Tuesday, May 2, 2006.
I was driving to work, but I never made it there.
20 years later, on May 2nd, I’ll be running a 5K.
The same day… just 20 years later.
It took a few days to really sink in that I could have died.
But at the time, I didn’t think about it that way.
That Morning 20 Years Ago
It was just another day. I was driving to work.
On that beautiful sunny morning, I had the window rolled down and my arm resting on the edge.
I was listening to Carrie Underwood’s new CD and thinking about the meeting I had scheduled at 10:00 am.
There was nothing unusual about that day. No reason to think anything else.
Then I looked up and saw an oncoming car… in my lane.
No warning.
There was no time to do anything except hit the brakes.
I wasn’t expecting to meet life head-on that day.
I don’t recommend starting your day with a car accident.
But we don’t always get a choice.
What I remember most is simple.
I was alive.
And at that point, that was enough.
Well… not really enough.
I was being cut out of my car, and they put a towel over my head.
So I couldn’t even watch.
Road Trip to the ER
I heard which hospital they were taking the other driver to, but I didn’t want that one.
Even before they got me out of the car, I told them which hospital I wanted.
Who is able to do that?
I also told them what was broken.
My right ankle. Left forearm. Left femur.
They cut me out of the car and put me on a backboard with a collar on my neck.
Splints on my arm and ankle.
The Ambulance…
In the ambulance, they asked me if I was a doctor.
No.
Just played a lot of sports.
Somewhere along the way, they cut all my clothes off.
When they got to my bra, I told them I had just bought it the week before.
They cut it anyway.
Later, I remember thinking… how do three grown men not know how to take off a bra without scissors?
It was a very bumpy ride to the hospital.
Arriving at the hospital…
If you want service in the ER, it helps to arrive by ambulance.
They were ready and waiting.
A swarm of people appeared as I got there.
That’s when the seriousness started to sink in.
I guess I hadn’t really thought about it up to that point.
Hello? I can hear you
At first, I’m not sure they knew I was conscious. But fairly quickly, when I felt hands in personal places, I asked (maybe yelled) what the h*** they were doing.
“Just a catheter.”
Then came the questions.
Did I have breakfast?
What time?
Seriously… I’m mangled, and you want to know what time I had breakfast?
Then more questions…
Did I want some morphine?
My thought was… I need to do a brain dump before you knock me out.
My meeting…
I looked at the clock.
It was 9:45.
I told them I needed to make some phone calls. I was supposed to be in a meeting in 15 minutes.
Their response:
“Well, you’re not going to make it.”
Really?
No one knew where I was. I live alone. I needed to let people know.
So they brought in a social worker, and I gave her the phone numbers. Seven of them. Right out of my head.
Work.
My sister (two numbers)… and instructions not to call Mom (She once passed out seeing finger x-ray).
My friend to watch my pets (two numbers).
And the friend I was supposed to meet that evening (two numbers).
Okay. That’s handled.
Pain in the butt…
Can you put a towel between me and the backboard?
Because my butt hurts.
(Actually more than the broken bones.)
“We’re ready to take you to x-ray.”
NOW.
Please. just. slide. it. in. without. moving. me.
They did. Relief.
And the morphine.
I don’t remember the trip to x-ray.
That is probably a good thing.
Later That Day
I don’t remember much of the rest of that day.
Except the questions about breakfast.
It seemed like everyone who came in asked what time I had eaten.
Pretty soon, my answer was,
“the same time I told the last three people who asked.”
I think I knew from the beginning that I would need surgery to repair things.
But it took a while to connect the breakfast questions to that.
Duh.
You’re not supposed to eat at least eight hours before surgery.
At some point, I knew it was 2:30 in the afternoon.
By then, I was dozing in and out.
The breakfast questions finally stopped.
I barely remember being in pre-op.
And then it was evening.
Surgery was done. I was in the ICU.
I had an external fixator on my ankle, and I was in traction for my left leg.
It turned out, not only was the femur broken, but so was my left hip.
I still had the neck collar on.
But what do I notice in ICU?
There is a computer right in the room with you.
The good news. No head injuries and no internal injuries.
In the moments I was awake, I started to connect more things.
This was just the first surgery.
They would need to pin my hip, and they still needed to fix my arm.
My left arm.
I’m left-handed.
I was in the ICU. So this was really serious.
It’s only broken bones… and those heal in 6–8 weeks. Right?
At that point, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere soon.
