One Week Later (Moving On . . . Counting Blessings)

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A week ago yesterday was the accident. We are slowly moving on. I am desperate for my concentration to return. For normalcy. But that may take awhile. Last night was the first full night of sleep I'd had in a week. 
Not only am I grateful to have my husband alive, I am grateful for the kindness of all who left notes and hugs. I may not have responded to each one, but please know, I read all comments. I shared every single word with Dr. Thyme who I know felt better for having read them. I know or have met a few of you--this made your note even more special. Thank you again.
Little things have struck me numb. Like finally doing the laundry Tuesday. I pulled the clothes out of the basket to sort them out and heard little "pings" of stuff hitting the floor. I looked at what I had in my pile and there was the pair of pants he'd been wearing the day of the accident. Inside the cuffs were bits of glass. Tiny bits of glass. The same glass that shattered and flew into his hair.
This morning, getting his coffee ready and reaching for his favorite coffee mug, I discovered it was missing. Then the sudden realization there were some other personal effects still in the car--his jacket, some CDs, a plastic container of road salt in case of emergency, and gardening gloves he and I had used to load our lawn mower into the car two weeks earlier to take in for repair. We left them in the back seat because we'd more than likely be picking up the mower together. Leaving the gloves in the car made sense. Silly, right. Gardening gloves, jacket, road salt? But still. I spoke to the insurance company and asked if they might be able to mail these items to us. They said that could be arranged. 
Besides working with the insurance company and all of its minutiae, sorting through paperwork, keeping a notebook of who I talked to when, taking copious notes throughout (my OCD paired with my anxiety and PTSD--in short, I am a hot mess), we had to also manage through purchasing a car. A not-planned-for car. The perfect storm of yet another round of stress. Neither one of us has the car "gene". Well, maybe I have it a little bit because my step father was a car fanatic. But mostly cars are very utilitarian to us. We had the option of a rental. But truthfully, the fewer people interactions for me right now, the better. 
So we opted to begin the arduous task of car shopping. I am not a fan of car salesmen. That's the best thing I can find to say on the matter. At one point Dr. Thyme nearly had to heed a warning to one guy that if he got one step closer to me and my personal space, he may find himself one limb short. The whole car buying experience has not evolved one iota in TEN years. This both disgusted and disappointed me. I'm waiting for Amazon to get the into the car selling business. Seriously. No haggling. No gut wrenching exchanges with people, their lies, their falsehoods. It was adding insult to injury having to deal with this on top of all else. My pit viper self had to emerge. 
We picked up the car yesterday. Of course, we encountered last minute shenanigans being lobbed at us. We were not deterred and plan to deal with said car monsters accordingly. However, now the ball is in Dr. Thyme's court. I had to recuse myself from further contact. For obvious reasons. I. Can't. Stand. One. More. Minute. Of. Stress!
When DH got settled in the new car (actually a "used-new-car"), put on his seat belt, adjusted the seats and mirrors, I watched but wasn't able to breath. I kept asking: Are you okay? Are you buckled in? Is your seat adjusted? Are you too warm? Too cold? Are you in pain? Oh-god-please-protect-my-husband! And he drove off for the first time since last week. 
I hope my concentration returns. As I said, it may be awhile. My kitchen beckons. But I'd like my appetite back, first. My wedding ring flew off my hand yesterday. Went airborne. Crap. Life happens. I know that. And the whole, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger mantra is running through my head this whole time. 
(And not just because of Kelly Clarkson's song.) It's the truth.