Written on October 29, 2023

As I begin to write this entry, it is 9:03pm on Sunday, October 29th meaning it’s already been a whole week since I last wrote in my journal. At first I really thought I could write here everyday alongside my daily updates on Jenny’s condition because it was my only outlet to cope with everything but as the days go by there is too much to do and not enough time. I’ve desperately wanted to write but there are many ongoing things that take higher priority than my mental stability.

The critical week following the accident I met so many different people – some of whom I’ve never seen before – but they all knew Jenny somehow and it was genuinely eye-opening to see just how special she was to everyone. There was even a coworker who worked one shift with Jenny, just one shift over five years ago and still went out of his way to visit her. He said she had left such an impression on him with her hardworking ethic but also her cheerful happiness that it was very easy to remember who she was. I knew Jenny was appreciated wherever she went, but not by this margin.

All her friends and coworkers I had the chance to meet offered the same thing to me – if I needed any help, or anything at all, just contact them. I know if I asked each and every one, they would all be genuine to their word but asking for help is such a difficult thing to do especially if you were taught that you should never, under any circumstance, ask for help. Some vile indoctrination about “being a man” or “being strong” and “never showing weakness” that is engrained so deep in my blood it regretfully defies simple logic. So instead I told everyone the same thing: All your lives do not need to pause because of this tragedy. Everyone has their own obligations, their own families, their own kids and their own goals that they must continue moving forward and only my life needs to pause.

Over the first weeks I watched Jenny, she eventually said her first word to me which inspired Entry 02. As time went on and she began using more unique words I notice that the most prominent thing she tries to talk about (when she is able to string thoughts together) is the accident itself. I know she is reliving the crash that changed her life over and over again in her head. And I have to witness it everyday.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make peace with the fact that someone took Jenny’s future away. That very someone was pronounced deceased at the time of the crash so I can’t even point a finger and say

“It was you.”

I have to somehow accept that Jenny’s future goals, future aspirations, future adventures, future dreams, anything that was supposed to be has now been taken away for the rest of her life. Yes, I understand that because the nerves in both her legs are still connected that eventually she might be able to walk properly again, but it won’t be the same. Her right eye, after almost a month, has no response. Her right arm is regressing to such a bad state that I can’t even stretch it anymore to help prevent muscle atrophy before she says it hurts. Her mind, the unique foundation that truly made her Jenny, will never be the same. I can only hope for as much recovery as possible and that’s my only bargaining chip which I’m forced to play against my will.

If I read this objectively, I would tell myself that this is a textbook “you need therapy” angle. May I then offer a lifetime session of therapy in exchange for Jenny to return back to who she was on September 30th, 2023?

Jenny was not just someone who benefited society through her hard work in the health care field – she was someone who also lovingly brought so much morale, so much happiness and so much inspiration wherever she went. I’m not someone who can do that. My lifespan would never have helped the world as much as hers and now, everyday I look at her, I am ruthlessly reminded that someone took that irreplaceable presence away from the world. That someone took that irreplaceable presence away from me. Jenny was on her way to go help others that night and in some sick, disgusting twist of fate her invaluable functioning mind and body was ripped apart and now I am here with my comparably inept mind and body being forced to witness her miserably struggle everyday just to try and become a shadow of who she once was.

Over the past week I have had to hear her say the phrases:

“Can I make it?”

“I don’t think I can make it.”

“This is not right.”

“I should not have gone.”

“I should have called.”

“I should have gone home.”

“It’s unfair to be alive.”

I could not write this in her very public GoFundMe page.

How do you respond to this? How do you react to this? The very same person that selflessly took care of you, that selflessly took care of the world without any prejudice is now saying these words. Jenny is not sound of mind and she cannot piece normal thoughts together, but still, on some rare occasions she is able to string whole thoughts and those are some of the phrases she says. She then stares at me for a response but I could never find one – I can only hug her and cry. The pain is truly unbearable, but I know the pain I feel is nothing compared to hers.

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Thank you for reading my sixth entry. It hurts. But it is what life has thrown at me. I just need to continue everyday so I can support her as she unfairly struggles to get closer to a now unattainable place where she already once stood. Now that is what life has thrown at her and in comparison to that, I have it easy.