But I still had no idea how long it would really be.
Early Reality – The Hospital
The next morning, they took the collar off and moved me to a regular room.
I guess this means I will live.
It also meant I could have visitors, and I began to understand the importance of that.
Mom did come to visit, but she was pretty freaked out by the metal screwed into my ankle. I wasn’t surprised. Dad came too. I later learned that when he first heard, he really broke down. My siblings and older nieces and nephews also visited, along with my boss and a few co-workers.
I started learning more about my injuries, especially the ankle. That was the foot that slammed on the brakes. It turns out, I shattered it. The doctor said it looked like an M-80 went off and started explaining what that meant.
So I just said to him,
“I understand. But I’ve seen race car drivers who have shattered their ankles, and they’re just fine. So I expect nothing less than 100 percent recovery.”
He looked at me like I didn’t understand what he just said. Either that… or he thought it was the pain meds.
I was dead serious.
Hospital life…
The surgery to repair my hip and arm was two days after the accident.
The final surgery for my ankle would come later, after the swelling went down.
I began learning and adjusting to the hospital routine—and to being totally dependent on having my needs met by pushing a button.
That wasn’t easy for someone used to living on their own.
I learned to request pain medication before the nursing shift change because only an RN could give it to you.
The first few meals were difficult without the use of my left arm.
One of the first ones was chicken. They delivered it and left.
I couldn’t reach it, and I couldn’t cut it.
So I had to push the button and wait… as the food got cold.
Then I learned that you could order your meals.
Very important when you don’t have the use of your dominant hand.
So… Cheerios for breakfast stay on the spoon pretty well.
And sandwiches are a lifesaver.
Meanwhile, on the home front….
Even though I was temporarily “out of order,” I still had a house, two dogs, two cats, and a yard that needed to be mowed.
Mom took both dogs to her house, to everyone’s surprise.
A friend took care of the cats.
My dad and brother would handle the yard… at least for a while.
It was enough that I did not have to worry. At least in the beginning.
Dad eventually bailed on the yard work and headed off in his motor home.
My brother got his daughter to take it over.
Just one of many reasons I wasn’t married.
What is next?
At this point, it was becoming clear that this recovery was going to take a while.
While waiting for my ankle to be ready for the next surgery, there were discussions about what it would take to get to a full recovery.
The reality was pretty simple.
Out of two arms and two legs, I only had one arm I could use.
Weight-bearing on my legs wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
And without both arms, I couldn’t even transfer in and out of a wheelchair.
It became obvious that I would need extended care, most likely a nursing home.
Dad was pretty excited at the prospect of choosing one for me. My sisters and nieces also got involved in the selection process. My seven-year-old niece even came up with some criteria. It had to be clean, allow my pets to visit, and have “adventures,” as she called them.
Mostly, that meant I could go outside.
Welcome… to the Nursing Home
The day after three plates were installed in my ankle, it was off to the nursing home.
At this point in my life, this was definitely not a place I expected to be.
Fortunately, they gave me a room by myself—probably because I was younger than almost everyone else.
It was a rude awakening.
I was totally immobile and transported there by ambulance. Once there, I was taken to my room and transferred into the bed.
And it was definitely not what I expected.
I had just spent two weeks in the hospital with a bed where I could change the position, up or down.
Not this bed.
To change position, someone had to turn a crank at the end.
This. Is. Not. Acceptable.
I was not going to have my minute-by-minute comfort depend on someone responding to a button.
On top of that, it felt like there were horizontal bars (or springs) across the bed, and I immediately got stuck in them.
This was the first time I just wanted to cry.
HELP!
Fortunately, my sisters intervened.
They brought in another bed, while apologizing that it was kind of hard.
In this case, it was perfect. I didn’t sink into it.
And I could adjust it.
Daily life…
Daily life started to settle into a routine.
Not one I would have chosen.
Mom brought a small refrigerator to have in my room for drinks, snacks, and especially chocolate.
Someone else brought a dvd player so I could watch movies
My room was right next to the central nurse’s station. That was good when I needed something, especially in the beginning.
But it was also very noisy… and there were some very interesting shift-change conversations.
Sponge baths. Bed pans. And the catheter…
Everything required help.
Even the smallest things.
People Showing Up
But there were also people.
A lot of people.
Visitors came regularly. Cards showed up—from people I didn’t even know, just members of the church. Eventually, I had enough cards to cover the entire door.
One day, Mom brought my dogs to visit.
