We are just days out from it being a year. Twelve months. Three hundred and sixty five days. Eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours. Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes. A trip to Nepal. The sale of my first home. Giving away my beloved dog and cat. Quitting my job. Dozens and dozens of bottles of scotch. Hundreds and hundreds of nightmares. Dozens and dozens of anxiety attacks.
Almost a year to the day, I will be starting a new job. Hopefully, this is the turn around I have been praying for. But it will take longer for the memory to fade further, the effects to be less apparent to those who know me well, for me to feel truly safe again.
It was October 24, 2012. I went to check on a colleague who had not arrived at work and was not answering his mobile phone. My life will never be the same again. I cannot write about what happened because there is still a court case to come and next to my colleague, I am the only witness to what happened that hot October day. And the man who changed my life – our lives – still walks the streets of Brisbane as the justice system is painfully slow to bring this whole terrible event to a conclusion.
But I have spent the last year trying to do two things: a) wake up each day and; b) understand what the hell it all means. I frequently manage to fall woefully short on both counts.
All of my relationships have changed. I guess that is first and foremost because I have changed so very much.
I am still astounded that one moment in time, one decision can forever change a life and ripple through the lives of those around my colleague and I in ways we will probably never understand.
I have always believed that things happen for a reason. That life is not random and there are forces more powerful than us mere mortals orchestrating things so that what is meant to happen does in fact happen and in the end it all works out for the best. But many thousands of minutes since October 24, 2012 I am no longer certain this is in fact the case. Seriously man, I just don’t get it.
Why say this publicly? I dunno. I keep trying to understand it. I can’t talk about it. Doing so brings on the nightmares and anxiety. Writing about it helps me some.
And as I prepare to start a new job this week, the same week as the anniversary of that awful morning, I am hoping to leave more and more of it behind me. To shut the door a little more; to let more light into my world; to start again.
And I am thankful to have the chance to start again and to those who have held my hand, listened to me cry and continue to love me through all of this. It is a cliche, but true nevertheless, I could never have done it without you.