Most of you are probably here expecting me to talk about the accident. I am not here for that.
To summarize - it has been a week, I almost died.
Some things are clear; some are a haze.
Nothing is more sobering than when your doctor looks at you in that hospital bed and says, "You shouldn't be here."
I have never felt more mortal.
I will talk about it, in time.
Right now my sternum hurts, bruises keep popping out and my brain stays on overdrive.
I do know that this weekend was what I needed and I was surrounded by the people I needed to be.
This is not a long blog post.
This is not a testimonial, a gospel, a poetic expression of a life that is still here.
It is merely me saying I am here and I am glad for everyone who stopped by, reached out - friends, family, followers, strangers. Everyone.
I have had some time to reflect with a tube in my lung and morphine in my arm.
Life has never felt so close and I have never felt so fragile.
I have also never realized so badly that loving without abandon is necessary. There are no times for regrets and what ifs.
I know what went through my head when the impact happened and the glass shattered - my parents and the one face I was afraid I would never see again.
When metal hit the glass I know what I saw.
I get asked a lot.
I actually saw a lot, you know. I don't know why. I just did. And I missed you.
And nothing ever felt more important. Life is funny like that when it is being pulled away.
I know what I will no longer take for granted.
And I know how easily things can be stripped away now.
I am okay.
I am as okay as I can be.
And I am here.
Thank you to all who have reached out. I will be around more when the dust settles (no pun intended).
Life is a flash, folks. One minute you're on your way to hockey, the next you're fighting for your life.
Never take it for granted.
And, in the words of Tim McGraw, I've gotten a new understanding of how it feels to "live like you were dying."