Thankfully Jolly guys best friend; blue eyes’ girlfriend; Boxer chick helped out with another hotel. Boxer chick was a life saver. She worked with Jolly guy and they made all the arrangements for me to move to a hotel that her brother worked at. They gave jolly guy a great rate and he took care of everything which was a breath of fresh air. I couldn’t think of handling one more thing. Boxer chick and I had grown close during us both dating best friends and I really respected her. She reached out when she didn’t have to and it was heartwarming to me. I moved my things the next day to the new hotel by the water. It was beautiful. I felt safe there. The first night I arrived home from the hospital to the new hotel I ordered room service at 9pm. It was my first meal all day and the woman on the other end of the phone said “Are you the woman whose daughter was in that accident?” I said “Yes.” Then she said “I heard you got robbed at the last hotel?” Again I said “Yes.” I was almost embarrassed at this point for how ridiculous it all sounded. She then said “I am going to send you up a bottle of wine on me. God bless you and we hope you enjoy your stay here with us. If there is anything you need, you just call and ask.” I got off the phone and I cried for the first time since it all began almost a week ago. I sat in the beautiful room that Boxer Chick had set up and awaited my wine and cried like a baby. I cried for the pain my daughter was in, I cried for not being home with my other child, I cried for how hard my life had been over the last few weeks, I cried for how tired I was, I cried in fear of the unknown, I just cried. But then the crying had to come to an end because there were things to do. I had to get myself together, have my dinner, get some rest and start again tomorrow. Gingham didn’t come every day after that first week. He came every few days, but checked in with me. I went every day. I sat there every day. I changed her and bathed her and listened to her cry. I was her mother. I was supposed to protect her. I didn’t. I couldn’t. But I could be there for her as I’d always been. And now she needed me most. The day had come where they would make her finally sit up. I was nervous and sick to my stomach at the thought of her actually getting to a sitting position, but the time had come to move her and get the blood flowing. Her body was still covered in road rash from the base of her neck to the tips of her toes. In all her injuries her face was sparred. She had one scratch on her forehead, other than that her face was untouched. It was almost weird to look at her face with nothing on it and then look at the rest of her covered in pain. The physical therapists came into the room and I could see the horror on my daughters face at the suggestion that she would need to use her own body to move herself. It took one full hour to get her to the edge of the bed. One. Full. Hour. It was painstakingly difficult to watch I could only imagine what she felt. The screams of pain, the fear of falling, the agony of being hurt. It was almost too much for me to take, but when she finally got to the edge of the bed she looked at me with tears in her eyes and she said “Now what?” I began laughing. I actually couldn’t stop laughing. Then she started to laugh, then the therapists were laughing and at that moment I knew she would survive all this. She would be ok. It was day six or seven and she would be ok. It would be a long hard road ahead of her, she would need to learn how to walk again, but she would live and so would I.

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