There was absolute silence; it was like being underwater. I was disconnected, then everything came into focus - and with focus, came the pain, like a million bees stinging me all over. Someone walked me to a bus (the same one that ran me over).
24 months later, the rod in my thigh was removed and I was declared fully recovered from the multiple fractures in my left wrist and thigh.
The first year in recovery, I was still coming to terms with what had happened. For a fourth grader to lose almost all semblance of motion, was like growing up on fast-forward with all the good parts excised. I had loads of time, but could not do anything with it. While all my friends were tired of playing the same old games out on the playground, I would have given anything for simply one day out. Slowly as time passed, I managed to accept what had transpired. I had, somehow, moved on.
The first few years after the accident, I never really thought about that day much. It was like the chapter was closed and gone. I was myself again. I got back to having friends, being on the field and having fun like a typical 11-year-old. Life had returned to normal, but with a change.
I became an extremely helpful fellow to whoever came by. I became the "go-to guy," the extrovert you could always share with. But my mother noticed me becoming increasingly distant and reclusive at home over the years after the accident. Then finally one day, she confronted me about it and in that very moment, I realized I was living a splintered life: I was always there for my trusting friends. Their problems were mine and I’d spend all my time trying to help them out. This ensured that I never got any opportunity to introspect. At home however, I was different, always lost in my dreams or busy studying. I was never one for much talk there.
Somehow, I had become a bastion of hope and now even though I finally managed to grasp the reason behind this new found identity, I was not willing to change back. I still am not. Why? It is because in the happiness of others, I have found my own happiness and a wonderful feeling of satisfaction. It is somehow confusing but then again it also makes perfect sense that an accident which could have taken my life away taught me how valuable life is; not just mine, but everyone else’s as well.
By being there for others, maybe I can get closure; but more importantly, I hope I can grow in the process as well. It's been 12 years since that fateful day, the rod that was in my thigh that sits in my bedroom is a constant reminder of how precious life is and I am determined to make the most of it.
"Raison d’être" means the thing that is most important to someone or something: The reason for which a person exists. Moments like that accident and my internship in Mexico have all come together to give shape to my reason for existence. What's yours?
-S.S.
