limb salvation and the benefits of peer groups like TSN. His research shows that most patients who have the support of others who have experienced similar acts of trauma are more likely to heal quicker, both emotionally and physically,  and have a higher success rate of returning to a normal and functional life.

His theory, which in my opionion is spot on, is that a surgeon can only do some much. There are only so many surgeries and so much medical technology that can repair someone in that situation. Once the surgeries and physical therapies are done, it's up to the patient and their support group to complete the healing. I can attest from personal experience that surgery and medicine can only go so far. You can only repair what's repairable. Even though humans are amazing creatures, damage is just that. Sometimes unrepairable.

I witnessed that first hand. It's truly amazing to me that my husband had the will power to live and the human strength to overcome his trauma. It took twenty four surgeries by some of the best doctors in the nation to get him back to a level of 'normal' function. No, it's not perfect and by no means normal and there are things with him physically that only God will fix one day at the gates of Heaven. There is a whole slew of things that he will probably never do again.  But in the big picture of things he is so fortunate to have regained some of his life back and this whole ordeal has opened up avenues that he and I would have never experienced.

Experiencing a trauma in any form, gives you a different perspective on life. It surely makes you more grateful for every blessing, no matter how small or insignificant. It makes you less aggravated over the little things in life that really don't matter. It makes you more patient and more forgiving. It makes you laugh at the stupid things that you otherwise thought were stupid. But it also makes you cry, makes you angry, makes you frustrated. Makes you question every decision you make.

I have the unique opportunity to open my heart, share my knowledge, give a shoulder to lean on, be a backbone, offer tissues, give a hug, grab a cup of coffee and lend an ear to someone who is just as scared and uncertain as I was two years ago and still am today.

9/10/13-Two years ago to the day today our lives were changed. I was surprised though by my reaction to the impending anniversary last night. I had a clear thought in my head weeks ago on how I would handle this today. I had built up the courage to be positive and look at this situation like an opportunity instead of a setback. I thought to myself all day yesterday that it would be ridiculous for me to be upset because of today. It's just a day, right? I wrote a post last night on my Facebook that pretty much summed it up:

"To most people, tomorrow is just another Tuesday or just another day in September. But to me it's the anniversary of the day that The Lord chose to keep my husband on this earth to serve a greater purpose than what he was born for. It's the day that has broadened our horizons more than any other day in our lives. Its the day that has taught me and family to be strong and trust in the path that has been chosen. It's the day that has given us power to accomplish and overcome. It's the day to rejoice and be thankful for what we have and what we have been given. Be gracious, be kind and be thankful."

But the more I read it and the more I thought about everything that has happened in the last two years, I really doubted my strength and my ability to deal with it. I thought to myself how unfair life was and what did we do to deserve this. Needless to say, I bawled like a baby for the rest of last night and into this morning, and even writing this blog. Every kind post and every like on Facebook and every tweet really set everything into place for me. I have not been alone through this and neither has Scott or the kids. We have support seeping through the walls.

Opportunity is defined as a favorable juncture of circumstances. Opportunity is also defined by what you make of the circumstances. If never given the opportunity to do something, you never will. The opportunity to take what has been given to you and making something out of it, is what drives us all. It's what shapes us and makes us better, stronger and brighter people. No one asks for bad things to happen but it's all about how you take that circumstance and put it towards something positive. Something meaningful.

Purpose is defined as an end to be obtained. Isn't that what we all wonder everyday? What is our purpose? What are we trying to obtain? Fortunately for me, I think I can see that now. It's taken two years but I see the big picture, I see the light at the end.

My entire life I thought I knew my purpose, I thought I knew the purpose for my husband and for my kids. I had it all planned out. Even though absolutely nothing that I had planned has happened, it doesn't matter. It just means that how I thought my life would play out, wasn't the right path for us. There is a better path for us. I'd like to think that I am right ALL the time, but I was wrong. Don't tell anyone, I hate admitting that. But at the same time, I'm completely okay with it..

There's a small group of people who "think" they know our story and what they don't know about us, is that Scott has had 23 surgeries (the last one being fifteen days ago), weeks spent in hospitals, hundreds of miles traveled to doctor's appointments, dozens of setbacks and countless hours of sleepless nights.  But that's okay with us. We expect that most people will not understand because most people will never go through what we've been through. What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, right? It's okay with us and we wouldn't wish this on our worst enemy.

I have an enormous amount of empathy for those who there that day. I cannot even imagine what they went through emotionally, to witness something like that. I am, to this day,  indebted to those who were there and took care of my husband and my son. In debt to the point that I can never repay them.

