I have exerted every effort to evade the progression to today, yet here I am, confronting the very moment I sought to avoid.
There I was alive, yet barely clinging to the fragile thread of life—a broken silhouette against the harsh asphalt.
On February 1st, 2023, my world crashed with my motorcycle, leaving me with a traumatic brain injury, a stark daily reminder of my mortality.
My journey across the asphalt wasn't just a fall; it was a descent into a chasm of uncertainty and pain.
The fracture that splintered my skull also fragmented my reality, while the swelling in my brain was mirrored by the swelling tide of fear and worry in my family’s eyes.
The broken collar bone, loss of smell, taste, and hearing, the impaired vision, and the lifeblood escaping my body, seemed to be writing an end I wasn't ready to read.
In that liminal space between life and death, where my heart rhythm danced a perilous waltz - thump…. thump…. the silence stretched. Spectators, strangers to me yet suddenly intertwined in my fate, watched as I, covered in blood, a visage of survival's raw, unfiltered truth, stood up and then stumbled a few feet and fell face first into a pile of rocks, which is when my heart played its last tune to the desperate waltz of life -
thump………
thump… . . . . . .
In that moment, I was a living embodiment of everyone’s deepest fears, a scene so visceral that it rendered the horrors of fiction pale in comparison. As the shadows of eternity drew near, surely my heart echoed for the swift arrival of the first responders.
Amidst this, a bittersweet hope of reuniting with my mother, whom I had lost nearly a decade ago, perhaps was there. In this surreal brink between life and death, I wonder if I had thoughts of embracing her again, offering a distant, comforting light.
Now, in the cold embrace of tragedy, humanity shone its warmest light. The souls who bore witness to the incident transformed into my guardians, emerging as silent warriors for my family. They were there, calling for help, speaking for me when I couldn't, even covering my broken body with a blanket of warmth in the cold on the ground, waiting for help to arrive.
Other compassionate souls, like angels in human form, extended their kindness to a stranger's family. They offered whatever they could - a comforting phone call, a warm meal, a heartfelt hug, a generous donation, a caring hospital visit, and much more.
And in that outpouring of compassion, we saw the undeniable truth that even in our darkest hours…
WE ARE NEVER TRULY ALONE
Recovery has been a path paved with tears, pain, middle fingers, and confusion. In the beginning, each step around my home was a step through a fog of pain, each sob a note in a symphony of healing and destruction. I never want my family to walk this path of fear and uncertainty again because it fucking sucks what they had to go through.
In the midst of this darkness, I have found an unshakeable gratitude for every single soul that touched our lives - our families, colleagues, friends, and those (once) strangers who are now friends, whose kindness bridged the gap between despair and hope. This tragedy, steeped in pain, was also a crucible for miracles, to which I raise my liquid death up and cry
THANK YOU
I laid at the precipice of the end, stared it down through the eye that worked, and with a defiant spirit, declared that my story was far from over. There are more smiles to spread, more hugs to give, dumb jokes to tell, eye-rolls from my kids to laugh at, grand-kids to someday hold and love, more muscle cars to build, and more life to embrace. Fueled by the strength gifted by every hand who embraced mine during those trying times, I charge forward, a beacon of smiles, gratitude, and defiance.
In this odyssey of recovery, there's a small bizarre twist. My senses of taste and smell have bid farewell completely, along with most of my hearing, so let's gather around tables of flavor I can only imagine, and yell and scream and celebrate life in all its unassuming beauty. So again, I raise my liquid death up with a smile and tears, rejoicing to everyone
THANK YOU
Oh Lindsey, my wife, our rock. In the labyrinth of my healing, where each day felt like a new beginning, I found myself marveling at the wonder of being loved by someone as extraordinary as her. Each morning was a revelation, a heart-fluttering realization of love so profound that it felt new, EVERY. SINGLE. DAMN. DAY. In the quiet pre-dawn hours, as I tended to the silent house, I planned my days around a single goal - to earn the love of the woman who had already given me her all.
This journey, with its blessings and curses, has only deepened my resolve. Lindsey, you are my heart's true north, and I would battle the fiercest storms, fight against the darkest nights, just to be by your side 🥊.
Memento Mori, the ancient Latin creed meaning "remember you will die," which hangs in a pendant from my neck, serves as a poignant reminder of life's impermanence, urging us to embrace every moment with passion, purpose, and presence. This awareness of my mortality inspires me to live authentically, cherish my experiences, and express love and gratitude. It teaches me to value the present, pursue my dreams, and leave a lasting, positive impact.
