“Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.”

–Maya Angelou

I am not an inspiration. Four years later, still living in the shadow of that day. How can one wallow for so long, you might ask? What is wrong with them that they continue cling to the accident in such a way? If it were me……

People who do not know, would never know. To strangers, I seem pretty normal. Raising a family. Living a life. They cannot tell our lives have been touched by trauma. If they were to look closely though, they might see. There are little clues. Little cracks. Maybe it does not matter. They will never know who we used to be. They do not know that a smile used to light up my face with ease. I used to laugh from the belly every now and then. My eyes were bright. I was not so serious. Tense. They do not know why I watch my children so closely. I do not tell them I am terrified a lot of the time. They do not know me. They do not know us.

I now understand that a trauma, what ever trauma that may be, is just the initial hit. The reverberation of the first trauma sets off unexploded land mines, creating more chaos. Loved ones often are not. Loved ones. Those we care for, may not care for us. Those we would be there for, might not be there for us. Peers do not always reach our their hands. Getting back on your feet after a catastrophic fall is not easy. I have learned the aftermath of trauma is a lonely place to live. We now know who chose to support us and who chose to walk away. This is not an easy thing to know. Nobody really ever wants that  much clarity.

It takes years to “bounce back” from a helicopter accident. It takes a toll on the body. We knew this early on but we did not really know it. We knew there would be forever wounds. Scars that would stay. Hurts that would not heal. Four years later, we have no choice but to come to terms with this. To accept things as they are. We can look back now. We can see how things are settling out. How the waters look now that they are clearing. We are starting to understand the injuries that will try to limit Chris. We talk about the future. When his back or the nerve damage may make flying no longer possible. We know that his injuries make things uncertain. That is not always easy to deal with.

The stress did damage to my body as well. I did not know I had to take care of myself, too. I do now, but that is in hindsight. Still, I work to become healthy again. For my stomach, the place I have always held my stress, to heal. We have come through what in many ways feels like a battle. The adrenalin and the shock are really just starting to wear off now. Four years later. We are beginning to see the damage that has been done. The scars we will carry.

Trauma affects every single aspect of a life. It changes its course and sets it spinning. We are a different family now. Perhaps we are better for it. That, I still do not know. Maybe next year or the year after, I will. I miss us sometimes, though. The ease in which we lived; laughed. The tension that did not sit in my shoulders, the butterflies that did not live in my stomach. The belief that if we fell, someone or something would catch us. I no longer have that faith. I understand how people fall, and then keep falling. Hitting bottom only to find themselves alone. For many, there is no safety net. No warm arms to catch them. No hands to pick them up. I now know we have to take care of ourselves and that being vulnerable is scary.

Today. We are still adapting. We are still growing. We are wiser. I used to be one to live in the clouds. In the place where dreams dwell. Now, my feet are planted firmly on the ground. This is something I have to get used to. At least I am no longer in the water, swimming for the shore, hoping we will not drown. The four of us. We are still here. Every now and then I get the feeling I might fly again. That the wind blowing on my face won’t scare me. Sometimes I swear my shoulders have released just a little, and my face is softening as the days pass us by. That old familiar feeling of freedom touches me every now and then.

But, I cannot unsee the things I have seen. I cannot unknow the things I now know. With wisdom comes sacrifice. With growth comes pain. I am no longer the Shani that lived on this day four years ago. Chris is no longer that Chris. Our children, well their world has been altered in a way that will change the course of their lives. Sometimes this breaks my heart, but mostly I pray it will be a good thing. That they will be kinder, and more aware of the world and those around them. That we have taught them to fight when you have to, and walk away when necessary. Maybe we hold them closer. Maybe we love them in a deeper way. Maybe this world is better than the one we were living in four years ago. Maybe…..

So no. I am not an inspiration. I am not the tale people want to hear. We are not surrounded by supporters who praise us. We have not yet triumphed over adversity. We still struggle with the demons that taunt us. I have not gotten to the point where I am thankful for the lessons we have been taught. I have not quite figured out how to live every day with gratitude. I am still angry. The losses still hurt. Four years later, I am still crying about something I should have gotten over ages ago. Still, I would not wish this journey upon my worst enemy. Being inspirational is not as easy as you think.