There was a specific opportunity and purpose for us moving to North Carolina and leaving our family and friends. There was a reason for us to take advantage of the opportunity that was given. What we thought our purpose was then, has now changed to something much greater....

6-7-13 I had a serious case of deja vu a few weeks ago. I work on the north side of Charlotte. It's a pretty decent area and seemingly harmless. I usually do not fear for my safety when I go out for lunch alone. Of course, I also air on the side of caution and always look over my shoulder since my stay in Camden, NJ. I came from a really small town where we left our house unlocked, our cars unlocked, windows open and really didn't worry too much about crime. Besides if anyone chose to break in, we probably would know them.

I always go to the area McDonald's to get a large unsweetened tea to get me through the afternoon. There's a gas station right next door. It's kind of sketchy but it's always busy, so I have never worried before about getting gas there. Since my experience in Camden, I am much more aware of my surroundings. When I pump gas, I leave the car running with the driver door open, just in case I need to make a fast getaway. It was warm that day so I had my driver's side window down. I pulled up to the pump leaving my purse and wallet sitting in the passenger seat, with the car running. I pumped the tank full and as I was putting the cap in, I noticed a man in a worn out Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt and grubby jeans walking towards me. I tried to not make any eye contact with him because he came from nowhere and seemed out of sorts.

 I heard him say "Excuse me, Miss. Excuse me, Miss." In what seemed like an hour, I put the cap on my gas cap, got my receipt, just made it into the car and realized he was right there. I literally hit the lock button as he was looking through the open window. It hit me at that moment that my window was wide open. It's funny how seconds seem like minutes and minutes seem like hours in those situations. It instantly took me back to a place I had hoped I would never go again. It's that moment when you are so scared that your heart races and your chest pounds to the point where you cannot breathe or barely utter a word. He placed his hands on the car door, stuck his head through the window and tells me he and his wife are living in their car and need money for food. I apologize to him and say I have no cash. He stared at me directly and within a minute walked away. At that moment, I had no idea what he do. Luckily, he walked away. No harm, no foul. You know, one part of me actually feels sorry for people like that, I really would help someone in dire straights if that was really their case. It's hard to tell anymore, if it's a true need for food or is it a need for booze or drugs.

Now I learned the behavior of derelicts, panhandlers, beggars and drug addicts from the 41 days that I spent in one of the worst cities in America. Although homeless, jobless and more than likely criminals and or drug addicts, they were experts at picking out people who were upset, desperate and vulnerable. They knew exactly what they were doing and then make a B-line for you, they didn't wander aimlessly. They have a mission and will stop at nothing. They know an easy target and they zone in on it. They are almost professionals at what they do. I happened to be the easy target almost on a daily basis while at Cooper University Hospital.

Once I got back to work, I was telling the story to a few of the girls and the memories of those days that I spent in Camden came rushing in faster than I could talk about. I had that heart racing, muscle shaking fear. It's makes my heart race and my mind spin writing about it. Story after story, encounter after encounter was spilling out. I, at that moment, couldn't think about anything else.

Just like at the gas station, I had a very similar experience in the hospital parking garage. But much creepier. You see, the parking structure at Cooper Hospital is situated between two city blocks. It was the shortcut from one street to the next for most of the locals. I prayed every morning during my twenty minute commute from the hotel to the hospital that I would hit every green light and get that parking spot just a few feet away from the hospital entrance. Very rarely did that happen. It was very late one night, after eleven. Matt and I were leaving for the night. It was very desolate there after that time. The only people on the streets at that hour were ones that would make a grown man nervous. They actually put the hospital on lock down after midnight, no one enters and no one leaves.

We were fortunate enough that morning to get a parking spot in the first row near the entrance but it was all the way to the farthest end.  After spending the entire day with Scott in the trauma unit, Matt and I walked out talking amongst ourselves about Scott and what we would do for food. It was late, I was tired. Every day we spent anywhere from twelve to twenty hours there. I seen this man come from no where and I told Matt, "Stop talking and hurry, get in the car." Our casual conversation and walk to the car became dangerous in a matter of seconds. Of course, his 'no fear of anything' attitude was, what I felt going to cost us our lives or the rental car. This man was following us, mumbling words I couldn't make out. Matt was not walking fast enough. I was trying to keep my composure and not show fear. I hit the unlock button on the fob, put the key between my first and second finger and prayed we would make it to the car in time.  I literally shut the door, hit the lock button and the man was there, at the window, yelling at us. I have no idea what he said or what he wanted. My adrenaline kicked in at that point and I thought I was going to black out. I started the car, put it in reverse and nearly ran his toes over backing out of the parking spot.

