More thoughts on my accident Mar 10 '10    Write an essay on this topic. Tweet Popular Products in Books Irene Hunt - The Lottery Rose: A Novel From $6 John Steinbeck - East Of Eden From $7 The Bottom Line I think about our accident every day.  I am writing this little "letter" to the man who hit us to help heal my heart as my legs heal. Dear Mr. B, I had everything that I cherish in the car that night.  Everything that gives my life meaning, that defines me and makes me smile just cruising down the highway with nothing but flimsy steal to protect them from you.  You tried to take them from me, and I can't help but hate you for that.  But you didn't take them. What you did take was, first, my sense of security.  Never again will I feel okay in an automobile, or be comfortable when my loved ones are out of sight.  I find it impossible to believe that my husband will make it home each night after work, and I begin to feel vaguely nauseous when the children are even 10 minutes later getting home from school than they should be.  Another thing you took from me was my independence.  Always a busy wife, mom, real estate agent, mentor, team parent and volunteer, I never had time to stop and consider what it would mean to stop.  I then found myself in a rehab center where they told me when to eat, when to bathe, when to wash my hair, when to exercise and when to take medicines.  Now I'm home and have to ask my children and husband to help me with the simplest tasks.  It's demeaning.   And yes, you took the use of my legs from me.  I think December 12, 2009 was the worst night of my life pain-wise, but the months of healing have certainly been no picnic.  It's taken me nearly three months to get the courage to even look at the damage you'd done.  Today when I asked...again...when I might walk I was told that my case was different, my injuries more severe and I was lucky to even have kept that right leg.  I was told to be grateful I was healing as well as I was and not to get ahead of myself.  What they don't seem to realize is that I haven't done one single normal thing, just for pleasure since I "met" you on December 12.  Anytime I leave the house or the nursing home (let's call a spade a spade, shall we?) it is to go the the doctor's office.  What I wouldn't give to go to Target and just walk around the aisles.  The final thing you took from me was a peaceful night's rest.  My dreams have always been vivid, but the clarity of the accident dreams are stunning.  Even worse are the dreams where I'm walking and am so proud of myself...until I wake up and see the wheelchair beside my bed. The positive thing here, and there IS always a positive thing for every bad thing in your life, is that I had all of those things that you took, or tried to, to begin with.  I have a houseful of people who love and need me, a world full of friends and coworkers who miss me and support me, and I hope in time the legs will heal, I'll walk again, I'll be too busy to think straight and I'll dream about sweet things again. Until then, I'm trying to get past the "I'm angry at you" to the "I feel sorry for you" stage.  It's a work in progress.

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