Let’s consider this the make-up post for February. (See this post for reference.)
On Feb. 8, 2016, I woke up to my ringing alarm, hit snooze and saw the date before I set my phone back on the nightstand.
February 8.
I rolled backed over, catching a few extra minutes of sleep before getting out of bed and getting on with my day. I went to work and wrote a story about a new study on tax increment financing districts. It was an ordinary day.
But in the back of my mind, I knew it wasn’t. I didn’t really give much thought to it throughout the day, but I knew it had meaning and that meaning was never going to disappear.
It’s the day my life changed forever. It’s the day doctors amputated my left hand after concluding there was nothing that could be done to save it. It’s the day I had surgery to stretch my scalp to cover the injuries, at least temporarily. It’s the day my mom received probably the worst phone call of her life, which then caused more panic-inducing calls to other family members. It’s the day I flew in a helicopter, but have almost no memory of it.
It’s not a day I like to reminisce about, which is part of the reason why after six years of writing anniversary blog posts, I skipped it this year. I’ll always recognize the date, but I don’t need to dwell on it.
Lindsey Erdody 