November has always been a bittersweet month for me. This year, when the calendar hits November 11, I’ll mark my fourteenth anniversary of the event that not only changed my life but also the lives of everyone close to me. Over the years, my injury anniversary has gotten much easier; rarely does it come with the cloak of sadness that defined my early post-injury years.
Anniversary time during those early years was absolutely dreadful. The loss of everything familiar was suffocating. The loss of cherished family members was devastating. The internal confusion, the slow awakening to the fact that I was now a person with a disability, and the rather dramatic personality change that so often comes with brain injury left me reeling.
But time passes, as it inevitably does. It becomes a healer of pain.
As the years continued to scroll by, the person I used to be gradually slipped away and is now all but forgotten. It’s hard to mourn someone you no longer remember. Thankfully, those empty spots left by people who chose to leave my life have been filled by souls who only know me as I am today. I am loved and accepted for who I am. And I have been able to pass on that love to others who share my fate, loving and accepting them for who they are. We lift each other higher.
Recently, I was engaged in a conversation that centered on that old saying, “Everything happens for a reason.” To lay my cards bare on this one, I do not believe that everything happens for a reason. There is far too much hardship and strife in the world to think that there is an underlying cause for everything. But I do believe that our experiences can give us purpose, and maybe a game-changer like a brain injury can refocus that purpose or create a whole new one.
And so it has been for me. My journey began on November 11, 2010 as I lay on Main Street in my town, struck down by a teenage driver, wondering if that cold, blustery day would be my last. That pivotal day opened the door to the purpose-driven life that I now live. Early on, I made the decision not to be a victim, working hard to understand what I now live with and charting uncharted waters as a brain injury survivor. I think I’ve done pretty well.
Just yesterday, one of my closest friends from high school connected with me on LinkedIn, sharing that he, too, lives with PTSD. We haven’t had a conversation in more than 40 years. His words moved me deeply. “I read a page or two from your book, Thoughts of Hope, once or twice a week. I pick it up if I am hurting. It never fails to soothe me. Thank you for writing that book and for enduring your pain. It has helped me a lot.” He went on to share, “I hope that you find the strength and courage to carry on. You never know how your life will affect others.”
Where does one even begin to go with that?
But I inevitably circle back to finding purpose after trauma. By living transparently with my challenges, by candidly sharing both my victories and my struggles, by being open about what has helped me and sharing that information freely, my life has a very meaningful purpose. This is not the life that I had planned, but it’s my one shot and I’m doing the best I can. And today, right here, right now, I am okay with that.