This Easter weekend was fantastic. Let me bullet point it for you.
- I spent Friday night with one of my favorite people who also happens to color and blow out my hair.
- I ran my first 5K on Saturday morning which included hills and maneuvering through a blow-up colon.
- I ate pancakes. Twice.
- I attended services at my church on Saturday night and Sunday morning which made me ugly cry. Twice.
- I wasted Sunday afternoon with my whole family and we ate cake pops and breakfast casseroles.
- I went to a Walking Dead Finale Party on Sunday night and we lamented the episode drought before us while eating more cake pops.
To cap it all off, I spent the final hours of Sunday night in the ER after being hit by a drunk driver.
I didn't feel the fantastic part at the moment. Not at the moment the driver barreled through that stop sign. Not at the moment my seat belt and air bag blocked me from the windshield. Not at the moment I crawled out of my car smelling gas and smoke. Not at the moment the drunken man abandoned his truck in no shirt or pants or shoes and started running down the road.
Well, maybe that part was a bit fantastical.
The fantastic has risen to the surface at such odd times. When the CAT scan radiographer shared how much she struggles with missing her dad who was killed by a drunk driver. When my neighbor offered to help me while in tears because she's still grieving the loss of her roommate from a deadly car accident. When I found myself sharing my faith on the phone with an insurance claims staffer who asked me if I really believe in miracles.
I have a totaled car. I have a bruised body. I have broken bones.
I have generous friends. I have a loving family. I have more days ahead.