Wednesday, March 6, 2019

Mortal.

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."

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