Since 2001, September’s been a sucky month, and I’m not sorry to see it go.
Eight years ago today, Jim and I went on a weekend motorcycle ride in Takilma, Oregon. We needed to get away.
9/11 had just happened. Clients were running scared, business was tanking, and we were stuck with a huge commercial property we couldn’t sell.
Just when life couldn’t get any more depressing, Murphy came knocking.
Or rather, a deer.
Eight years ago today on my last motorcycle ride, I got broadsided by a six point buck. One minute I’m riding my Virago on a glorious fall afternoon. The next, I’m lying on the pavement with EMTs hovering over me, puking all over myself.
I survived the collision. Two surgeries and three years later, my recovery was as good as it was gonna get. Knowing that I had narrowly escaped death changed my life, and Jim’s, in so many ways.
Still, I hate September.
Last year, September 2008 opened the door to more emotional trauma. That’s when we knew that Jerry’s time was at hand. Understanding that he was about to leave us was worse than anything I had gone through with the motorcycle wreck.
But now, in 2009, I really believe that September is going to roll on through without incident.
The Universe has been kind to us. We have our health, our crazy Dawg, and a roof over our heads.
Life is good.