To the woman who caused my car accident,

On April 19, 2013, because you didn’t see the big red octagonal sign that indicates you should at the very least slow down, you hit my grandpa’s car while we were driving to his house. You hit us right in front of the passenger seat where I just so happened to be sitting. That collision broke my collarbone so badly it needed surgery, broke three ribs, bruised my lung, broke two of the bones in my face causing me to almost lose my two front teeth, gave me scars on my right arm and on my face, scratched my cornea, and gave me a concussion that still affects me today.

Because of you, my grandpa and my twelve-year-old little sister had to go through a period of time where they thought they might lose me because I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up, I didn’t know what had happened because my body had gone into shock. I thought I was dreaming, but then I managed to open my bruised and swollen eyes just long enough to see blood covering my hand. My blood. I kept calling my sister’s name because I didn’t know if she was okay. For a while, both she and my grandpa answered me, saying they were fine and that everything was going to be alright. But, then they stopped. I didn’t realize that they had left in the ambulance and I screamed for them, but they didn’t answer. I was so dazed and confused I wouldn’t listen to the nice paramedic who was trying to tell me everything was alright. And I don’t remember getting out of the car and being put on the board to get into the ambulance because I had blacked out from the pain.

However, I do remember getting to the hospital. I remember seeing the fluorescent lights passing me by as I was rolled in the ER. Suddenly, I heard two familiar voices. It was my mom and dad. I got to give those two props. They didn’t let on at all how bad it actually was, but don’t worry I soon found out. When I got into the ER, I was told to keep my eyes closed. I wanted to open them because I knew seeing my parents would calm me down at least a little. But I was too scared. The doctors and ER nurses gave me a warning when they were going to stick me with a needle and they did that a lot. Because my body had gone into shock, all of my blood vessels had constricted. They had to have tried twenty times to get an IV in, but they couldn’t find one. They finally found one in my left shoulder of all places. But then they started on my stitches. The glass from the side window and the windshield had torn me apart. I had to get somewhere between twelve and fifteen stitches in my arm, which I was lucky enough to be awake for. Some I got with a numbing agent and other without because the needle that administered the numbing agent hurt more than the actual stitch needle. Then they had to start on my face and let me give you a picture of this. My mouth was drier than a desert and all I wanted was a sip of water, but they couldn’t give it to me because if they had, the water wouldn’t have gone down my throat. It would’ve leaked out the cuts in my face. I just found out recently that I was awake for those stitches. Thank God that my brain is smart enough to block that from my memory so I don’t remember. You wanna know how I found out that I awake? My dad told me. He was in the ER right beside me holding my hand. My left hand of course because my right hand had a piece of side window sticking out of it. I kept saying, “I wanna go home, daddy.” And I said that over and over again. But he knew how bad it was and he knew we couldn’t go home. So, he sat there and talked to me. He made me laugh the way he always did. He even sang to me. You did this to him and the rest of my family just as much as you did it to me.

But it didn’t stop there. While I was in the hospital, my grandpa came to my room. As soon as he saw me, he started to cry. He said that he was so sorry, that he should’ve seen your car, and that he would trade places with me if he could. I told him to stop. I said to him, “Papa, if you had been in my position, you would’ve died and Morgie and me wouldn’t have a papa anymore. I’d gladly take this if it meant I got to keep you.” At the ripe old age of fifteen, I had to say that to my grandfather. Do you understand what that did to me? It changed me in a way that I don’t even understand.

A week after the accident, I had to go back and get surgery to fix my collarbone. A metal plate and nine screws were put in place so that it didn’t hurt every time I moved. It left a scar on my shoulder that still hasn’t faded. Within two years after the accident, I had gone to over 100 doctor’s appointments. I had to go see an orthopedist, a neurologist, an ophthalmologist, a physical therapist, several occupational therapists, a cardiologist, and a psychiatrist. So many doctors and I was only fifteen. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine having your teachers question you because you were missing so much school, even though you had explained why you were gone so much and why you needed a lightened course load? Just try. I bet you can’t.

I’m eighteen years old and I still can’t get stuck with a needle without having someone there to hold my hand because I was so scared. It brings back so many memories that I would just love to forget. I’m eighteen years old and I can’t go to a club or a party because they might have strobe lights there and they’ll set off a migraine. Those were caused by the concussion I got that day, by the way. Thanks for that. I can’t learn to drive because your car is always in the corner of my eye and I’m terrified I’ll put someone else through what I went through. Someone I love.

To be honest, ma’am, I’m not mad about this anymore. I know it sounds like it, but despite all of this, I have a wonderful life now. I’m going to a great college. I have a loving and supporting family. I have an amazing boyfriend who loves me despite my scars. But I needed to write this letter because you need to know that it wasn’t just that day you messed up for me. It’s the rest of my life. I won’t ever be the same. In some ways, that’s good. I don’t let people push me around anymore because I realized just how short life can be. I guess I have to thank you for that. However, most of my driving lessons with my dad, end with me having a panic attack. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to learn how to drive. You did that to me. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I needed to write it. I hope the broken wrist you got that day has healed nicely.

Sincerely,