Milestones

I went to Albuquerque, New Mexico to watch my daughter graduate from college. I think she walked in the ceremony more for me, than herself. I am proud of her. Going to college in the midst of a pandemic added extra challenges, but she stuck with it and I guess I wanted to see her wear the gown and watch her walk on the stage and get the diploma. But I realized that when I got there and she was showing me her new house that the ceremony was just another thing to be stressed about for her. Maybe what I should have said was, “Hey, I am super proud of you and how would you like to celebrate?”

Anyway, she walked in the ceremony and we had a celebratory dinner and I headed back home. I was getting close to Santa Fe and the car in front of me switched lanes and I saw the tire. Not just debris, but a big solid tire. I swerved to the right to avoid it, but then I heard a hit and really nothing after that. It was like being caught in the vortex of a storm. I thought that we were going to die.

The car stopped though. Smoke was coming up from somewhere and James was telling me to get out of the car because of the smoke. I stumbled out. The car was far off the highway, inches from a concrete retaining wall. I was shaky and trembly and felt punched all over. I sat on the retaining wall and looked at my foot. It was bleeding. I don’t know how that happened.

At some point in the midst of the emergency vehicles and the police and the questions, I noticed the cars going by in one lane, slowly, like they do when there is an accident. They were looking at me. I looked around and took in the mountains and desert and breathtaking landscape and took a deep inhale. I was okay. James was okay. The car even could be okay. Maybe. Not sure about that yet.

The whole time I was sitting there on the side of the road and in the rental car on the way home and even now as I write this, I am replaying the night I lost my mom and dad. The shock and numbness are stealing over my senses. I think of my own kids and then put on the brakes because I just can’t let my mind go there. It’s not doing great things for my PTSD.

Sometimes I hate that I look for the silver lining. I have heard it called toxic positivity, but I guess the only way I can make sense of things is to try and see the lesson. There was a tire in the road. I tried to go around, but it didn’t work out so well. But that doesn’t mean the journey is over. It just means another direction has presented itself.

So now what? Well, kudos to my girl for graduating. I am proud of her strength and resilience. I can’t wait to see where the journey takes her. And grateful that I am still here to be part of the ride.