“The point of the journey is not just healing. It is also recovering the truest, most spontaneous, joyful and creative core of ourselves.” — Gloria Steinem

Sometimes we have to take a break. The secret is to know when. Our bodies will start to tell us. First in a whisper. Then in a speaking voice. Then it will start to shout. Stop. Listen. The secret is to take a break before our bodies start to shout. I did not always know this. I believed I could push through. I could continue forward, though I knew deep down inside it was doing me harm. When we are injured or sick. Whether it be our bodies, our minds, or our souls that have taken the blow, we need to take the time to heal. To allow ourselves to be knitted back together. For the scabs to form, heal and fall off. A tender spot may be left behind. Sometimes it will stay with us for the rest of our lives. Other times the hurt part will be much stronger than it was before. For a while though, it will remain sore. We must remember, it cannot heal if we do not allow it to heal. If we do not give ourselves over to the process and if we do not acknowledge we have been hurt in the first place.

I have been through a lot of things in my life. I think most of us have. I realize this as I get older. We will all have to survive something. Some harder to overcome than others. Some cut deeper. Some to our very core. At the beginning, in the early days after the accident, I did not understand the importance of taking care of myself. I put myself aside and took care of those around me. An injured husband. Two very young children. At that point, I did not believe it was about me. I did not understand it was also about me. I have learned, through this experience, through this accident, we do not need to sacrifice ourselves to someone else’s healing. We must realize we too have been affected, and though our bodies may not be broken, our bodies have also taken a hit. Chris would never have asked me to sacrifice myself to his healing. I think it just kind of happens. It is not a sacrifice that needs to be made though. It is not necessary. Within every experience. Within every crisis. There is room for everyone to be taken care of. Nobody needs to be sacrificed. Everyone needs to heal.

It was time to head home. To leave the hospital behind us. To begin the journey. A journey I feel we are on still on in many ways, today. It has been quite an epic adventure. With good times we will never forget, and be forever thankful for and hard times we felt we might not make it through. We have both met challenges. We are wiser now. We know so much more. We also now know that we know so little. Life is funny that way.

That day though, when we walked out of that hospital, it was a good day. It was one of the best. I took pictures as Chris walked toward me, one eye covered with a patch, cane in hand. He was happy. He was exuberant. He was alive. He was walking. He was leaving the hospital that had saved his life and helped put him back together. It was a moment of celebration. A day to be remembered.

We arrived at the rental lot in the early afternoon. As we drove in, I thought we were picking up a camper van. I had not booked it. It was a two hour drive to pick it up. It was summer and there were no other options. Most people were out enjoying their summer holidays. We didn’t care that we weren’t. Not for a second. We were both looking forward to the road trip ahead of us. We were looking forward to going home. To seeing our children. To holding them in our arms. To telling them that it was going to be okay.

It was early afternoon, and we had driven for two hours. There was no turning back, even though when I saw what I would be driving was not, in fact, a camper van. It was a motor home. To some, no big deal. For me, it was the first time in days I thought to myself, “I can’t do this.” I swear I must have looked terrified as we walked into the lot and saw it sitting there, waiting for us. It was huge, and I would have to drive it out of a city I did not know very well, keep it on the road for two days, and then into another city.

I don’t know if Chris noticed how scared I was. I tried to hide it the best I could. I did stammer something about it being a motor home, not a camper van. I think we laughed about it. I know we laugh about it today. I knew I did not have a choice but to drive it. I would try not to hit anything. I would try to keep it on the road. In the end, it turned out just fine. It did not take that long to get the hang of it. I did not take anything or anyone out. It was the perfect way to get home. The other option would have been six weeks in a hotel room. Our children would have had to be flown to be with us. They would have lost their minds in a hotel room. I think we all would have. So we laughed and joked, as my heart beat quickly, hoping I would not doing something ironic, like kill us both on the way home from the hospital. As I got behind the wheel, Chris sitting uncomfortably beside me, I told myself the only thing I could. “I’ve got this.”

Chris and I have learned so much since the accident. They say during times of adversity we grow the most. I think this must be so. We definitely changed. We have learned about the things that make us feel weak, and those that make us feel strong. We have learned our strengths and weaknesses. We have learned that the only thing we really know with any certainty in this world, is almost absolutely nothing. It has been quite the journey. A journey that truly started on that day, as the motorhome pulled out of the gates of the rental place. We were embarking on a grand adventure, in many ways with an unknown route and destination. This has been both a blessing and a curse. Humans by nature like to feel safe. We like to believe we know the direction in which we are heading. That we have some control in this world in which we live. Chris and I now believe we can head in a direction, and we can make choices and hope they will become what we would like them to be, however, they are just that, choices. We can make them, but we can not control the outcome. That. Well, I guess that is up to fate. It is up to forces much bigger than us. What can we do? I guess we can try to enjoy the ride.