Robbed of Excitement

Robbed of Excitement

 Somehow, it seems almost overnight, my beautiful niece is on the verge of getting her drivers license.  I can see the excitement in her eyes, hear it in her voice.  I had that same excitement leading up to my 15th birthday.  

 Life has a funny way of robbing us of excitement sometimes.  Like now.  I want to be happy for her.  I want to be excited for her.  But I see pass the excitement.  I see a room with a curtain and a machine that has a bubble that moves up and down pumping oxygen into my body.  I see my Mother’s face.  

 When you are a teenager you don’t believe that anything can happen to you.  You most certainly have to be invincible.  The bad stuff only happens in the movies.  It’s not going to visit your doorstep.  

 But what if it does?  And how does it really affect your life?  I often visit two of my favorite places in SC: Charleston and Clemson.  Each being around two hours from my home.  Often times as I am driving I recognize that I am gripping the wheel so tight that my knuckles are almost white.  I have to take a deep breath and relax my hands.  It’s been 20 years and I still feel completely vulnerable in a car.

 Car accidents happen every day.  Some are minor and some bring complete devastation to a family.  Mine was devastation.  I’ve been a Mom for seven years now.  Often times I think back to that time.  Those first 72 hours.  How did my Mom survive?  I look at my little girl and can’t imagine the pain my Mother must have felt during each hour watching a machine breathing for me.  Waiting.  Waiting.  

 I survived.  I have a vivd scar to remind me daily of my survival.  But with that survival comes the robbery of excitement.  I mean, should I really whine about it?  After all, isn’t that a small price to pay for survival?  Could I sound any more greedy?

 Maybe.  Maybe not.  Maybe the feeling of being robbed is really a disguise.  Maybe, just maybe, it is because I know that my niece is not invincible.  Maybe it’s because I know that I can tell her that but I don’t know if she will hear it.  And, maybe, that is really what is stolen from me.  The fear.  The fear that she will not hear me.  

 When my daughter was born, I kissed her every time after I buckled her up.  It was my semi-conscious way of hoping that if something were to happen in the car, my last act to her would have been a kiss.  But my niece is almost two hours away from me.  I can’t kiss her every time she gets behind the wheel.  And, as I truly know, I don’t get to make the decision on her fate.  There is a much higher power that will call her home when He is ready.  

 So I wonder ... will I always have this fear?  Will it ever subside?  Will I ever truly feel like a survivor?  What lesson am I teaching my niece by letting fear control me?  Maybe the real lesson isn’t being robbed of sharing her excitement but rather not letting survival triumph.  Maybe the fear will subside if I can just know that it’s ok to be a survivor.