Those people didn't care what your situation was, what turmoil you were in, they wanted money. My guess is money for drugs or booze.  I think it was the second or third day we were at the hospital in the main  reception area. It was just Morgan and I.  The poor thing was trying to sleep and I was my usual hysterical self, bawling in my hands like a two year old, when a man approached us. He gave me his story of how he was a patient there and his truck was broken and had no money to get home. I was clearly in a state of mental and emotional distress that even if I had any money, how dare he ask me. I said I was sorry and that I had no money. He was relentless. He kept going on and on about his story of his truck that had been towed and he had no one to call and take him home. He was invading my space, the more he talked to me the closer he got. I was running my hands across my forehead and through my hair, nearly pulling it out and he kept asking me for money. "Leave me alone!!," I yelled. That's how I ended that conversation and at that point security came over and asked if he was bothering us. Of course, he was bothering us. Security asked him to leave that night, but I saw him several times throughout the next few weeks preying on the newcomers in the reception area with the same story. Looking back, I had the same desperation he had, I wanted my husband to live and be okay and he was desperate for money.

I learned quickly the tricks that drug addicts play. Several, too many too name, played the same story. Once admitted to the hospital, I'm sure through incarceration, they would keep their patient wrist bands on and then re-enter the hospital at will and proposition the innocent. Which was the angle the young man took on me, he was wearing street clothes but had that wrist band on like he was a patient. I also learned quickly that if the white wrist band was dirty, it was a pretty sure tell sign that they were not a current patient. I have never in my life, feared for my life like I did while Scott was in the hospital in New Jersey.

Deja vu seems to happen to me more frequently now than before Scott's accident. On Thursday, we had our 21st surgery. The waiting and the anticipation becomes too overwhelming for me at times. I work myself into such a tizzy that I am physically ill and can't even concentrate. That surgical smell of the Pre-op room sends me into a mental, emotional and physical whirlwind of anxiety. The walls seem so small, there is never enough air and most of the time I can't even control my breathing. I try to pass the time with a book or a game but realize that I don't remember any of what I had read or played. I think I do a pretty good job of faking how I really feel. After all, I am not the victim or patient, Scott is. I have to overcome my fears and anxiety and deal with the situation. If I don't do it , who will??

Every visit to surgery seems a little easier but it never gets "easy". Every obstacle makes me that much tougher. Even though I get scared, having been through this has made me stronger and tougher than I thought I would ever be. I appreciate that out of this experience and on a good day say, "Bring it, I got this."

I just never want to be in that place that I was before.

4/26/13-Just when I thought I was ready for this, I realized I was no where near being ready for any of it. We had a follow up appointment on Monday with the orthopaedic surgeon. It was odd that it was rescheduled from the 11th til that day. (that number 11 is also on my shoulder) But in all reality it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. We had our normal ho-hum visit with Dr. Bosse, who has absolutely no bedside manner and frankly doesn't have the time to spend with patients like he should. I will grant him the fact that he is one of the most respected trauma surgeons in the region. But still, we deserve a little more than the average "break your leg" patient. Scott was able to catch his attention for 30 seconds and mention the fact that he really wanted to go to Boston and help those victims with similar injuries. You have to know Dr. Bosse to get the full effect of his demeanor but he told Scott that he was a part of starting a new survivor group at the hospital and the head of the project was there. Out the room he went with "I'll see you in 3 months." And there we were, stuck with our case manager. She is a story in herself. I could talk for days about this woman. Absolutely the most unproductive, thorn in my side person I have ever met. So fricking nosy but yet does nothing to help us make progress. I have to keep in mind that she is not our advocate but is one for the insurance company.

Okay, got side tracked.  Carolinas Medical Center is trying to launch a new program for trauma survivors who can be trained to aid patients who are in trauma. It's called the Trauma Survivor Network. Once we got back to Charlotte after our stay in Camden, Scott had a visitior. I'm pretty sure it was within the first few days of us getting back home. His name is Chris James. He was injured several years ago at the dirt track in Charlotte. He was hit by his own brother and lost both of his legs. It's much more powerful to hear Scott tell the story, but when he walked into that hospital room on two prosthetics, he was a God send. Scott was at an extremely low point. He felt like he would never walk again, but to see Chris come in there and tell him it was going to be okay and it was up to him to decide his future..that was a turning point for sure. Chris even addressed me and answered a lot of my questions about his wife and kids and how they handled it. I was a little overwhelmed when he literally took his leg off and let us see how easy it was.

