It was a year ago today that my life became very hard. I am still not sure what to think of it. Even now, looking back, I am shocked at how close I was to death.
I am doing very much better which doesn't really cover the ground I have covered and doesn't address the distance I still have to go. My pains mean I can only walk a very few steps very awkwardly without crutches. I took a taxi to meet St-Michael the Holy Mole at the Greenspot for breakfast. It is at the corner of Notre-Dame and Greene avenue. Afterwards I walked home with a short detour for a strawberry shortcake doughnut. That is about 1.4 km. It felt longer.
My thinking about how my life has gone in the last 366 days has been altered by something I learned on the morning of August 31st. I was woken up by a phone call from the RCMP in Shediac. It seems that the driver (may his name be spat upon) passed away. Apparently he had a heart attack on July 17th and died in the Moncton Hospital where I was initially treated. This removes any obligation to be in Moncton on the 4th of October for his sentencing, not that I was planning to attend anyway. I was a bit stunned by this news, for one thing, it means that I will never know just how sever his sentence would have been. I was still sleepy after I hung up, and pondered scenarios about him being enlisted in Hell's Colonic Brass Band until I fell asleep again.
I know one shouldn't speak ill of the dead but I am having a hard time not doing so. Then again, given the torment he put me through, I believe I am entitled to some rancor.
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