When a person arrives at a certain age in their life there are many events that have been particularly meaningful to them, so then, it follows that there are many events and opportunities available for recollection, in my opinion. Selecting a singular event of particular meaning to write as a recollection therefore becomes a difficult choice for me because I have had many singular events that have been particularly meaningful to me. Each one of these singular events has altered the course of my life each time, thereby, changing who I have become. Some of these events have been wonderful, delightful, superbly magnificent, breathtaking, brilliant, simply marvelous, astonishing, and even joyful; others have been not so great, horrendous, dreadful,
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I had heard the bones breaking in my left leg upon impact, and I looked down to see the broken bone pressing against my skin. I had had enough first aid training to realize that any movement whatsoever on my part would cause this to become a compound fracture. I could smell gasoline, and I was covered in glass from the broken window, with shards stuck in my arms and fingers; I reached with my left hand for the cell phone that was now lying on the driver’s seat floor and called for help. I was attempting to describe our location to the 911 operator, which was at a central dispatch center in Sacramento where all cell phone emergency calls were routed, desperately trying to remember the name of the street we were on. I kept trying to explain our location to her by describing landmarks. Suddenly, there was an officer at my window, he informed me that he had radioed for emergency personnel and they were on the way. Fortunately, he had been far enough behind us to avoid the accident, yet close enough to assist …show more content…
They have not changed much since that first year. Thinking on my own scars, reminds me of many of my husband’s scars. I remember when he was alive, how I used to trace my finger over many of his scars and listen over and over to how he got them. I remember how I used to like hearing him tell me his stories of his injuries. The scars were his badges. Remembering those stories makes me feel close to him, listening to them as he told them made me feel close to him then, and remembering them now keeps me
I had heard the bones breaking in my left leg upon impact, and I looked down to see the broken bone pressing against my skin. I had had enough first aid training to realize that any movement whatsoever on my part would cause this to become a compound fracture. I could smell gasoline, and I was covered in glass from the broken window, with shards stuck in my arms and fingers; I reached with my left hand for the cell phone that was now lying on the driver’s seat floor and called for help. I was attempting to describe our location to the 911 operator, which was at a central dispatch center in Sacramento where all cell phone emergency calls were routed, desperately trying to remember the name of the street we were on. I kept trying to explain our location to her by describing landmarks. Suddenly, there was an officer at my window, he informed me that he had radioed for emergency personnel and they were on the way. Fortunately, he had been far enough behind us to avoid the accident, yet close enough to assist …show more content…
They have not changed much since that first year. Thinking on my own scars, reminds me of many of my husband’s scars. I remember when he was alive, how I used to trace my finger over many of his scars and listen over and over to how he got them. I remember how I used to like hearing him tell me his stories of his injuries. The scars were his badges. Remembering those stories makes me feel close to him, listening to them as he told them made me feel close to him then, and remembering them now keeps me