nienie

A long, long time ago I decided I was going to get married.

A few days before the wedding I took a drive with my fiance.

I still remember the direction we were driving: north.
I don't remember what we were talking about,
in fact I think there was a lull in the conversation.
I remember looking over at a duck pond.

Then something hit me.

Not a thought.
Not an emotion.

A fist.

The punch came out of nowhere
and connected with my left cheek and nose.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
In horror I looked over at the man I was going to marry.

He laughed.

Almost five years and a divorce later I felt ashamed.
And stupid.
And ugly.

It took me a long time to recover.
In many ways I still am . . . and will be for a long time.
Maybe that's one of the reasons I've
followed Stephanie Nielson's story with interest.
I've long admired her as a blogger and mother,
longed to be part of a family like hers.

But it's her courage I envy.

Physically and emotionally she'll spend the rest of her life recovering
from the plane crash that burned over 80 percent of her body.

But she's not letting that stop her from living.

Really living.