We went to the first meeting for the Trauma Survivors Network on Tuesday night. I was totally unprepared for the stories that I would hear.  There were 12 people there not including me, the director or her assistant. I remember every single one of there names and every single one their stories. All week long I pumped Scott up with "Yeah lets do this, we can help people like us, we can make a difference.'" I had it all planned out what I would say. I wanted to be the backbone for other wives who are living this. Until it was his turn to tell his story. I realized at that moment that I was not ready to deal with any of this publicly. I froze. He was the fourth person in line to introduce himself and tell his story. The anticipation drove me nuts. I could feel myself getting hotter, I was sweating through my clothes and the walls were caving in all around me. I tried to focus on everyone's story but their story was our story. They had been through all of it just like us. My anxiety was through the roof. I wanted to run. I tried so hard to not cry. I wanted so bad to be strong for those that were there and especially for Scott.

When Scott was done talking, Ilene looked at me and thanked me for being there as a spouse, because I was the only one, and asked if I wanted to talk. I could barely mutter "Not today". I was so disappointed in my weakness. I have the opportunity to help someone else and can't get it together for a 30 second introduction? I just couldn't do it. Pisses me off to no end. It makes me so angry that I cannot pull myself together and help someone else. And yet I have this desperate need to be strong and do this!! I can do this, I hope. Wives and mothers like me, need me to tell them that its going to be okay, that they can do this.

In the grand scheme of things, I can look back and see the reasons why this has happened to us. Looking at the big picture, I totally understand why my husband has been chosen.

4/5/2013

The second racing season since Scott's accident is upon us. A nauseating feeling for me in several ways. I cannot stand watching him suffer emotionally again and again. Although the majority of the physical pains are gone, there is no prescription on the planet to make the mental and the emotional pains go away. He says nothing is wrong and it's not us but something is eating him alive. He doesn't want to talk about it. All he ever wanted to do was be a mechanic on a dirt race team, travel the country, succeed and win. He finally had the opportunity to do all of that. And in a few short months, actually had the racing world by the balls. He waited twenty years for it, took it, did it, then lost it thanks to some freak accident.

I think he feels like he has let his employer down by not being able to do the job that he signed up for. He's crippled by the fact, emotionally, that things will never be the same. He does his best by putting his knowledge and skills to use, but it's not the same as being physically able to do the job. Back in the day, if you messed with his driver or wrecked his car, the battle was on!! Tires, wrenches, shocks, jacks..anything that wasn't nailed to the trailer went flying. Along with a lot of fists!! Frankly, I don't miss those days at all. He can be an extremely intimidating person when you cross him. I am pretty sure he is stilled barred from a few dirt tracks in Michigan. One good thing about dirt racing, and being a part of it, is after the chest bumping and the name calling, you give the guy a beer and bench race til the wee hours of the morning over a bonfire.

I really hate the fact that my son is no different than his father. So into the whole racing thing. Gotta be there, gotta be involved. It drives me nuts. And ask my daughter, she would probably rather be at a racetrack than doing girl things when the opportunity arises. I just don't get it. Especially now, I could care less about the whole thing. Racing has changed my life forever. Racing changed my life twenty some years ago when I realized Scott would rather snuggle up to four wheels and two wings than me. Yes, I am extremely bitter. Especially on days like today, when my husband lays in bed all day and I have to beg for him to come downstairs.

Matthew moved out months ago, which has not been easy for me. I felt like I lost my "go to guy". He has moved back in temporarily only to leave again to another city in a few weeks. I never realized how much I relied on him. It's the stupid stuff, like weed whipping and taking out the trash. Since he's been back home, I also realized how he hasn't dealt with things either. We were out to dinner the other night and yes I was a little more emotional than normal because Morgan was at the beach for Spring Break (that of which I did NOT approve) and I asked Matt if he had seen the horrible incident with Kevin Ware. He was the college basketball player who broke his leg. He responded with "I have seen it once before, why would I want to see it again?" It took me a minute to process what he was saying. He changed the subject and I proceeded to cry, right there at the nice little Mexican restaurant. I tried to keep it together but it hit me really hard.

I guess I never realized, or if I did didn't focus on it, the trauma that Matt has suffered. Last night he told me a story of how he was fist to cuffs with his friend over what had happened. His "friend" told him he was sick of hearing about his dad and that nobody cared about it. Granted they were drinking but still what an insensitive prick!! Don't judge us and don't pretend like you know what we go through everyday.

The absolute most difficult thing is constantly trying to explain to our kids that it's not them. It really isn't. Morgan especially takes everything to heart. She has the "fight or flight" reaction like her father. And if he is having a bad day, she chooses to flight. And I don't blame her one bit. Some days, I wished I could walk away. But I love my husband, my family and my life way too much to give it up.

