It’s that time again. Mid-August. Long, hot, muggy days. And this year, unrelenting smoky skies.
August holds a day that turned my life upside-down. Thirty seconds late in the month—the small amount of time it took for both legs and one arm to be severed from my body.
You’d think the date would be engraved large, somewhere in my brain. A day that I would approach every year with trepidation or anger.
The first August following the accident arrived quickly because I’d been so busy learning how to walk, doing things with only one hand and becoming independent again. It dawned on me while putting my legs on one morning: We must be getting close to the day of the accident.
I paused for a moment and took a deep breath. Things were going well. I’d be moving back to Los Angeles to finish my residency in the next few days. I was pregnant with our first child. Dave was still with me. He hadn’t run away. I was happy. What else could I ask for?
So, what was the date of the accident? I stood very still and thought very hard. I could remember we were on vacation. It seemed to be near the beginning of the week. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure it out.
And then I stopped. Did I need to know? What good would it do? Would it make me feel bad?
To know or not to know. We keep track of dates so we can celebrate or mourn an event. I didn’t want to do either. I also didn’t want to dwell on the reason for the accident. Didn’t want to search for—or assign—blame. I needed to reserve all my emotional energy to move on and take control of my life. I wanted the people around me to be happy. Not worry about whether I was going to make it or whether I was going to crash and burn.
“Dave,” I said one evening after dinner. “I think the accident happened about this time last year. Do you know what day it was?”
He took a deep breath and his shoulders sagged. We were quiet together.
“Do you really want to know?” he finally said. He took my hand in his.
“Not really,” I said. “I’m pretty happy and I think it’s enough to know that it happened towards the end of August. Is that ok with you?” I knew that not a day had passed without him mourning the accident. In many ways, it had been much harder on him than on me. I didn’t want him to feel abandoned or think that I was trivializing his emotions.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Let’s move on.” And so we did.
For thirty years, I let the day slip by without assigning it a name. And then one day, I decided it was time to take note of it. It wasn’t hard to find. The date was duly documented on the German Polizei report, and the Salzburg Unfallkrankenhaus medical records. It was a Monday–August 27.
August 27. A day that I now choose to recognize. Not to mourn, but to celebrate. A wonderful marriage, two beautiful and talented children, a granddaughter, a rewarding professional career, a multitude of friends. A life well lived. No regrets.
August 27, 2018—I write this watching the sun go down in Truckee, California. I smile, knowing that Dave is watching the same glorious sunset somewhere out on the John Muir Trail where he’s been hiking the past week with dear friends. We’re together, no matter where we are.
Wow, you are such an inspiration, your outlook on life is perfect, and I love reading your words of wisdom!
Hey Shorty, You are one strong lady.
I am so proud of you. Your outlook on life is an inspiration to everyone in your path.
I’m in awe of your attitude, determination and power to overcome the obstacles placed in your life. You’ve succeeded admirably where so many others would give up. God won’t give us more than we can handle. You’ve proven His test for you.
God bless you!!
Hi Linda, So respect your determination to complete your book and look forward to reading it. Mine, “The Letters She Saved” will be released soon. It has been one of the most rewarding things I have ever done:) Wish you well:)
Thanks Rose. So glad to hear about your book!
Thank you for your inspiration
John
Never saw that picture. Never really thought about the date. Never thought about who was to blame. Always amazed by you and Dave.
Good for you, Janice! As your sister, I’m glad you didn’t think of those things. We all needed our energy to move on.
As usual – so well written and I can visualise it like a movie …. The best part of it was – no blame and no regrets!
You have been a treasure to us all. Thank you for all that you have given.
Hi Linda: Even as kids, I always felt you were stronger than most of us girls. I don’t know what it was, but when I heard about the accident, I felt that you, of all people, would make it through. I don’t know what it was about you, but you have always had a wonderful attitude. Now, as I come to see what a wonderful life you’ve had and the terrific man you’ve had standing beside you all these years, I again look at you in awe. You are such a terrific lady. Thank you for sharing this bit of insight with us. I count myself blessed to know you.
Thanks Sandy. I think we were all strong girls.
Yours is a life lived to the fullest. You are an inspiring person – to me and to countless others. Your example continues to remind me to look at what’s working well in life, not what’s
missing. You are my champion.
You are truly an inspiration!
Linda, you know how to make lemonade from lemons. This is a reflective time of year in the Jewish tradition. In reflection we celebrate our accomplishments, and you have done so much. I am grateful to be a part of your life and to celebrate you, an inspiration to everyone who knows you. Kudos to Dave, hope the trails were not too bogged down with tourists. Wishing you many more beautiful sunsets and sunrises, too.
Thanks Janice
Linda, that is an amazing outlook and beautiful..just like you! We just got back into town and hope to see you in the neighborhood. You should stop by the studio sometime soon and meet my dear friend who is from La Jolla like you! XO Sarah
Magnificent.