Negative Space

Often times, the degree to which we measure anything - events, people, our possessions -  is equally about what they are not as much as what they are.  It's the absence of something that makes us appreciate what we have.  It's what we miss that gives value to what is in front of us. And it is what could have happened that gives context to what actually occurs.  This is negative space.  The simplest way to describe it is as "space where other things are not present." In design, it gives the eye a place to rest.  In life, it gives us perspective.

For the past five days, I am haunted by negative space.  To be specific, the negative space of my children not being with me the day of my accident.  Much worse than reliving the crash in my mind is reliving the image of a crash where Sophie had been in the front seat and where Gabe and Sara, both less than 100 pounds, had been in the back. This is a crash I cannot bear. My mind runs from it, and it feels more real in my heart than what actually happened.

But luckily for me and for my family, my kids were not with me. I was alone, surrounded by negative space.

I've spent most of my time since the crash thinking about what this accident is intended to teach me. Because it is meant to teach me something.  It's not about broken ankles or reliving that moment. It's about what is beyond the short-term and pushing toward the long-term, life altering changes I will take with me into the rest of my days.

Negative space is one of those long-term lessons.

I will be thankful for when I and others are at their best because I know what it is like to just get by.
I will love the daylight because I know night.
I will relish silence because I have lived in noise.
I will cherish my health because I know a broken body.
I will never wish away my days because I now know the value of them.
I chose to focus on the positive because it's easy to sink into negativity.
I will listen because it's too easy to shut others off.
I will always open my arms because I have been guilty of staying closed.
I will be patient because impatience puts up walls.

And I will walk again, and run, and never take for granted the places my legs can and will take me, because now they cannot. This, too, is negative space I will push through.

I am not thinking of surgeries, or casts, or being couch bound.  I have a vision in my head of me, running a 5K, wearing great shoes, chasing my kids, stronger than I was before the accident, being even better because trial reveals us. It uncovers who we are. And I refuse to have any trial reveal that I am less than what I know I am capable of.

I am surrounded by what is, and thoughts of what is not. And, I am focused on what will be. Because it will be great. This I know.

Me and the three not there.