Another time, my friend brought my cats.
Even my brother loaned me his wi-fi card for my laptop, so at least I had internet.
The staff loaned me a book to read: “90 Minutes in Heaven” by Don Piper.
Friends stopped by with dinner.
Even the singles group from church brought dinner one night.
And somewhere along the way, I gained a best friend…
I usually tell people we met by accident.
Progress
And slowly, things started to change.
First, I regained the use of my left arm.
Then I could start putting weight on it.
Eventually, I was able to transfer myself into a wheelchair.
Even small things started to matter—like being able to wash my own hair and bathe myself.
There were also the trips to doctor appointments—by ambulance.
One advantage… no waiting once you got there.
One of the attendants even taught me how to play Sudoku.
And at some point, the fixator came off my ankle.
Of course, I had an injury that required tools to remove.
Life Still Happening
Life didn’t stop either.
There was a Memorial Day cookout… in my room.
My niece graduated from high school, and I attended via wheelchair transport.
I made it to church on Father’s Day—also by wheelchair transport.
One of Mom’s visits… she sits down, gives a really big sigh (the kind mothers have), and says:
“I’m just not getting any yard work done.”
My response: “Me either!”
Seriously, Mom!
A few years earlier, I had gotten a remote-control Hummer for my birthday.
My brother made sure it was working and brought it to the nursing home.
From my wheelchair, I ran it up and down the hallways.
The other residents loved it.
Then there was “Nurse Ratched”.
No more hummer in the hallways.
Because apparently… that’s just how things go.
Depression Sets In
By mid-June, one month in the nursing home became two.
I was feeling better and could wheel myself around pretty much anywhere. Occasionally, I went outside.
Even with visitors coming almost every day, I was getting bored.
They tried to start physical therapy, but there was only so much you could do when you weren’t weight-bearing on both legs.
It was mostly small exercises, like lifting each leg one at a time.
Even that was progress.
In the beginning, I couldn’t even lift my left leg.
A broken femur is never good… and that same hip was also broken.
The best therapy was actually running the Hummer through the hallways…
for a while.
Every trip to the doctor began with my hopes up, and then dashed again.
With just a rod in my femur, I was told you could normally begin walking within two weeks.
But… with the hip… who knew how long it would be.
Once I was in a wheelchair, transportation was no longer by ambulance.
Instead, it was wheelchair transport.
On one trip, I waited a couple of hours for the ride back.
I actually thought the office would close before I was picked up.
All my life, I had been active in multiple sports.
I lived alone. I had taken on large DIY projects at home.
Yet here I was… waiting hours just to be picked up.
In the middle of all that, the friend watching my cats decided she was done.
She left my house key on the kitchen table.
Now what am I supposed to do?
In my life, I had two or three basic fears.
One was becoming an invalid.
The second was losing my job (that’s another story).
And here I was… pretty much unable to do anything for myself.
The staff would suggest that I go outside.
“I would feel better” they said.
So I did.
It was summer.
And all I could see was life going on.
So I stayed inside.
Some days, I just sat in my room and cried.
There was nothing else I could do.
The days that followed weren’t about reflection or meaning.
They were about just getting through the next step.
And waiting for the bones to heal.
Appointments. Recovery. Progress that didn’t always feel like progress.
I was thankful to be alive, but that thankfulness was pretty basic.
It wasn’t something I had time to think deeply about. There was too much in front of me.
You don’t think 20 years ahead when you’re just trying to get through today.
Can I Go Home by Myself?
When it was time to leave the hospital, going home was not an option.
I was totally dependent on others.
It took six people to move me, and about the only thing I could do for myself was eat.
By late June, things had started to change.
I could use both arms.
The fixator was off and replaced by a big black boot.
I had a transfer board and could get in and out of the wheelchair by myself.
I could even ride in a car, and someone would pick me up to go to church each week.
Going home was beginning to look like a possibility.
As a test, my family picked me up and took me home on the 4th of July.
The annual parade goes right past the end of my street, less than a quarter mile away.
We made a day of it.
They took me home, we went to the parade, and then had a cookout.
I even saw one of my neighbors that I had just met in the hospital.
After 18 years in that house, she turned out to be one of my surgical nurses.
She lives only 4 houses down.
This was much better than the Memorial Day cookout in my room.
We also started looking more closely at my house to see if I could realistically come home and stay by myself… in a wheelchair.
Making it Happen
Even before the parade test, I had been talking to one of the nursing home staff about the possibility of going home.
