Six months have passed since arguably the saddest day in F1 since I started following the sport almost 10 years ago.
I still remember everything about that morning, getting up excited about the prospect of a Grand Prix but just a couple of hours later shaking with fear on the verge of tears. I still remember how scary the situation was, how no one, not even Sky F1 knew who and what the stretcher and the ambulance were there for until the bright red and black rear wing endplate being picked up came into shot, and I remember the moment David Croft announced that Jules Bianchi was there, my heart just sunk (as I'm sure was the case with everyone else who watched the race) as judging by the wherabouts of his car, it was really obvious to all what had happened, and it was really obvious to all that it was gravely serious.
6 months later and there has not been a day where I haven't thought about him, and I honestly can't believe that he has spent half a year in a coma without even any signs of awakening as far as we know.
All the whole world of F1 is hoping now is that a miracle occurs and Jules is able to make a recovery.
#ForzaJules
