Well, here we are. 20 days away from spring's official start. Let's forget for a minute that in NH, spring doesn't start until early May. Spring in March is a lovely idea. Even if it really just means that mud-season is starting.
March is a funny kind of month for me. It holds a lot of anniversary dates, and even though weather-wise I don't care for it at all, I have a special place for March.
March is the month of my blogerversary. We'll chat more on that when it gets here.
March 13th is the 13th anniversary of a horrific car accident I was in that should've taken my life. I wasn't driving, and we had no business even being on the road. A blizzard was heading in and my mother was pissed that I was going out. But a friend wanted my help, and being a sucker I said yes. Besides, what the hell did mom know? We were supposed to be home by noon. At noon I was lying on a bed in a hospital, wishing I was dead, because dead didn't hurt so bad, did it? The 2 state police officers that arrived on the scene wrote us off as dead. "There's no way anyone could've survived this one." I head one say as they walked towards the car. Well, we both did. And many years, and lots of pain later, I have physical issues tied into this accident that will never go away. While part of me begrudges it, a smaller part of me sees it as a constant reminder of the grace of God. I'm still here, aren't I?
March is also the anniversary of the day I met the boy. It was about 5 days after the above accident, and I had gone to a youth group meeting with my brother. I was feeling horrible, physically and emotionally, and due to hip issues I was crutching around and sore as all get out. I had bruises and cuts and bandages and I was just a mess. And across the room, there he was. Tall and handsome, and unknown. My brother introduced us, and the rest as they say, is history.
March was the month I got pregnant with my son. I was 19 years old, and way to young to be responsible for another life other than my own... but there I was. You deal with the wrenches life throws you one day at a time. That was the only way I made it back then. He's 11 years old now. I haven't one regret about how my life turned out. Not one.
March 26th will be the 5 year anniversary of the day I quit smoking. Cold turkey. I started smoking when I was 17. My parents were fighting and life was just crappy and it seemed like a good idea at the time. I smoked, sometimes heavily until I was almost 29. Almost half my life at the time I quit. There have been days that I have craved the stress relief smoking provided, but it was the best thing I ever did for myself.
In like a lion... out like a lamb.