She told me that people had gone home by themselves who weren’t doing as well as I was—and that I was definitely going to continue to improve.
My mother thought I was crazy.
It wasn’t the first time.
I simply told her I would keep my cell phone in the top part of my boot.
Ok. Now what about the house?
It had already been difficult to get in and out for the parade.
It’s a small ranch house. Check.
There’s a small 4-inch step onto the patio. Another one into the back door.
The walkway from the driveway is too narrow.
Ramps will be needed. My brother will build them. Check.
(He probably wanted his Wi-Fi card back.)
The doorways were just a bit too narrow.
Remove the door and the small molding strip. Check.
The bathroom door is only 24 inches wide.
Houston… we have a problem.
Or not.
My brother loans me his mechanic’s stool.
I can transfer from the wheelchair to the stool and then into the bathroom. Check.
I will need a hand-held showerhead.
We buy one. It gets installed. Check.
I will need a shower chair.
Someone loans me one. Check.
What about the kitchen?
Can I reach things? Can I get the wheelchair through there?
My sisters rearrange everything so I can get through.
They move the microwave to the countertop and leave what I might need within reach. Check.
We also rearranged the bedroom to improve access. Check.
The cats are there. Can I take care of them?
I can feed them.
What about the litter box?
Fortunately, my oldest niece lives only a half mile away and agrees to handle that—along with a few other things. Check.
I Can… But When?
Now that we knew it was possible… the question became when.
I still had the catheter.
That needed to come out… and there would be some adjustment after that.
I was also planning to attend a Women of Faith weekend with my church group.
After I got back from that, I would be at the end of month two.
That seemed as good a time as any.
Finally… Home
It was now mid-July.
I was finally able to be home.
It was a relief.
Another step on the way back to independence.
That didn’t mean things were easy.
But… I was home.
The first shower took me almost an hour.
Didn’t matter. It felt good.
The cats were there.
It would be a while before the dogs could come home. First, I needed to be able to walk.
My niece stopped by regularly to help with laundry and the litter box.
She was also the one who took me to the grocery store, along with her three-year-old son.
He was big enough to be helpful.
She usually handled the shopping cart, while he pushed the wheelchair.
One day, we were being silly, and he started running me down the aisle.
He barely stopped in time at the end, and it freaked me out a little.
Me: “Great. I survived a head-on with a car, and now I’m going to die in the meat case.”
He had just turned three, and he had a Hummer for his birthday.
They would come over, and he brought his Hummer. Then we had Hummer races up and down the driveway.
Life continues… with help
It took some adjustment, and some things took a little longer, but life went on.
I was never really at a loss for help.
I had rides to church and joined the singles group that had come to visit.
Rides to the grocery store.
Some of the help came from family, but most of it came from local friends.
Meals arrived.
There was help with the yard work.
The ramps my brother built worked well, and eventually I even learned how to go up the ramp at the back door, open the screen door, and get out of the way.
I was able to get in and out of the house by myself.
Just another step.
This time, it felt good to go outside.
One day, I was out on the sidewalk, and a woman was walking down the other side of the street.
I had seen her many times while walking my dogs. I didn’t know her name or exactly where she lived.
She crossed the street.
“Oh my gosh. What happened?”
So I told her.
And the next question was, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Since she was out walking almost every day, I asked if she could roll the trash can to the street each week and back the next day.
She agreed.
Every week, my trash got to the curb and back by the garage the next day.
Until the following March, when the snow was gone.
To this day, I do not know her name.
Rebuilding Life
I was becoming a master at wheelchair transfers, getting in and out of the chair to the couch, the bed, and even the rolling stool I had borrowed from my brother.
I could now shower in less than 30 minutes.
Things started to get a little easier around the house, and I managed fairly well.
Physical therapy became a regular part of life.
At first, I couldn’t do much. It was mostly water therapy to start with, and then it progressed from there.
Very early in physical therapy, I was talking with the therapist as we were getting started.
I don’t remember exactly what she said, but my response was:
“I’ve played a lot of sports, so I know the difference between discomfort and pain.
Let’s go.”
And I was making progress.
At one Friday doctor’s appointment, to my surprise, I was released to return to work.
What?
I couldn’t get there myself. My wheelchair wouldn’t fit in my cubicle.
Does my short-term disability end if I can’t get to the office?
I called HR.
They were also surprised… in a good way.
It was decided that I could work from home.
