At 1:40 am this morning I was t-boned in an intersection by a girl running a red light in the rain. My side airbags deployed (didn’t even know they were there) and I escaped without even a scratch on me. This is probably the fourth accident I’ve had in my life where I should’ve been either killed or seriously injured and walked away.
Since I received my cancer diagnosis and the infamous “two months to live” speech on April 25, 2018, I have experienced the kind of rollercoaster that I think would drive most people insane. During that period I have felt the most powerful joy and elation that anyone can imagine, but I’ve also experienced some disappointment, disillusionment, and tragedy that could easily crush a person’s spirit.
Onlookers in my life often tell me, “well, you must still be here for a reason.”
I’m ready to know that reason.
Until then, just know that I am unbroken and unbowed. From the outside, it looks like a disaster – hell, it feels like one to me, too – but I’m heading somewhere. Like the feather in Forrest Gump, I will float to and fro, from tragedy to triumph, until I finally reach the place where I belong.
And it will feel like home.