Thursday night, my husband was hit head on by a drunk and high driver who had just overtaken a semi-trailer despite the double white lines clearly indicating it was unsafe to do so. My husband didn’t have time to react and as the airbags expelled from their casings and the cabin of the car filled with smoke, he struggled to open the door to escape…
Thursday night was, the eve of a year since my husband was made rendundant. It signalled a long year of job searching and ended in a new life forming and a job in a completely different town. Our incubating baby is thriving according to all the scans. The job is disappointing (understatement). We’ve been unsure if it’s worth moving for such an uninspiring role in such a negative and disorganised company in a town I couldn’t wait to escape from 16 years ago. Thursday night’s event has begun to unravel all of the determination to make the best of things, and the situation is feeling even more frustrating than it did this time last year.
The reality of Thursday night is beginning to sink in today… and we have to take him back up there tomorrow. What was meant to be four days of normal family life in a long distance family existence, has turned into a mix of complete gratitude and utter frustration.
The police and ambulance officers are amazed that he walked away, let alone without a bump or bruise. Witnesses equally amazed that he’s okay. The car is a write off. Our future plans and financial success yet again messed up. What was already a tricky situation is now feeling desperate. All because one asshole’s common sense is deceased.