There is something beautiful about surviving a tragedy. About beating the odds, or changing your fate.

This year, my whole life changed. I lost loved ones, I saw someone die, and I lost myself. I like to refer to that time as the Three Waves.

The first wave was hard. I lost two of my loved ones in less than a year. I was overwhelmed with grief, anger, and, ultimately, hatred. It was suffocating. But I made it through.

The second wave was worse. Probably the worst of all. I saw someone die. Saw the light leave their eyes, the last rise and the last fall of their chest, and the end of their everything. The end of someone's story. It's so much worse to see than the movies make it look.

The third one wasn't such a big deal. I crashed my car, but in doing so, I hit my head really...really hard on the window.

I couldn't remember my name for the first five minutes.

I couldn't remember that my boyfriend was my boyfriend for hours afterwards.

I couldn't remember what colors certain animals were.

And everything I said was spoken really slowly. I couldn't figure out how to form words as quickly as I could before.

Eventually, after the first thirty-six hours, I was okay. My brain was settling and I was doing fine.

Then I realized what all had happened and I was seriously angry.

It was then that I started to question everything.

By everything, I mean my faith, my hopes and dreams, and, most importantly, my life. I began to question what I had done that was so wrong that I was being punished in these ways.

Eventually, I got through that, too. I started to realize that I had "cheated death" on two separate occasions. That I had been given not one, but two second chances at life.

And that-- that is worth more to me than anything else.

If there's one thing I've learned after the Three Waves, it's that I was so, so blessed to be given this life. I don't know what will happen tomorrow. I don't think anyone does, really. But I do know that I'm going to make the best of everything for the rest of my time here.