I am coming up on my second anniversary of D-Day. Last year, I had moved through this date as if nothing ever happened. Dates have great significance for me. They are the pivotal change in my life that marked a significant change in course and direction. Last year, the anniversary date came with ease. I am also the master at pushing every feeling and emotion down into the darkest place. So all of the feelings were easy to tell where to go.

When I want to acknowledge and recognize these feelings, I have to control that outcome. I can’t lose control; I need to fully own them. It’s easier said than done. Trauma has a way of creeping up and taking control when you least expect it. It is so powerful that it will take control over you even when you try fighting it tooth and nail every step of the way. It knows you best. It’s a piece of you, something deeply embedded that you can’t change, only adapt and cope with. My angel of a therapist, Megan, always likes to remind me that that’s not how trauma works. Trauma will always present itself in some way or form; it’s inevitable. It’s how to utilize coping measures that assist in the outcome.

One thing that accompanies trauma are the flashbacks. The flashbacks have been soul-shattering. In the blink of an eye, my body brings me right back into the hospital bed, hooked up to countless machines, only hearing the bleak beeping that filled the room, letting everyone know I was still alive. I was there, still fighting. I touch the scar on my neck from my central line and immediately can feel the cold liquid that was being injected into me. I can feel the bandages pulling at my skin when I try to move my head to see who is coming into the room. I touch the scars on my upper arms from all of the painkillers being injected, the cold alcohol wipe, each nurse calmly and gently says, “little pick,” followed by the bandage being applied, from one side to the other. A soft rub to my shoulder after it was over with. The smell of the crisp ginger ale in crushed ice and the intense pain of attempting to move and adjusting even the smallest appendage. I can still feel the pain deep into my bones to this day. Something I fear that I can never erase from my memories, unfortunate core memories that are now built into my being.

If I can make it past the date, July 7th, the day that I was admitted into the hospital, I have won; I have made it past this happening to me again. You would think that it would be my discharge day, but I have always held the highest power on the day that your life changes. When you divert your life course down to the minute.

These past few months have been the ultimate struggle of push and pull from trying to control my trauma and how present it is within me each and every day, every hour and every minute. These days, I can’t go an hour without it creeping up on me, all of the outpour that comes with it. It is like a dam with beavers who half-assed their dam, giving no care about detail, infrastructure, or design and the emotions pouring over continuously just like a waterfall. Not even the most experienced beavers can be contracted to come in and do a patch job. Unknown triggers and having to learn new coping skills that aren’t keeping up with all of the feelings that surround me are changing my course.

I have this nagging feeling that I was given a second chance by the universe, who gave back my time on earth for another or more purpose. Proving to the universe that I was meant to stay on this earth, and they made the right decision to give me this time back. I don’t want to have been given this second chance for no reason, and I ‘owe’ the universe this. I want to prove that the universe made the right decision to keep me here. Many thoughts circle, why me? Why doesn’t everyone get a second chance at living? What am I meant to do and contribute that was so powerful to let me stay?

Growing up, my dad was a big fan of the country band Alabama. They have a song, “I’m In A Hurry (And Don’t Know Why).” One Christmas, we got him this CD and would blast it from the kitchen in the house or in the truck. I am eternally grateful that I am still here today, able to experience life with my son and family. These days, closer to the anniversary date become more reflective than I like. All these years, was I racing to check all of the boxes instead of living life? Was I more focused on making things happen, getting things done, instead of appreciating the chapters and seasons, even though some nearly broke me? Maybe that is the answer to finding purpose after being given a second chance.

So here I am at a sequel. Something I never thought I would have the opportunity to do, or have to even ponder, was another life-altering event that would, in essence, top the first copy. Maybe this was the universe saying, “Hey, we know you have a few more chapters to contribute to this series”. Thanks, universe, I appreciate your support. Collecting thoughts on the new title, “My Grandma Told Me Not To Go To The Light” – kind of catchy, isn’t it?