Fear and a revelation

My brain has been twitching to write a new post since June.  It was 9 years in June since our car crash and I had started thinking 'if only... would things have been different? Could I have avoided the crash?'  For instance, one of the recurring thoughts has been 'if my headlights had been on, would she have seen me in time to get back to her side of the road?'.  Why, when it was not my fault apart from being on the road at the wrong time, do I ask myself this?

Perhaps it is because I am now more aware of the question of blame in any incident, and what a thin line it can be, and I try hard to ensure I will not be seen to be at fault if anything happens.  It is probably this thought that makes me put my lights on much earlier than I used to these days (our cars aren't new enough to have automatic headlights).  I don't want anyone saying "I didn't see you".   One of the effects of the crash is that I now find myself nervous of even the smallest potential incidents on the road, especially when I am not driving. Sometimes if I am feeling hyper-vigilant I just shut my eyes or try and sleep, or study things on my phone.  What I don't see can't bother me.

I know that since June 2010 I am more aware of, and afraid of, the possibility of pain.  You know how sometimes someone tells you about an injury they had, and they describe it and it makes you cringe with horror but they don't seem that bothered?  I found this if I showed my x-rays to people (to be fair they did look pretty awful, but to me they were just fact).  The power of the imagination is such that the thought of something is often worse than when it actually happens.  When it happens to you it is usually so quick there is no time to imagine it or be afraid of it.  It's done and you deal with it.  But now I am afraid of what might happen and how much it would hurt.

The reason for wanting to write this was that I realised that although I am scared of accidents and pain and having another crash or being knocked off my bicycle, I do not wish our crash had never happened.  This realisation was quite a revelation to me.

Of course, I wish that the other driver had not died. I wish that she had not left a partner, and a young boy without a mother.  I wish that she had come out of it pretty much OK physically and mentally, like I and Mr H have.   

The truth is, my life has been a whole lot better since June 2010.    My relationships are healthier, I know that 'life is too short to...' , and I have a new hobby in motorsport that I love and that Mr H and I enjoy together, and a fantastic motorsport 'family' that comes free with it.  I am better at knowing what is important and what is not so important.  Much of this is a direct result of the crash and the aftermath, and the jolt that it gave our lives.

Not being able to run and jump any more seems a small price to pay.

Competing in our Hillman Imp at Doune hill climb in Scotland

photo:  eddiekelly.co.uk

Mortality

I apologise for this seemingly morbid topic.

At 46 many people might start thinking about dying... I don't mean considering doing it, I mean thinking that they are getting older and that they are mortal, and that we won't be here forever.

Nobody said this to me, but in the newspaper report of our crash I red that my injuries were 'initially thought to be life threatening'.  I thought about this and wondered what it would have been like to die, given that I was so drugged up on morphine there are bits I can't really remember clearly.  I came to the conclusion that I wouldn't really have known about it and that it would have been my family and friends who would have had all the suffering.

I was thinking about it the other day, and realised that although I am scared of getting old and infirm and losing my mental abilities; and of suffering and pain for both myself and my loved ones, I'm not afraid of dying itself. 

It's not that I believe in an afterlife or heaven/hell, I just feel that it will be a long and very peaceful sleep (hopefully not involving strange dreams that involve having to hide the duvet).

A challenge..

We all know, or have heard at some point in our lives, the Serenity prayer or some version of it:


"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference."


This evening I sat outside in the garden, thinking how incredibly calm and fulfilling life would be if we lived by that. I have read before about how a simple acceptance of things we cannot change can bring peace into uptight lives. 

But why do we find it so difficult?

There is always something to complain about - our jobs, our friends and family, the weather, 'the nights drawing in', the pile of ironing, bad drivers... I bet there are none of us immune to it.

Often when I am ranting, inwardly or outwardly about something, I realise the futility of it. And I don't often feel that much better afterwards either.

I challenge each and every one of us, next time we are about to open our mouths (or have thoughts which put more frown lines on our faces) and whine or rant about something, to remember the Serenity prayer and decide whether there is a better way of handling whatever it is winding us up...