So Dad took me to the office to bring my computer home, since we weren’t using laptops yet.
I also learned that the company picnic would be in early August.
I decided to try to get there—and I did.
It was one of the first times I was out in a normal setting again.
Not a hospital. Not a nursing home. Not just home.
Just… out. And it was good to see people again.
Progress Continued
By mid-August, I was finally allowed to be weight-bearing.
I was excited and afraid to try it at the same time.
Later that evening, at home and by myself, I tried it.
In the room by the bed, in case I fell. Then I stood up.
Only about 20 seconds.
But I did it.
It was much harder than I thought.
But it was a big step.
Shortly after that, the boot finally came off.
That changed things.
There was still a long way to go, but I was moving in the right direction.
Getting My Life Back…
Now I was weight-bearing… but I still needed to use a walker.
Oh well… progress never goes as fast as you would like.
One thing I learned along the way was that things will take as long as they need for healing.
So the best thing to do was to make sure that I didn’t do anything to make it take any longer that it had to.
Every little step matters.
Now that I could start walking a bit, the first thing I learned was how much strength I had lost. I also got tired rather quickly.
This was going to take some time to rebuild.
At least I was now on my way.
The next step was to go from the boot to an ankle brace…
Then I would be able to drive.
First, I would need a car.
My RAV4 was totaled.
How could it not be? A head-on at 55 mph.
What the heck… I could have been totaled.
Would I be afraid to get back in the driver’s seat?
Independence Returns
I had been talking to my brother about what to get.
He thought I should buy a tank… so I would be safe.
I laughed and told him the gas mileage would be terrible.
I thought a Hummer H3 would be fun, the smaller one.
We finally decided on a Trailblazer.
It was bigger than the RAV4, and it had four-wheel drive.
I needed to be safe, since I still had a lot of healing to do.
Finally, the doctor moved me to the ankle brace.
I had already talked to a friend about what I wanted.
She knew some GM dealers, so we knew exactly what was available.
The next day, she took me to buy a car.
First, I test drove it.
That was weird… being back in the driver’s seat again.
But I got the car.
It was blue.
And it felt safe.
It was a bit of a drive home, which gave me time to go slow and get comfortable.
The first stop was at Mom’s.
“Look Mom. This time it only took 5 months to go from needing diapers to driving.”
And I could now get myself to therapy and appointments.
Back to the Office and My Dogs Come Home
Shortly after getting my new car in mid-September, I was able to return to working in the office.
At that point, it felt good to be back to a normal routine.
I was still using the walker, mostly because the femur was still healing seven months later. By October, they decided to remove the top anchor screw holding the rod in my leg. This allowed a bit of movement and helped the bone continue to heal.
So, I told everyone I had my loose screw removed.
I continued to improve and became much steadier while walking.
Finally… my dogs came back home.
After having them for several months, Mom missed them.
So occasionally, I would drop them off at her house on the way to work for play dates with Grandma.
I improved from the walker to using a cane.
Another step forward, even though there was still more healing ahead.
At least we were all back home… together.
Back… But Different
It’s one thing to heal enough to get back to independent living.
But there’s so much more to getting back to all the things you used to do.
And some things just… change.
In December, I hit one of those milestone birthdays that sometimes bother people.
I was just glad to be alive to have another one.
In the spring, it took quite a while before I could walk the dogs on the sidewalk without watching my foot placement on every step.
The following summer, I mowed my own lawn.
But I could only do the front one day and the back the next.
I couldn’t mow back over the hill.
I also had to have one of the plates in my ankle removed because I kept getting blisters.
I was back… but different.
The Other Driver
A lot of people asked me what happened to the other driver.
Was he drunk?
It was about 8:45 in the morning.
He was driving home from his third-shift job and fell asleep at the wheel.
He was in his mid-20s, and his injuries were much worse, broken bones and head injuries. A big guy in a Ford Focus. They took him by helicopter.
I think some people were a little disappointed by that answer.
But I wasn’t looking to get everything I could.
Young guy. Working hard.
Sometimes… things just happen.
Getting Stronger Over Time
Life didn’t just go back to normal.
Over time… I started getting stronger again.
Life kept moving too.
In 2008, I helped a friend move her flower shop and build out a new location.
Somewhere in the middle of that, I ended up with appendicitis.
Because apparently… one thing at a time wasn’t the plan.
In January 2009, I found myself unemployed.
By May, I was building an 8×12 shed in my backyard.
