It's been 10 years

Ten years ago.  How could I ever have guessed the path that I have walked these past ten years?  An event that I have no memory of sent a shockwave throughout my life and many others, chasing its course in more ways than I could ever know.  My view looking back is one seen through the rose-colored glasses of gratitude.  I'm grateful for seat belts—for those who engineered them, for being taught to wear them and for Mike listening to his brother and putting his on seconds before impact.  I'm grateful for those first on the scene—for their ability to think and act during a crisis and for the paramedics for their care in getting us out of the car and to the hospital.  I will forever be grateful to the skillful hands that spent hours desperately trying to save me.  Those surgeons, doctors, trauma team and awe-inspiring nurses who cared for me in ways we don't expect stranger to care.  I'm grateful for my family who's trauma from that night could actually be worse than my own.  I'm grateful to Courtney for being the kind of friend I only wish I could be.  I'm grateful for the friends, family, neighbors, ward members, and more—those who visited me, fasted for me, prayed for me, and thought about me.  Your influence was felt.  Your prayers gave me strength when I had none and hope when pain and fear were strong.
I'm grateful to know how hard it can be to stand.  I'm grateful to know what it feels like to have my body process food for the first time in weeks.  I'm grateful to know what it's like to set and, amazingly, reach seemingly small goals:  to take a breath, to take a step, to take a drink, to push a button.  I'm grateful for Mitch.  I'm grateful that he found a way to visit me every day despite the pain he felt.  I'm grateful for the lift his presence and smile brought me.  I'm grateful that he saw me at my worst and somehow saw my best.  I'm grateful that he knows how hard those steps were, having walked them just before me.  I'm grateful for his family accepting me and loving me so easily.
I'm grateful to know pain, to know the relief of less pain, and the miracle of no pain.  I'm grateful to see the way that my life has been so carefully guided.  I'm grateful to realize that despite my oh-so-many shortcomings, I matter.  I'm grateful to know with an absolute certainty that if I matter then you matter, this world matters, life matters.
I'm grateful for the miracle of bearing a child.  Sometimes I wonder that the mangled mass inside of me could somehow still give me a beautiful and amazing girl.
I often wonder at the strength of those who've survived traumatic experiences when they say—if I could go back, I'd do it again.  And yet somehow I find myself echoing that sentiment.  The extreme pain, fear and uncertainty have shaped the life I've led in every facet.  Since then, every spring that I've seen slowly creep its' way into the world—the green of new life, the blossoms of trees, the sweetness in the air—I marvel that I didn't miss it.  This year I could see it from a window, walk among it, sit quietly with it and share it with my daughter, husband, parents, siblings, friends and every other person whose heart revels in the glory of life renewing around us.
Today I remember the pain and the fear.  I remember the uncertainty that I faced.  I remember facing death, my death, and somehow knowing that even if that was my nest step that it would be ok.  Today I rejoice that it wasn't!  I rejoice that I woke up each time to face the pain and the fear and the uncertainty and somehow kept on.  I rejoice that I trusted in those around me and in a loving Heavenly Father who know so much more than me.  I rejoice that every day I get to be me: an imperfect, silly, shy, loving, short, singing, reading, more-happy-than-not, me.
Thank you for ten years.