1 year anniversary

4:03am

I started this blog about 10 days after Taylor’s accident with one initial purpose – to keep Taylor’s friends updated on how he was doing. But, it quickly became a way to update our friends and family as well.

Then, as he began to slowly get better and it appeared that his recovery would be extraordinary, it became a way for people to participate in witnessing what many have termed “a miracle”.

Of all the people we know, the one person that has spent the least amount of time reading the blog has been – Taylor. It’s not that he doesn’t have the interest, it’s just not something that he’s ready to relive yet. But, he will read it one day soon.

I’ve spent almost a year posting about Taylor on this Blog. So, on this 1 year anniversary of the accident, I should probably post to directly TO him this time.

Dear Taylor,

What a difference a year makes! One year ago today, your mother, sister and I started March 1^st not knowing if you would live for the next hour, day or week. When we heard “Traumatic Brain Injury” we feared the worst. Almost every waking minute for the next several weeks was spent wondering if you would ever be the same – it you’d be able to talk to us, to use your limbs, to laugh and love again. But, I knew you were as tough as nails and that I never saw you give up on anything before, and knew you’d fight to survive. And, you did. Over the months as you began to recover, we saw that you were going to come home the same Taylor that you were the day before the wreck.

When we were first able to visit with you in the Emergency Room, I told you we would not leave you until you came home. That was a promise we kept. Either your mother, Lauren or I (and frequently all of us) were with you every day for the almost 5 months you were gone.

It was weeks before we knew if you would live, laugh and love again. Although there were signs of improvement, we just didn’t have any way of knowing the extent of any permanent injury to your brain. We prayed every day, all day. I went from begging God to let you recover as if nothing had ever happened, then settled for just being able to take you home no matter your condition. We had accepted that you may never be the same mentally as you were before the accident, or that there may be some paralysis, and we had talked about the prospect of caring for you at home. It’s not that we were convinced you’d never recover, but we knew it was a possibility and it was something we had to consider.

We watched as you slowly got better at the hospital and as you started regaining your strength in rehab. We witnessed your amazing resolve to get stronger, work harder and come home sooner. When you first started to make improvements at a rate much faster than normal, one Nurse told us not to expect your recovery to continue on the same "fast path" you were on. But, you never slowed down and that Nurse realized that something extraordinary was happening with you. Even at rehab, within a few weeks they said you were well ahead of where they would have expected you to be. But, that's you. You've never bothered with following the directions that came in the package, so we knew you'd do this whole recovery thing your way. It worked. Nice job!

I come from a small family. I am the only son of an only son. Only my sister, mother and 2 aunts remain in my family, beside you, your mother and Lauren. In my lifetime my father, grandparents, aunts and uncles have all died. I watched my Father die a slow painful death from cancer. But, even that pales in comparison to the pain of seeing you in the condition you were in for so long, and knowing the pain you’ve gone through during the past year.

And through all of this, you have never complained. You’d mention when things hurt, and you asked once “Why me?”. But, you’ve accepted what has happened to you in such a positive way. You’ve often said that complaining about your situation is not going to change anything, so you just decided not to complain about it. If only I could be more like you sometimes.

In the past year, I have learned a LOT about friendship. I watched your friends cry, and saw a few physically get sick the first time they saw you in ICU. Some came to the hospital at 2am after they got off work and a couple spent the night with us on the floor of the waiting room just to be close to you. Rarely, if ever, did 2 days in a row go by – during the whole 5 months – that you went without friends coming to see you. Some took off from work to spend the day with you at rehab, and many made the 2 hour round trip drive to visit with you. I know that your friends played a major role in your positive attitude, and cheered you on so you would work hard and come home. I’m convinced that without all the support from your friends, you would not have improved as quickly as you did.

I’ve also learned a lot about you. We spent a LOT of time together in the past year. I came to rehab every afternoon and stayed until I knew you were asleep that night – every day for 3 months. I’ve always known you were funny, but never did I know just how funny you were. I’m surprised we didn’t get kicked out of there a few times. And, you’ve learned a lot, I think, about people. You’ve found that you have friends who were very worried about you for a long time, and never stopped coming around because it may have been inconvenient to them. And, you’ve learned that there were a few who you’re simply better off without.

There are some things that are different for you physically now, and some things that will never be the same way they were before the wreck. But, those physical things aren’t what make you who you are. People don’t love you because you could ride a mean skateboard, that you always won footraces or because you could climb a telephone pole. It’s your personality, your intelligence, your humor and loving nature is what makes you who you are.

God IS good. He has given you a second chance at life – something millions of people never got. And, you’ve been given that second chance in a way that will not limit you in being who you want to be in this, your second chance at life.

In rehab, one of our favorite people downplayed your condition and called it “just a little bump in life’s road”. We still laugh at how out of touch with reality that lady was. This has been a HUGE event in your life. It is the most significant thing that has ever happened in any of our lives. It’s not a bump in life’s road. But, it is something that will become less significant each year and although we’ll always have the reminders of everything connected to what happened, it is mostly behind you now. Two little surgeries left, and you’re all done.

When all your friends came to the hospital on March 6^th, when you came so close to dying, I told the group that if they learned nothing else from this accident, they should know that the last thing we said to you and the last thing you heard us say was “I love you.” We’ve always done that, and we always will.

I love you.

Dad