Precious Little Traumatic Life

Life is precious.

And there are precious few things in life that really are important.

These are the lessons I learned from Sunday.


On Sunday I packed up my son and all his stuff and headed to church, like normal. I left my husband at home to study for his course, like normal. I sat my son on the front pew with his choo-choos and practised with the worship team. Then, I lugged my good little boy up the stairs to the nursery and left him playing ball with the nursery teacher, like normal.

And then, I don’t know what happened.

Well, I do. But only because I’ve been told. Because at this moment, my memory fails me. At this moment things start to get fuzzy in my mind. I know that I met with the worship team to pray. I know that I walked out onto the stage to start the worship service. I assume we sang one song and I know I was standing listening to announcements.

But I don’t really remember these things.

I certainly don’t remember feeling faint and I definitely don’t remember losing consciousness and falling off the platform, landing on the floor, three feet below, head first.

I only know that at this point, my pulse was negligible, because someone told me. I only know that some people thought I had broken my neck and died because someone told me. I only know that the ambulance came, because someone told me.

I don’t remember any of this. And during the time, I was remembering very little.

But I did know my husband. And I remembered my son. I knew nothing else, not the supporters around me or the events of the day or the items in my purse, but I new my husband and I knew my son. I knew my son wasn’t with me and I was concerned for him. I may have asked where he was over and over, but I knew him.


During this traumatic time, my injured brain allowed me to focus on those things that are most important in my life. Everything else was filtered away. All that remained were two. Dan. Cameron. My family. The two people who, during my most precarious time, I needed to know.

Sunday was scary, especially for my husband, but also for many people who have become part of my life. Yesterday became scary to me when I realized how scary Sunday had been. I realized that coming home from the hospital on Sunday night with nothing more than a concussion and scrapes and bruises was really the best outcome that anyone could have hoped for. Even walking out, alive was a blessing.

Life is a blessing. And in my life, I have been blessed with my husband and my son.

This is what I am taking away from my ordeal.

Precious Little Traumatic Life Photo taken during my “amnesic” period. I have no recollection of this at all. I was asking the same questions over and over. But apparently I was very pleasant and jovial. I even told a joke – over and over and over again.


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