On a hot spring night twenty seven years ago in sunny Mexico, my high school best friend and I were boarding a greyhound type bus to spend a few days at a beach resort over spring break.  We were supposed to be meeting up with my aunt and cousins upon arrival to spend a week sunbathing by the ocean, eating delicious food and sightseeing, an almost perfect scenario if you ask me.  It was supposed to be a 12 hour drive, arriving in the early hours of the following day which would leave us with a full day of fun.  The bus broke down half way there and made a stop at a bus station to be repaired.  As any pair of anxious nineteen year olds would do, we immediately started looking for another way of arriving at our destination as soon as we could.  The opportunity of getting on another bus came up and we immediately jumped to it, almost literally!  We were ELATED.  After all (we thought) the mechanical issues that the bus was having would not ruin our day.  Well, life had another plan for us.  The weather turned bad, really bad.  In a matter of minutes it had turned stormy, dark and the roads were slippery, and before we knew it the bus had lost control while making a turn, tumbling down many times over and ending upside down in a ditch.  All I remember from that horrifying moment is waking up after I was knocked out unconscious, people laying lifeless inside the bus, blood everywhere and good samaritans that had stopped by the side of the road making a desperate attempt to rescue passengers.  People were walking in and out of the huge front window of the bus since it was sideways by now. It was loud, chaotic and everyone was frantic.  I couldn't move, I was bleeding everywhere and I was starting to feel desperate.  I went from not feeling any pain at all, to being in excruciating pain and realizing that whatever had just happened, was not good.  I vividly remember my friend Alba standing outside, fixated on the bus and completely confused.  I had a feeling that she didn't even know who I was.  It was frightening.

I was fortunate to have been helped by two amazing men who bravely went inside the bus to rescue people.  They carefully removed debris that was laying on top of me, released my trapped legs and carried me out, I could hardly move.  My clothing was nothing but rags, and I will never forget a young man who saw me by the roadside helpless waiting for the paramedics to arrive, covered in blood and half naked.  He approached me, took his shirt off and offered it to me.  In that moment, when nothing else mattered and I felt so helpless, he made me feel dignified.  I will never know who he was, but I think of him every time I remember this ordeal.

Soon enough we were on the road to a nearby hospital.  Upon arrival, I was almost immediately wheeled into the operating room for emergency surgery.  My collarbone had fractured in such a way that it was rubbing against a main artery.  I had glass in every square inch of my body, or so it seemed.  I soon found out that my family was on their way to be my side during this terrible ordeal.  I didn’t get to see them before surgery, but the moment I woke up from surgery I was comforted to see my mom by my side, I felt like I could deal with anything from that point on.

At 19 years old, at the very peek of my youth, feeling the prettiest, the strongest and most confident, this experience taught me to take a step back and realize that beauty is not just a pretty face, muscular arms and flawless skin.  I can still picture 19 year old me staring back at my naked body in the mirror after I showered just a few days after surgery and seeing the MANY scars that now covered my body.  The scar on my shoulder - the biggest one of all - was long and big and brand new, and the first time that the bandages came off, it devastated me.  I cried... a lot and thought "I'd never be able to wear a bathing suit again or tank tops or anything that showed my upper body.”  At 19 these things mattered.  

My mom and I had to stay in that beach town for a few weeks until the doctors gave the ok to fly home.  I had never been more scared in my life.  I was even afraid to get on a plane for the ride home.  Upon arrival, I endured months of physical therapy to gain back the mobility in my arm, but the physical scars that will forever be a part of me are a daily reminder of that unfortunate day that taught me many important life lessons.

This awful experience taught me to never, ever take things for granted.  To appreciate life at its fullest and to see beauty from a completely different perspective.  Looks are only temporary, what really matters is what’s inside of us.

On this month of giving thanks, I am thankful for a second chance at life that spring day in 1991. For my physical scars that remind me every day how strong I am, and for the miracles in our lives in the form of good Samaritans that show up in our lives when we most need them and in the most of unexpected ways.