It only takes a second
for a lifetime to change
Only just one second
before all norm becomes strange
and in that second
our breath is taken away
It only takes a moment
to make a mistake
only just one moment
one we cannot retake
and in that moment
our breath is taken away
So how long, does it take to adjust to a new life
How long, does it take to make the wrongs we made right
It only takes an hour
for it all to become real
Only just an hour to figure out how we feel
and in that hour
our breath is taken away
The fear paralyzes all of our promises and strengths
the hurt, cripples our hearts and our minds
But the very moment, we finally take that first step
is the moment we’ll feel most alive
And finally in that moment
when we wake from the dream
that awe-inspiring moment
where life is again reality
it’s in that moment
we realize, we’re going to be fine
I wrote those lyrics in 2011, when my closest friend at the time was diagnosed with terminal cancer. That was a whirlwind of a time, let me tell you. But these last two days have been pretty damn awful too.
Two days ago, while driving an ambulance for work, a motorcyclist hit the back end of our vehicle. The motorcyclist had been speeding and driving in an illegal lane, so I had not seen him coming as I was turning left in the intersection. He clipped the side of our ambulance and it was quite the impact. My partner and I immediately pulled to the side and ran to provide emergency first aid.
The man was somewhat responsive and I sat and held him in C-spine (to ensure if there were any back or neck injuries, they wouldn’t worsen), trying to reassure him that we were there to help and even more help was on the way. It was impossible to tell the extent of his injuries as he was lying chest-down on the ground and unable to speak. When fire arrive (an amazing group of individuals) they helped in assessing his injuries further. The feel of the man’s body changed however, and I knew something was wrong. Sure enough, one of the firemen there announced that he could no longer feel a pulse. Tossing the importance of keeping C-spine aside, we immediately rolled him over and began CPR. In rolling him over, I could see the extent of his injuries were not good. I handed C-spine off and stepped back as the higher level of care (Advanced Life Support paramedics - again, amazing individuals) came in to work on him further. At this point, I still had my Emergency Health Care provider hat on. I watched closely to see if any of my fellow first responders might need my help. The team worked on him diligently for several minutes as police, RCMP, and other first responders arrived on scene. I was able to stay calm and objective up to this point. But when I saw the team have to stop, when I saw the sheet pulled over his body, indicating that his life was no longer present in his body, I broke down. My emergency provider hat fell off, and myself as driver of the vehicle he’d hit bounded to the forefront of my mind. I had to step away from the scene and try to breathe through the contractions of pain, shame, and loss that convulsed through my body. A lovely Psychiatric nurse had already arrived on scene and kindly supported me through those terrible moments. (I know I usually go into detail about my thoughts, feelings, emotions, during challenging moments/times, but out of respect for the situation and all people involved, I will not at this time).
After the incident was ‘wrapped up’ and I was released to go home, I did so, numb and unsure of how to feel. Again, words cannot express how kind, supportive and wonderful the fire, paramedics, police, and RCMP were on the scene. The rest of that day is a blur. I stayed home, lost in logic and emotion battling within me. Somehow, I was able to sleep that night, though not fitfully or well, only to shortly thereafter hear the news that a good friend of mine had suddenly passed away that morning.
You might have read my post a short while ago about loss. Well, all of what I’d written for that post, and the lyrics written above began flowing through my brain. And there still hasn’t been an outlet for any of it. No ceremony, no closure, no outlet for the pain and plethora of emotions I am feeling.
I guess I’ll just have to bide my time. Keep getting up every morning, facing the days and nights as best I can, until the times to let out some of these emotions present themselves. Until I am able to say a proper goodbye to my lovely friend. Until I’m able to feel some sort of closure to this shitty chapter (that took place in all of 24 hours) and feel better about it all. Right now, I don’t know what that looks like. So, for now, I write, and play music to process. And I am thankful for that. I can work to remember the good times before the accident, the things to be grateful for, and the good and great times I shared with my friend. And I am thankful for that.
Always remember to find things to be grateful for. Always remember the good times, when it comes to loss. Use the resources and tools available to you, whatever they are - friends, family, pets, colleagues, therapy, music, exercise, etc. Don’t let the overwhelming negative feelings and emotions drag you down. Acknowledge them, but remember what you still have to hold on to. Your loved ones. The fact that you’re alive. Your passions. It can all change, or be gone, so suddenly.
Take care of yourself, and breathe!
Ⓒ October 2022. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.
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