Mostly by myself.
That probably should have told me something.
That same summer, I decided to get back into something a little more active.
I played church softball that year.
First base—minimal movement required.
The rules allowed someone to pinch-run for me.
Even then… things didn’t always go as planned.
I broke my nose at practice one day.
So much for easing back into things.
That same year I joined a gym.
It was time to rebuild my strength in a more intentional way.
I knew how to train from all my years in sports.
But I had never started from “I can’t walk”.
That fall, I joined a hospital-based program and started working with a personal trainer.
Former Marine. Two Purple Hearts.
Not exactly someone who was going to let me take it easy.
Somewhere along the way, I met a group at the gym.
We started running together.
Nothing serious at first.
Just showing up.
I ended up with a training partner, and we worked out together every weekday morning at 6:30—cardio some days, weight training on others, with the occasional swim.
That became routine for about seven years.
At some point, my trainer suggested that the group sign up for a 5K.
That sounded a little crazy to me.
But we did it.
And on December 28, 2011… I leg-pressed 1020 pounds.
That was not something I ever expected to do again.
My Realization
As time went on, I was learning what I could and could not do.
And I could still do a lot of things.
Too much time on my feet, and my ankle would be stiff the next day.
I could run—just not every day. So I never ran on back-to-back days.
I also found that if I did something suddenly, like turning on that ankle with it firmly planted, pain would shoot up my leg.
I had played and enjoyed many sports—basketball, softball, tennis, volleyball, running, and even a little golf.
Most of those require quick reactions.
And they caused pain.
I chose running because it wasn’t reactive.
I also found I could golf.
There was no opponent.
No sudden movement.
No unpredictability.
Just me.
I can run.
And I can choose when I’m done.
That mattered more than I realized at the time.
It meant something very simple.
I wasn’t a victim whose sports were taken away.
I was a survivor.
What Came With it
With that choice to run, things started to build.
The next year, our little group had multiple teams in the Akron Marathon Relay.
I ran the 5-mile anchor leg for my team.
In the fall of 2013, I ran my first half marathon.
What a feeling to cross that finish line.
I went on to run eight more over the next five years.
There are things you learn from something like that.
But not all at once.
Some of them take years.
After the car accident, I lost 15 pounds.
I usually tell people it was my crash diet.
I’m not recommending it.
But it did change a few things.
Some of the help came from places I never would have expected.
And some of the help I thought would be there… wasn’t.
That’s just part of it.
Along the way, I gained a best friend.
Not something I could have planned.
Not something I would have expected.
But something that became part of the story.
And when I look back now, I know it could have been worse.
Much worse.
What Took Time to Understand
What I didn’t understand at the time was how long it would take to really process everything.
There are things I’m more aware of now than ever before—and ways I try to help.
One day, I saw a woman trying to push a man in a wheelchair into a building. She was struggling.
I showed her that if she turned it around and pulled, it was much easier.
I’ve seen people using the driving carts in stores.
Because they may also be recovering, I ask if they would like—or need—help first.
I have a lot of respect for handicap parking.
There was a time I needed it… and no spots were available.
It also changed my perspective on things.
Losing my job didn’t seem as bad in comparison.
That’s when I started to understand something else.
Gratitude didn’t show up all at once.
It grew.
I also learned that you never know what you can do until you have no other choice.
And love may only be shown through actions
Over time, I started to see things differently.
Not just what happened—but everything that came after it.
The people.
The changes.
The direction my life took.
Some of that only makes sense looking back.
Meaning / Faith
Not only did Jesus take the wheel that day, but I believe He had been preparing me long before it ever happened.
Many of those things turned out to matter more than I realized at the time.
Learning to do things myself.
Living independently.
Lessons from all the sports I played.
Problem solving and finding solutions that work.
And He gave me a sense of humor and the ability to laugh in spite of everything.
At some point, I realized something else.
Because I’m still here… God isn’t done with me yet.
Life… 20 Years Later
20 years later, that still holds true.
I have an active life.
There are some residual aches and pains, but I have 20 years of experience dealing with them.
I still take on some sizeable DIY projects.
I have given up getting up on the roof.
I still have the tenacity to push through things that others don’t believe can be done.
On May 2nd, I’ll be running a 5K.
After that… we’ll see.
There might be another half marathon in the fall.
Or something else I haven’t even thought about yet.
Because if there’s one thing I understand now that I didn’t then…
It’s that the story isn’t over.
Praise God!