Friday, April 6, 2018

My Life in 1990 (part 3)

My sister was hit by a car on May 26.

It took me 10 days to get back into writing in my diary.



I dreamed that Dawn was able to leave the hospital sometimes, and the respirator. One time I hugged her and I said I wish I could hold on forever and forever. She was nice about it.  (6/5/90). Thanks Dream, Dawn for being nice about it.  I was probably surprised by this niceness because real-life-pre-coma Dawn would have probably given me a dirty look if I said something corny like that. Or maybe not. I think leaving us for college had maybe made her a little more sentimental.

I cannot write of the accident. At least not yet. There is so much to say but not enough room to tell it all. (6/7/90)

Nick called. I love him but not in the way Dawn does. I love him as maybe part of the family or maybe because he is the closest thing to Dawn's heart. (6/7/90).

Nick was Dawn's boyfriend. He had also been hit by the same car, but his injuries were much less severe.

It is so unfair that it happened to them. It has hurt us all. But then it does, despite what Frank Deford says, make us stronger people. I really believe that. We have met so many wonderful people. Everyone wants to help. (6/7/90).  I can't remember what Frank Deford said, but I can kind of guess by the context of what I said there.

Sometimes I think of that awful Saturday 2 weeks ago. I hate to think about it. It gives me chills. A lot of people pity my family but I feel so lucky when I hear of how people died in accidents.  I think of how God let my sister live.  Yesterday was beautiful. We went to the mall. It was lightening outside but their was no rain. Then the sky or bits of it were pink. It was beautiful. I thought of God sitting up in the clouds looking down at us. I imagined him squeezing our hand just like Dawn squeezes our hand and we squeeze hers. Then when we visited Dawn, we gave her two stress balls. She loved to play with them. She teased us with the balls, handing them to us and then throwing them behind the bed. We ask her if she was having fun. She blinked once which means yes. It was great. I love God. I love my family. I loved the doctors who helped us. I love the nurses. I love our friends.

Yikes. Most of that is way too corny. But I guess some bits were kind of sweet. (6/10/90).

Dawn is doing great but we are having trouble with the physicians at the rehab place she is at. 

There are so many gorgeous guys who work at Emory. I mean these guys would beat out Tom Cruise any day...maybe.

I think I should go to college at Emory and do volunteer work at the hospital. I'm sure to find a good husband. (7/13/90).

It kind of sounds like I was saying we're having trouble with the physicians because they're so damn hot.  But I think I was PROBABLY talking about two separate issues.

You know I could judge myself harshly for the fact that my sister was brain injured and I was busy crushing on the hospital staff. But I'm not going to. You know why? Because I know Dawn would understand and approve. She too is prone to having crushes. I think it might be genetic.

Yesterday I went to Six Flags with Isabelle, Melissa, and Greg. It was a lot of fun. (7/13/90).  I don't remember that. But I'm glad they took us, and I'm glad we went.  I remember feeling pressured to spend every day at the hospital. Like if I didn't, that meant I wasn't a good sister...or good daughter.

I'm not sure if this pressure was real or imagined. And if it was real, was it because my parents weren't keen on us being home alone all day while they were at the hospital. Or did they believe it was our sisterly duty to be at the hospital all the time?

Of course I believe siblings should support each other when there is serious illness or injury. But I also think the healthy kids in the family need to be allowed, and encouraged, to live their life.

I feel awful. I've felt like this ever since we were driving home from the hospital. 

It's the same way I felt the night of Dawn's accident before it even happened.

To make matters worse, Dad started predicting that Beau is going to die soon. Now I have something else to worry about. 

Of course I have thought Beau was going to die for about 7 years. (8/3/90)

Beau was our dog, and my dad's prediction did end up coming true...a few months later. I'm not going to label my dad a Nostradamus, though.  Beau was pretty old—fifteen or sixteen.

As for my psychic abilities. It's true I did have a very dark feeling the night of my sister's accident. For a long time, I believed that to be a supernatural experience. But since then, I've had other dark feelings, and nothing came of it.  So I think it was just a coincidence, probably.