The Final Chapter

Nearly 4 years ago, I began writing this blog as a way of keeping everyone up to date on the progress that the princess was making as she fought for her life and then recovered from her injuries. But it became much more. It became a community of its own, support for those that struggled to help her on her journey, and in no small way, catharsis for me. Writing about it made what was unreal, real. Each reader walked through the journey with her and with us, buoying us up and celebrating the small victories along the way. I was reminded of this two months ago as I felt this story come full circle and it felt like the time to conclude this part of the journey.

For those that don’t know, I was with Amanda on vacation when she fell. I have no words for the depth of hell that this experience was for all of us. But I have learned that fire and pain can bring about rebirth and renewal if you let it. So it was for Amanda and for me. I decided to change careers and I returned college in 2006 and began to study Occupational Therapy. I wanted to help other people, other families that were walking on the journey of recovery. So while Amanda went through her own extensive rehabilitation in Dallas, I pursued my masters degree in Baltimore. This past May, she and Kurt came to celebrate our mutual accomplishments as I graduated from my university.

She spent my graduation day with me. She gave me the new nick name of “Ms. Master’s Degree” and loved telling everyone that she had been my inspiration. She charmed everyone she came into contact with.

Through my studies I have learned what a miracle her life and recovery truly was. She should not have lived. Her injuries should have killed her. But here she is today, bright bubbly, working, and with the same joie de vive that has always been. She works a few hours a week (she will crankily tell you that she wants to work more and she wants to handle the bill paying again, but she’s right where she needs to be right now) and drives her self to familiar places. She continues to improve and heal every day. She remembers little of the vacations we have taken together, none of the accident, little of her rehabilitation (she doesn’t remember ever being in a wheelchair) and has lost some events prior to the accident. And although this bothers her on some level, she is reassured by the opportunity to re-explore things and see them through new eyes.

We were warned that we would see a personality change because her frontal lobe was injured. They were wrong. She is as she ever was, just (to quote Kurt) “more of her”. She is a joy. Her sense of humor remains firmly in tact and we spent most of the weekend talking and laughing. And boy can she talk your ear off in person.

They say that it is the difficult times which teach you what you are made of. I found that it also teaches you what those around you are made of as well. Jerry, Diane & little Alex (I bet Alex is a wonderful busy boy by now! :D) and the rest of your clan, there is a special place in heaven for you. I will always remember deep fried turkey southern style. The Holters walked their own journey with us. Both families defied the odds to have their loved ones return home. I think of you all often and like to picture you on your island sharing a bottle of chardonnay. Kurt, Ron & Kevin, you are brothers of my heart. You carried me when I was broken. Thank you. Amanda’s cheering section from home (from the cheerleader T-Ann to her mom, to her Brinker girls to everyone else that I’m sorry for not mentioning personally – those days were a blur), your presence allowed me to send her and Kurt home to Dallas knowing that you would be there for them. To those at home in Baltimore that helped me pick up the pieces again. To you I owe much.

And a special note to one of the doctors/medical students at Memorial Hospital in Savannah. I hope you read this. When things were at their darkest, you stood in front of the medical team and gave your report on Amanda’s condition. As you did, tears began to roll down your cheeks because things were so severe and you were so frustrated. I could tell by your face how much it upset you to be crying in front of her family and your colleagues. Please, look back at that moment and know what meaning I found in those tears. They reassured me that you were invested in our girl, that her medical care wasn’t just a job, it was something you were passionate about. It was one of the things that told me I could be, should be a therapist; there is no such thing as caring too much.

And so, I conclude this story here. And although it’s the end of this blog, it is not the end of our story as friends that have chosen to be family. We look forward to creating new memories to replace the ones that were lost or are too painful to dwell on. To quote a Buzz Lightyear, “To infinity and beyond!” - Much love, Brenda