little red bull

Just like life, when you think everything’s been decided, the plans magically change depending on the littlest thing, the decision to turn the car right or left, go with the flow of traffic or against, and in that split second, a world begins to change.  Not unraveling beyond recognition, there is one value that remains true.  The inner soul of a person…is the one true constant in the situation.

Sure things are different now, different than before my car accident ever happened, different than before, but I am still the same person, both on the inside and outside I look basically the same.

I was so over this, it has been over half of my lifetime ago; I have been alive longer with a TBI than I had been previously.  The object that struck up all of these memories of the few days right before my car accident are all attributed to a little red bull. wpid-20150105_222944.jpg Curious by the appearance of this McDonald’s toy that was apparently given to me sometime that summer, and I started investigating the surrounding events right prior to that accident, even the few days before.  There are a lot of holes, but I do remember.  This instigated an emailing back and forth between me and my very good friend (my maid of honor) about what had been going on that first week of school, and I was busy.  So busy that my friends felt neglected, but it was what was happening all around me.  I was spread so thin, the all-star cheerleading squad had taken a break over summer, and I had pretty much decided not to return with them as they transformed from the youth club based competition squad into being sponsored by the gym that we practiced at every Sunday.  All my friends would have only been around for another year, anyway.  The high school cheerleading squad was enough for me, I had practices for the Varsity squad every day, a Friday night game (I had the good fourtune to be in the first game of the year the night before my accident) and I was trying to keep up some sort of resemblance to a social life, while completing work at the pool as a lifeguard.  As I think of my times with the girls on my cheerleading squad, it just brings me to tears.  Running laps around the football field at the high school, singing dumb chants in a military type style made up on the spot, and watching the football team practice on the field behind us.  I have so many good memories from being a cheerleader, not only on my high school team, but on my competition all star squad, too.

But wait, why all these tears? Everyone’s still around,  these are memories, and good memories.  And I’m stuck in a daydream again, sitting here looking on out into space.  Which only reminds me of the first time that my friend and I first met, in seventh grade.  She was sitting with her legs pulled up  on her plastic school chair, biting on her barely there finger nail polish half on, half off and she says “Sorry, I’m like ‘Duh’ staring into space” and she laughs and reaches out to shake my hand.  At least, I think she shook my hand, I think I remember because it was so weird, 7th grade and handshake?  It’s all of the little memories that get you, like snowboarding with a good friend and her family and spending most of the trip on my butt.  In ninth grade the girl with the curly blonde hair talking about how she always thought I was so cool because I hung out with these two other girls and we were such good friends.  Mr. Sanders in 9th grade calling me Danielle-o, ‘because her hair is quite yellow‘ [Referring to the lone blonde streak I had put in the front of my dark brown hair]  In German class, watching the astute students on either side of me actually sprechen German, and get it right.  Then there were the nights out with my good friend on my competition squad while sleeping over at another friends house, sneaking out to go TP an ex-boyfriend’s house.  Getting in trouble  when parents came home and found me throwing up in a bathroom and having all of the parents being called at 3 AM because it was our first encounter with vodka.

Losing the privilege of riding to school in a red corvette that the cheerleader across the street drove me to school each morning, and having to ride the bus.  And then there was that one morning in which Katie ran over to my house at 5AM and found me up early finishing my English paper that I was too busy the night before talking on the phone to the boy that I liked…

Memories are precious…
AND THEY SUCK.
They suck because they are not here anymore, things are different, and they’re not meant to be dwelled upon…they’re just memories- to be looked upon with the whisper of a smile

 

About Danielle!

A young professional Longwood University alum, with a traumatic brain injury having previously worked in the Therapeutic Recreation field with the elderly at nursing homes in Fairfax, VA. Now as a TBI advocate, trying to help others learn more about TBIs is involved in support groups, as well as very involved in my church.
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