Five Years Later- A Letter to My Younger Self

12/19/2025

A letter to my younger self,

On December 19th, 2020, after a wild and crazy year, you’ll find the vehicle you’re in being flung head on into another car due to black ice.  Get in the car anyways.

The snow will be falling so very gently when you head out to wrap up some Christmas shopping, but it’s the snowbelt.  Your husband will drive, and you’ll snap a couple of photos just moments before your life changes forever.  Take the photos anyway.

Moments after those photos are taken, you’ll hear your husband yell out “No, no, no,” as the vehicle hits ice just right and slides head on into oncoming traffic.  You’ll go head on into the only other vehicle on the roadway.  Dust and debris will fill the air as everything seems to happen in slow motion.  As the vehicles come to a stop, your husband will reach for his phone, and not finding it, by some miracle will find yours anyways.  

He’ll call for help, and you’ll sit there in the vehicle as the cold begins to fill the air.  He’ll ask if you’re ok.  You’ll struggle for every single breath as you tell him no, and that you love him.  You’ll stay as calm as you can, not letting fear take over, not wanting to scare anyone with how bad it is, but deep down, you’ll know time is running out.  Your left wrist will feel funny, and you’ll want to move it, to look at it, but you’ll stop yourself.  You’ll keep wanting to listen to the voice that tells you to move your wrist.  Ignore it anyways.

When he’s done with 911, your husband will call your mom, but you won’t really be able to talk to her.  You’ll continue to struggle for every breath, and when you can’t take it anymore, you’ll reach your right wrist up to the handle above the door to pull yourself up, since you slid down in the seat.  It will hurt like crazy, and you’ll wonder if you should force yourself to pull yourself despite the pain.  Do it anyways.

Pulling yourself up will cause extreme pain in your wrist, but the breathing will get just slightly easier.  The 1st responders will come, and after evaluating the scene, they’ll cut the door off to get you out.  You’ll be priority 1.  They’ll take you to the ambulance, where as they take off layers, you’ll realize your left wrist feels wet.  You’ll ask the paramedic if it’s broken.  The look on his face will confirm what you already know.  The break is bad.  You won’t really feel much pain though.  Thank goodness for a high pain tolerance!  But you’ll struggle to breath, not because it hurts, but because something is stopping the breaths.  Something will tell you not to go to sleep, to fight to stay awake, and you will.  Everything in you will want to just close your eyes and rest.  Stay awake anyways.

You’ll spend the ambulance ride fighting for every breath.  When you arrive to the hospital, medical staff will surround you.  You’ll be assessed all over, and rushed off for emergency surgery.  The nurse will give you one last call with your mom, a chance to say goodbye.  Don’t say goodbye.  Say see you later anyways.

After surgery, you’ll awake in ICU.  Your throat will be sore from the tube that helped you breath for a bit.  Your body will ache, and moving hurts.  Doctors will tell you what is broken, and as time goes on, they’ll discover at least 11 broken bones and internal damage.  Your husband will be allowed to see you briefly and will then need to leave, due to Covid.  You’ll want nothing more to go home with him, but you’ll have to stay anyways.

As injuries get discovered, you’ll another surgery.  Christmas will come, and you’ll find yourself moved to a hospital room just before.  Your husband will be allowed to visit only briefly, and it won’t feel like the traditional Christmas.  Instead, it will be a Christmas to Remember.  Celebrate anyways.

After Christmas, you’ll head to rehab.  You’ll spend a month there before suddenly, your quad muscle will stop working.  You’ll struggle to do the slide boarding they want you to do and it will hurt.  Do it anyways.

Three days later, you’ll find out the hip was broken and dislocated again.  You’ll be rushed off for another surgery, and then 4 more after that.  You’ll be stuck in the hospital for a few weeks while the doctors try to figure everything out.  Finally, you’ll have a total hip replacement.  You’ll wish you didn’t have to go back to rehab yet again.  Do it anyways.

Another few weeks in rehab, and you’ll finally get to go home.  It won’t be the end of your recovery.  You’ll push through pain and horrible days to fight for your life back.  You’ll leave a job you love, but you’ll gain another job you love, and a chance to work from home.  You’ll know you have to chase writing dreams you nearly gave up on.  Fear will try to stop you in your tracks..  Write anyways. 

Five years will pass.  Your faith will grow even stronger.  You’ll reprioritize things lin life, get two amazing dogs and everything that happens will come to impact many others for the better.  Step by step, even if sometimes tiny, you’ll take your life back.  It will hurt.  Your bones will ache, you’ll pull yourself out of nightmares, night after night, and have frequent flashbacks.  You’ll feel anxiety leading up to the anniversary each year.  Yes, on December 19, 2020, you’ll get into a vehicle, and a horrible accident will happen.  Get in the car anyways.  

You’ll never be the same.  How could you be?  But that’s ok.  It isn’t just about you.  And you?  You’ll have a peace you can’t explain and find strength you never knew existed.  You’ll fight for the life you know you’re supposed to live, and though you’ll struggle as the curveballs come your way, you’ll persevere because you know, there’s a greater plan at hand.  It’s what was meant to be anyways.

Until next time,

Cindy