At this very moment, ten years ago today, my son Blake was dead. I was in a coma; my brain swelling, bleeding in my left temporal lobe, bruised lung...

We had been hit at 55mph by a red light runner who never applied her brakes. I was making a left hand turn into our apartment complex. I was a single mother. I was 25. I was fiercely independent. I was a student. I was a waitress. She t-boned the right side of my car.

My head hit both front doors. There was less than 18 inches of room left where I sat.

Blake was in the middle of the back seat. The correct seat in the correct location. The impact was too much for his little 17 month-old body. While he did get a cut on his head, what actually killed him was his heart literally broke. He never regained consciousness, although he did cough once. There were many witnesses who are now scarred for life.

He was transported by helicopter to Phoenix Children's Hospital where he was pronounced dead.

I was taken to another hospital where the head ER doctors were sick to their bones of victims of red light runners being brought in. And here was another...whose son was dead.

It was a beautiful Phoenix Friday.

My mother was at a funeral. Her brother was trying to contact her but her phone was off. She left the funeral telling her friends about "Mr. Busy" and her pride and joy shone from her face. Then she got a message.

She arrived at the hospital where I was. Not wanting Blake to be alone, she asked where he was. My uncle had to tell her. My sister was there. My uncle, a Phoenix police officer was there, as was his wife. The halls began to fill with friends and family.

Relatives flew in. Hotels were booked. Vigils were kept. Prayers were said. Hands were held. Tears were shed. Numbness abounded.

Doctors didn't know what to tell my family and friends. They didn't know if I would live. They couldn't predict if the swelling in my brain would stop.

Minutes, hours, days passed.

Thankfully, someone knew Joanne of MISS. A relative called. "Don't bury that baby," she warned. "Until you know for sure Katie is going to live or die." Joanne wanted desperately to come to the hospital, but I don't think my family actually asked her to come. The instincts of my Irish Catholic family were to bury Blake as soon as possible. So I am grateful that they at least listened to that one piece of advice. She also told them to let me see the baby, but their brains could not wrap around that detail, so I was never offered. I never got to see him again. And I'm pretty pissed about that.

Five days later I began to emerge from the coma; answering direct commands here and there. Never staying awake for more than several seconds. But I would live. It was obvious my entire right side was not operating and my short term memory was also gone.

Blake was buried on February 29 - Leap Day. I was able to attend the funeral. It was simply a graveside service. I had as much a part in the planning as I could. I knew I wanted him to wear his cute little jeans. And I wanted him to have his special red blanket. I wanted tulips. And I knew I wanted to play Jewel's "Angel Standing By." There was a priest that Blake's father had there, and there was a chaplain from the church where I was going. I wanted to smack that priest many times. Many.

Only a few of my friends were allowed to come. They weren't allowed to talk to me either. The doctors had warned my parents that I needed to have no stimulation, no drama, get me in and out. Oh, and they drugged me before I left the hospital. It was so awful. I have such a deep distrust for doctors now. Yes, I get it, they really thought they were helping, but sheesh!

My stepfather wheeled me past Blake's coffin not stopping, not allowing me to even touch it. Later, my friend Jennifer, told me she kissed the coffin for me and left her lip prints on it. That makes me happy and I think of that so often.

I spent another five weeks in the hospital being taught how to walk and write again. Being awoken every morning at 7 to get ready for a hours of physical and cognitive therapies. I soon began hiding all the pain killers and pills they were bringing. I hated the way they made me feel.

I can remember so clearly lying in that bed feeling as though my entire world had been pulled out from under me. I no longer believe God existed. How could he? Before the crash I would pray and pray, begging "God" not to take my son. I would go to sleep with tears from begging so hard. I always had a feeling Blake's stay on earth was not going to be long. Always had that feeling.

My brother was visiting and he said something funny and I laughed hard and loud. Then I felt an anvil drop on my chest. How dare I laugh when my son is dead! How dare I. I didn't laugh freely for a while after that.

I was discharged in half the time the doctors expected me to stay. I worked hard and I have no idea why.

My parents put a bed and tv in their living room and that's where I had to live. I had so many friends. So many amazing, loving friends who would visit me often. Many generous relatives always trying to help.

I went to bed crying every single night for at least a year. Reliving those last moments, or the immediate moments after the crash. I wasn't conscious so I would drill everyone around me on what they knew about those last moments - trying to piece together a picture in my head. I ached. I just ached desperately for my son. He was my buddy. He made me laugh. He loved me so deeply and I had never loved so deeply. I never hurt so deeply as I did in those raw, rare moments of being alone after he died.

I went to many MISS support meetings, mostly crying and crying. In fact, I can remember when I went to a MISS meeting and did not cry the entire time. I felt so accomplished.

Learning to walk the earth as a newly bereaved mother is a painful and isolating experience. People say the stupidest things all around you at all times. It took me a long long time to realize they mean well. Of course, I wish people would just shut up most of the time. But our society teaches us we have to fix things, and it's usually by saying stupid, hurtful things.

I was in Barrow's Neurological Rehab center for three full months. I accomplished that program in about half the time as well. What I learned there was to compensate for my brain injury. Sadly, in all of this medical attention, no one wanted to touch the "her son died" part of my file.

Gratefully, I had lots of MISS meetings and an amazing counselor whom I would see as often as twice a week for a while.

I also found the Red Means Stop Coalition to which I could lend my voice and story. Phoenix has the highest death rate caused by red light runners in the entire country.

Three years ago, on this same date, I was about 22 weeks pregnant with my daughter, Willow. My sister called hysterically screaming, "He's dead! He's dead!"

She found our father's body. He had died in his sleep. He was only 53. It was his heart. I screamed and screamed like I have never screamed in my life. A wise woman told me that by screaming that way, and releasing my pain, I probably saved the life of my daughter. I think she's right.

That time was awful. Truly awful.

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In these past ten years:

I received a "Power of One" honor from Sen. John McCain
I received a "Survivor Award" from the Brain Injury Association
I wrote a book, "Grief's Journey...When a Child Dies"

I married a really wonderful man.
We have three amazing children - (the last one was born at home. WOO HOO!)

I have volunteered for MISS in several different aspects. (and will continue to do so)

I am currently enrolled in school to pursue a nursing degree.

I have started a cookie business. Oh Katie! Cookies

I have done some theater recently and will continue to do that as I can.

I have the most amazing pool of friends that anyone could ever ask for. I know that all I have to do is ask and most would help me in any way they could. I hope they all know that I would do the exact same.

This has truly been a horrific day. But I come here very rarely anymore, and I haven't been this dark in a long time.

I am living. I am alive. I am grateful. Finally, I can say those words and truly mean them. Finally.