twelve

Twelve times now I count another year since the accident.

Somehow 17 has turned into 29, and I have survived. Not overcome, triumphed, or conquered. Survived. Remained alive. Another remembrance, another acknowledgment, another year. Always the same nexus. I grow and change and become, and yet. What happened always happened, is now happening, will happen.

This year is different from the other eleven remembrances, if only because for the first time, I will not be alone for it.

The memories are there, the images I see when my eyes are closed are there, the sensations are there, my body is there.

None of these things can change will change are going to change.

But maybe today can be different. Maybe it will be. Maybe it is going to be. If only because I will not be alone today. If only because I will be with someone who chooses to be with me today. Companionship, I know, does not change a single thing, does not mean the old wounds do not again reawaken on this day.

And yet.

It is a curious thing, choice. I cannot choose to have this day be carefree, to be without its ghosts. That choice was made for me long ago. But I can choose not to be alone. I can choose, given the opportunity, to be supported in a safe environment. I can choose to ask to be coddled, to be cared for. To have the day be about me, about trying.

Trying to find the moments in between.

As the years have passed, coping method after coping method have been stripped from me. For two years now, I have not cried without becoming instantly violently ill with muscle cramping. Just one of the many legacies, one of the many things I have lost because of that one day twelve years ago.

So there will be no tears today.

Perhaps there will be pockets of joy today, moments when I am outside myself. It is enough, at the least, to try. To be with.

To choose.