When you are missing a left hand, it’s pretty noticeable to yourself, but other people sometimes aren’t as aware of it.
To me, it’s obvious that I won’t wear a wedding ring on my left hand, can’t use all the functions on video game controllers and won’t have the easiest time skiing. To other people, I’ve recently found out it’s not obvious that I’d have trouble with any of these things.
Maybe people just aren’t observant enough or maybe I’m just great at functioning like I have two hands. I choose to believe the latter.
Something that I’m not surprised people don’t realize or notice is the anniversary of my car accident. Feb. 8 is never a day I look forward to anymore, but on the outside it’s like any other day. In years past, I went to class, worked at the Indiana Daily Student, did my homework, maybe spent time with some friends. The day has no significance on the surface.
But on the inside, I’ve spent the last three anniversaries reliving my accident in my mind. I usually spent the day thinking “if only I had done something different” and wondering “what if?” I always justified my mood by knowing during the rest of the year, I wouldn’t let it get to me. It was my one day to feel sorry for myself.
But this year, on the fourth anniversary, I’m proud to say it was just like any other day. I reported, went to lunch with coworkers, wrote a story and went home for the day. When I got home, I didn’t mope or let my mind get the best of me by reliving the vivid details of the crash. I worked out and had a date night with my boyfriend.
I don’t think there will ever be a Feb. 8 when I don’t realize the significance of the date, but I’m happy that after four years I don’t need that one day of the year anymore. I looked at Friday as four years of dominating life with one hand. Four years of taking a horrible situation and turning it into extreme motivation. My accident didn’t stop me from living life to the fullest. If anything, it motivated me to do more with my life.
And when you look at it that way, there’s really nothing to be sad about.
Lindsey Erdody 