I understand that this is a test and I am a really good test-taker, so bring it.......I got this.

3/26/2013

It has been months since my last blog. It's funny that I have the capability to hold so many thoughts and emotions in and then feel this sense of being so overwhelmed with life that I want to rip my skin off. And when I have a moment to sit down and reflect and think about things that I could write about, it goes blank. Life is so complicated and busy and full of stupid shit that no one should have to worry about. But I guess that's why LIFE is a four letter word.

I had asked this past Christmas for a voice recorder. I thought, instead of having to sit down and type my thoughts I could just talk into the recorder and type it out later. I have moments in the car, in the shower, folding laundry, where I think "Wow, that would be great to write about." The first time I talked into the recorder and played it back, my voice sounded so tired and strained, I couldn't even listen to it.  All I could do was cry. I couldn't even listen to the whole thing. Needless to say, I deleted it and haven't used it since. It is so hard to relive a moment, good or bad  and then to write about it is even harder.

A small part of me stopped blogging because I had some negative feedback on one of my blogs and a bigger part of me stop blogging because I just don't have the time. I have gotten lost in everyone else and have forgotten about myself. Going back to work has been a challenge. It's a great place to be with great people but they holler my name all day long. They depend heavily on me but yet I have no authority to make decisions to move forward and make improvements.  Its partly my fault for trying to advance their technology and get them up to speed with every other dental office on the planet. Why can't I just be a spoke in the wheel or a clock puncher, like most people. No, I have to work my tail off to make a difference in the world and make people better, more efficient and more productive. The upside is I get paid to hear my name called and I know I can help them.

I get home and its the same scenario but no compensation. Most days, I feel like I don't have two seconds to myself to do anything for me. And if I do have a moment to relax, I feel like I have to be on standby. Someone always needs something. Don't get me wrong, I have signed up for this as a wife and mother and I get that, have no problem with that and love every moment of it. It's just overwhelming sometimes.

In the past weeks, I have had the opportunity to get more personal with a fellow co-worker. She is someone that for the past 7 months, I just quite couldn't figure out. I wasn't sure if she liked me or hated my guts. Her witty sarcasm is tough to read most days. But I love that about her because most people take me the wrong way too on a first impression.  I shared my blog with her, which is something I have only done with a few select coworkers. Another superstar employee brought it up in conversation over drinks, naturally. A few days later she sent me a message that was so thoughtful, empathetic and inspirational that I haven't stopped thinking about it. In a few words, she gave me the okay to write again and not worry about what other people thought. I believe her words were 'It's your blog, say whatever the f@%# who want!' Pretty sure that was the second glass of wine talking.

Sometimes an occasional invitation will come about to go hang out with people outside of my immediate family and I instantly feel guilty.  I feel guilty for a couple of reasons. I feel guilty if I say no and I feel guilty for not being home and taking care of everyone, cooking their dinner, doing their laundry, paying the bills, washing the cars, cleaning the house, feeding the hogs, okay I'm exaggerating and we don't have hogs. Most of that can wait, actually all of that can wait. It's a different dynamic now and if I don't do it,  it doesn't get done. The biggest reason that I don't like going out and hanging with people is I don't want it to be about my "sob story" and what's going on with me. That's no fun. And in all actuality, I don't have a sob story anymore, life is as good as it can be. Most of it I wouldn't change and most of it I don't regret.

I know many people want me to finish my previous stories and give them closure for that chapter, but in reality there is no closure yet. I don't think there ever will be closure. Every day is like opening a new chapter that never really ends, ever. If someone could just put a time stamp on this and say this will be the day and you will live happily ever after, I could deal with that. Even if its fifty years down the road. Every step forward has two steps back. That's a popular saying for a reason. And so is "Life is like a fairy tale". If that were the case we would all be wearing glass slippers riding around in pumpkin carriages.

Matthew has moved out and possibly moving even further away for a job opportunity, Morgan is almost a senior and will be heading off to college very soon. Scott is continually healing with a few hiccups here and there. Another race season has already started and  I wonder what that next chapter will be. I mentioned earlier about the mid-life crisis, before I was just saying it, now I think it's really happening!!

I've had an incredible urge to visit the Florida Keys. I'm not sure why, maybe the sun and warm weather. Or maybe just because I really need a vacation. Then I discovered during my vacation planning that Ernest Hemingway had a small modest home there where he wrote some of his greatest pieces of literature.

Maybe that's my next chapter.