Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall
And did it my way

— Frank Sinatra

One of the scariest things we face in life is losing someone we love. Someone whose soul we know. Whose soul we love and cherish. Someone who helps to steady us as we wobble through this world. One of our people. In just over two weeks from now, it will be five years since I almost lost Chris. The man who makes me feel safe. Who loves me. Who fills in my empty spaces. The man who raises my most precious people with me. The man who stood beside me on a beach as we pledged our lives to one another. Promising forever. Ten years ago.

The past five years has not been easy on this family. We have had to fight to be here. On this day. In the days that come. We have created a circle. A bond. We know this family is precious. Golden. Fragile. We held hands, as the storm raged around us. We pushed back against the wind that has threatened to blow us away. We held each other, when sadness enveloped us. We searched out goodness, and tried to stay pure and innocent, even when surrounded by things that are not. We learned love is the only way forward. That it can, indeed, conquer the darkness. Even when it feels like it is surrendering, it is not. Love is powerful. Love is courage. Love is everything.

There have been days, in the past five years, when I thought we weren’t going to make it. When our grip felt like it was slipping. When we forgot we were each others forever. When we let ourselves believe our children would be better off with us apart. When we forgot how we felt. That day on the beach. Once, when I almost lost him. The other when we became each others home. As the days go by, I am starting to realize. To marvel at the fact we are still standing. Together. As a family. Still holding one anothers hands. In so many ways, the odds were stacked against us. The storms almost tore us apart. Still, we are not broken.

Since the moment on the beach. When I got the call. When I found out it was a miracle this family still exists in tact. Since that moment, I have not forgotten. Not for a day. How lucky we are. That does not always mean my days are filled with sunshine. It does not mean I have not shed a thousand tears. That I have not mourned because of what happened after. How Chris and I have had to stand strong against all of the fallout. All of the clarity. All of the truths. It means we don’t take being alive lightly. Every single day. Every single moment. This is not always an easy way to live. I put so much pressure on myself to stand in my truth. To be the best version of me in each moment. To grow beyond. To be better. To pay back the debts I owe. For the prayers that were answered. When the powers that be chose to not leave me alone. Our kids without a father.  Because if I am honest, I am not sure I could have weathered the storm. That I could have kept this family together. That I would have been strong enough. Had I lost him that day.

Even with Chris beside me. These years have been tough. I have had to find strength I did not know I had. To be courageous when I was more afraid than I have ever been. When I really just wanted to hide under the covers and never come out. To curl up into a ball, and let the world fall away from me. To give up on myself. Declare myself lost. Broken.

Instead, we worked together. As a team. We picked one another up after each fall. We tried to empathize. Knowing survival was our only option. Our children needed us, so we kept moving forward. Protecting them from everything we could protect them from. And we were as brave as we could be. We were as strong as we could be. We were as kind as we could be. As honest as we could be. As true to ourselves. As true to each other as we could be.

And now we have become true bad asses. Warriors. Survivors. A family that did not give up on one another. Our children still innocent. Still believing in the future, and though their Dad almost left us, they do not live in fear. They know they are loved. They know they are precious. They still know what it is like to feel safe, even though a storm often raged around us. Within us. They are being raised in a family that knows the value of life. That knows even though there will be days that feel impossible. Days that feel dark. Life is still a gift. A privilege. Something we should not take for granted. So, we should, as much as is possible, live our truth. Follow our passions. Dream our dreams.

The days leading up to the anniversary of the accident are always a little strange for me. Even if I do not realize it right away, my mood starts to change just a little. I start counting the days without even knowing I am doing it. Remembering what life was like just before it all changed. When the accident was not on our radar. When we believed life would always be good. That people in the end would come through. I can remember the days leading up to it. Training for the marathon with my sister. Planning a move to Victoria. Enrolling our son in preschool. Celebrating Canada Day. Feeling a lightness I have not felt since the call. Not knowing, just around the corner, trauma lurked. Waiting for us to enter its realm. So we could be tested. Reminded. Taught. That life is more than meets the eye. Love, really is all that matters. And kindness is ever important, because we never really know what wars the people around us are fighting. What storms they have fought. What adversities they have overcome. The respect we should have. Because we might be in the presence of a total bad ass. A warrior. A survivor. And one day, it might be us standing in their place. Wondering what just happened. As they hold our hand in the darkness. Showing us the paths they learned along their way.