“You can dance in a hurricane, but only if you are standing in the eye.”

— Brandi Carlisle

Life does not come down to one moment. One minute in time does not define who we are. We are the sum of minutes. of days. Of months. Of years. We are the sum of a life lived. A life lived up until now. Up until this moment. But sometimes. Sometimes it almost feels like a moment wants to define us. There is the moment. And then. Then there all of the pieces that revolve around it. Like the planets to the sun. Like a rock in a pond. All of the reverberations. The echoes. The ripples. They all become a part of that moment. The life that follows that wants to own us. To be us. To become us. When the helicopter crashed. When the phone rang. When the words were spoken. When the unreal became real. Well, it changed the whole world. It changed everything.

Life is made up of seconds. The seconds in which a child is born. The second a pen is laid down after the last university exam. The second the decision is made to love. The second I stood in front of a boy who wanted to hurt someone I love. The second we decided not to open that door. The second I moved away. The second I walked onto those planes. Took those adventures. Life is made up of moments. It is made up of seconds. Seconds that become minutes, and so on. But some of those seconds. They are selfish. They want to stick into our brains. Into our souls. They want us to hold them with us as we walk along this path we call life. They want to bury into our skin and into our hearts. They want to become our stories.

Should we not get to choose though? Is choice not considered a basic human right? It feels like it should be. But, sometimes it isn’t. We don’t always get to choose the moments that make us who we are. We choose some. Some choose us. They say we are are not what happens to us, but instead how we react to what happens to us. That’s not really fair though is it? I don’t think it is. Because some people. Well, some people are lucky. They do not have a life of moments that want to own them. Some people instead get to choose the moments they own. So, what does that mean in the whole grand scheme of things? How do we judge someone’s story? How do we judge the seconds that make up a life. The choices they make within those moments? Can we allow them to be who they want to be? Can we look passed the moments they did not choose. Can we let them be more than the moments that choose them?

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We rented my Aunt and Uncle’s basement for another eight and a half months after the accident. Victoria was not to be. Will never be. We just did not have the strength to follow through. Not physically, emotionally or financially. We were mid move when the accident happened. In motion, but we had not yet arrived. We did not feel like we could keep going. It felt like the world was pushing us backwards. We could not live in the basement forever. It was supposed to be short term. A half way point. So, after many months of trying to figure out our next step, we headed back “home”. There was no part of me that wanted to move back to the place we had just left. We had a reason for leaving. The reason was still there. Still, it felt like we did not have a choice. We were looking for support. Hoping for hands. We wanted to be comforted. We wanted to feel safe. Somehow going backwards felt safer than moving forward. But feeling it does not make it so. Wanting it. Willing it. Does not make something appear.

The months we spent in the basement after the accident were both calm and tumultuous. The only schedule we had was taking our son to preschool twice a week for three hours. It was a parent participation preschool, so we became involved with the school. We felt good there. Our son loved it. Chris and I would drop him off, and we would settle our daughter into the stroller, and we would walk for a coffee and then walk around the park in which the preschool sat. Nestled. We would walk and we would talk. It was a positive thing most of the time. Except for when it was not. When Chris and I were at odds. When the stress was getting to us. When we couldn’t figure our way through what we needed to. But mostly, it was positive. Perfect. A place we needed to be.

We never should have left. We should have stayed and worked it out. But at the time it felt impossible. The way forward seemed to difficult. And with all the other stuff we were dealing with. It felt like a choice we needed to make. Looking back, I can see other post accident choices we made because they felt necessary. Because we were scared. Struggling. Dealing with trauma and what it brings with it. So many times we were on our way forward, only to convince ourselves to make choices we shouldn’t have.

It broke my heart when we took our son out of the preschool. Maybe it sounds strange. Like, um. Its a preschool. For us though, it was more than that. It was a place that welcomed us. A place where we were just Chris and Shani, and the kids. A place that we didn’t have to think about the accident. A place that felt welcoming. It was our first child’s first experience with school. It was the first place we went to, outside of ourselves. Other than doctors appointments. The first place that belonged to the outside world, that we became a part of post accident. A little school full of little children. Nestled in a park. It was a gift. An oasis.

Somehow it felt like the right choice to leave it. To leave that life. The place we loved. Our children loved. To go back to another less welcoming place. One we had left behind us. In hindsight, it does not feel like it was the right decision. In hindsight I can see the fallout from this decision. In hindsight I can see the other oasis’s we left when we should have stayed. Because leaving Burnaby was not the only safe place we walked away from. Making decisions based of fear. On feeling we just weren’t strong enough. Ignoring red flags because sometimes the known feels so much more comfortable than the unknown. We were still living in the basement. But we could have left and stayed at the same time. Found our own little place in that world. Instead though we made another choice. We took another path. We went “home”.

I’m not really sure why I am sharing this. What the moral of the story is. Maybe its this. Decisions based on fear do not usually take us to safe places. Even if that is the intention, this is not usually the outcome. Ignoring red flags. Ignoring our gut. Not smart. They are there for a reason. They are a part of our navigation system. I wish we had listened to them more on this journey. That we had let them guide us. Because safe choices are rarely that. Safe. We tried to be brave. We tried to live our lives in a better way. But the accident knocked the wind out of our sails. For so many reasons. Making decisions in a storm is not always easy. They are often rushed and ill thought out. Based on adrenalin. On fight or flight. So, too many times we left the places we should have stayed and stayed in places we should have left.

But, here we find ourselves again. In another oasis. In a place of our choosing. Where we are happy. Still setting up. Still finding our comfort zone. But nonetheless, here. We are basing our choices on wants. Hopes and dreams. Creating a space for ourselves in the universe. Following our guts. Heeding the red flags. Looking toward the future. Creating it. Moulding it. Making our lives ours. Remembering all that we are. Forgiving ourselves our stumbles. Living in our strengths. Trusting our choices. Knowing that life is just life. And that living it is all we can really do. But from now on, on our terms. Letting fear advise us, but hope and determination lead the way. Becoming who we are meant to become. Becoming us.