so, miranda was hanging out in my bedroom doorway and annoying the HELL out of me... asking all sorts of stupid questions, playing the "remember when?" game as i like to call it, being a general pain in the ass.

then she asked me, "did you hear about that 7 year-old?"
"no, what are you talking about?"
"this 7 year-old, frankie ********, got hit by a van yesterday and he died."
"how?"
"he was playing with his little cousins, and he was out on the road waving to his uncle (note: this is a small town). his uncle was talking to someone in the van and didn't see him and hit him. his body got flown out to ******** and they're doing an autopsy tomorrow. his funeral's on thursday."

so i was instantly brought back to my accident with getting hit by that car (which reminds me, i still have to write my experience on here for reference to my legal statement). i remember how it happened so fast that i didn't really have time to process what was going on... how i felt like a piece of nothing, because why the hell would someone just hit me like that and take away my dignity? i felt the rush of emotions afterwards, and the whole "why me?" bit.

and here was this little boy, waving to his uncle, who he probably looked up to with so much respect. i can't imagine how he felt... his uncle not seeing him, and frankie wondering why he wasn't stopping. he didn't get the chance to feel those "why me?" thoughts, because he didn't survive his accident like i did.

and suddenly i felt so grateful to be alive. grateful that i "only" got my shoulder dislocated and broken off my arm. grateful that i'm still here to bitch about physical therapy and scars and not being able to put my bra on with ease yet. grateful that i'm here having bad (and good) days and putting up with the the shit that i do. grateful because i wasn't frankie.

frankie will never live to get through his first day of high school, or get his driver's license, or get drunk for the first time and have the worst hang-over of his life. he'll never fall in love, or find his place in life, or anything else.

and all because his uncle wasn't watching the road like he was supposed to be doing... like the jerk that threw me ten feet from the crosswalk was supposed to be doing.... like EVERYONE'S supposed to be doing.

and i ask myself... what happens to make someone like me survive, and a little boy who hasn't even LIVED yet get his life taken away? is there some sort of lesson to be learned here? am i supposed to have some revelation and be this saint from now on? or was it just a bunch of circumstances such as the speed of the vehicle and the part of the body that was traumatized? what?

why?

i hate cars.

I'm wearing: teddy bear flannel pj's, butterfly slippers
I'm listening to: vampire *bif naked*
I'm thinking: life's so complicated...