"to be alive at all is to have scars" ~steinbeck

a quote in the book. a scene in a movie. most of all, the bright fushcia phalaenopsis flowers in full bloom for the first time since the orchid was gifted to me by the girls as a "get well" gesture. all subtle daily reminders that it has been quite a while since my incident last summer and i have yet to provide a full reflection on that time.

i hinted and promised that i would do so in a past entry, but every attempted draft didn't quite capture everything i wanted to say about it and it was too easy to keep moving forward.

for most of my life, i have been lucky enough to be blessed with relatively good health. this incident was probably the single greatest threat to my health. yet since the injuries were minor, the incident itself quickly became a surreal memory. after all, the next night i was surrounded by laughing friends and family in my childhood home. back to work the following tuesday. camping on catalina island only a week and a half later. then hiking through the andes the next month.

the other reason for my desire to put it in my past: resentment.

i resented being a victim. i admit that i withdrew from gchat and other social networks just to avoid being asked for nth time hearing, "how are you feeling?" people were only asking because they cared, but i grew weary of rehashing the state of my injuries and recovery. i didn't need any additional reminders of what happened. i was witnessing the everyday miracle of wounds healing and turning to scars.

i resented that it seemed to prove the misperceptions of oakland. there was no thought of the why. just a matter of fact: "that happens there." in my own mind, i've vaguely explored the root of it all. see it as a sign of desperation during these tough economic times and a reflection of the tension that is a common symptom in a rapidly gentrifying city.

and yes, one does eventually come to acceptance of it all. so much so that when the kind southern woman from the insurance claims office calls me months later to hear my story, she is in shock and full of sympathy while i chuckle in my explanation of how silly a circumstance i put myself in.

aside from a revival of humor, the greatest thing about acceptance is the ability to revisit even the toughest moments with a lighter heart.

#minorspoileralert: there is a scene in "50/50" where jgl is in the hospital crying to his mom (played by anjelica huston). she attempts to comfort him while the medical staff unapologetically orders her to retreat to the waiting room.

i spent a greater portion of the movie laughing, but i couldn't help tearing up a bit during that one scene. i realize later that my reaction was strong because it was incredibly real to me.

i remember when i opened my eyes to my dad, mom and brother standing over me in the trauma center. i immediately started crying. like every other time in my life that i have cried, my dad delivered his standard mantra, "be strong." i know he went out to the waiting room and translated my tears to my friends as an expression of the pain i was feeling. it was true my head was throbbing from the concussion, but my tears weren't for the pain. they were for my parents: that they had to see me like this, that i made them worry. my mom especially has already spent too many hours in hospital waiting rooms for my brother, for my dad, and in this one particular instance for me.

my pushy attending nurse scooted my family out of my room citing the strict two visitors at a time rule. ignoring that rule, the girls somehow snuck by my nurse and visited my room all at once. i remember smiling and telling them, "my favorite girls in the world!"

some of the dearest people in my life comforted me that night and the days following. thank you, all. after the open wounds and resentment have long gone, it's the memory of the love and blessings received that still resounds.