It was April 2011. I was on the way back home after completing an art therapy foundation course. I had just picked my four young children up and I was driving home.
I remember driving along the motorway singing with my boys. I remember thinking the car behind was far too close.
I remember thinking what a life-changing week I had just completed and how much I had enjoyed the course.
I remember the loud, unrecognisable noise that stopped us in our tracks, the air bags popping and the car filling with white smoke.
I remember checking my children to make sure they were okay, the sirens, and thinking “are they for us?” – I remember looking at the wreckage in tears and wondering how we all came out unscathed.
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