On...

Here we find ourselves amidst the holiday chaos once again. Although a joyous time, it is also a time that brings to mind memories of holidays past and of the people who have passed. I have been thinking a great deal about my Grammy recently. I could linger on the sadness I feel that she is no longer with me, and sometimes I do. Or, I could focus on the lessons she taught me in my time with her and on my gratitude in receiving them. Today I will do that. Grammy was not the sort of lovey-dovey dote all over her grandchildren kind of grandmother. She was too practical for that. And so, she did things with us: from crafts, to cooking, to trips to the zoo, and more. We were constantly learning and doing. She was moving fast and our job was to keep up... and, to have fun along the way. So, this brings me to some of the key things I learned from Grammy. If you haven't had a Grammy to learn these things from, I'll gladly pass on her wisdom so you can learn from mine. Take Care

A friend of mine was giving a talk on gratitude. He asked if I would participate - sharing my story and reading from my blog. This gave me pause to think about why I might or might not accept such a request. Those of you who know me well,  know that I am an extrovert. I love people. I love to talk to people, listen to people, and make people laugh. I am at my happiest and most full of energy when I am around others. That being true, I am not an attention-seeker. In fact, the amount of attention I've received because of my accident and recovery generally makes me uncomfortable. Yet, I write a blog that often talks about my accident and the aftermath.  So why write a blog if I am uncomfortable being the center of attention? Why even talk about my accident at all? Certainly, in part, I write to help myself, to work through some of the confusion, to answer the questions, and to express the feelings I have related to the accident. And, there are other reasons as well - reasons

Just recently, a friend of mine told me that he thought I was the least complaining person he knew. He has been working on being mindful of negativity and complaining, particularly when those complaints are about things of no real consequence to daily existence, and the result of the complaints just incur unhappiness or a focus on negativity. Anyway, his comment made me think. And, in some ways he's right - I don't complain about the hard things that I've gone through. I make a conscious effort to focus on what went right, instead of what went wrong. Interestingly though, I used to complain... All the time - about the little stuff. In fact, I think I became more mindful of my complaining when I was called out on it in my undergrad program in Clinical Psychology. A little backstory: I remember this guy Nat. He described me one day, in the midst of our group therapy class, and his description was "the most cheerful complainer I've ever met." I was compl

A friend of Alli's was over for a playdate this past weekend. He is a darling boy with whom I'm glad she is friends. Although... I'm afraid he might have a bit to learn, especially if Alli's prediction on their future nuptials comes true. At one point, they were doing something that evidently needed some muscles - perhaps opening something or lifting a heavy object. He says "Alli, boys are stronger than girls. I should do that." Both Alli and I disagreed, immediately and outloud. Alli said "uh... no... I'm just as strong as you." And I said "whether you're a boy or a girl has nothing to do with how strong you are." Perhaps we were a little abrupt for the boy who didn't mean any harm, but still... I am glad my daughter stood up for herself and her gender. In any case, this exchange got me thinking about the strongest people I know. And, well, it is not that I don't know some strong men, but the majority of the people

I do not like to rest. If I am "resting," I might as well be sleeping. Sleeping is a worthwhile activity that helps my body and my brain become stronger. Resting is just... silliness. It is more painful for me to sit still and rest than the pain from my surgery. I know people who like resting, people who know that a little rest now means they can do more later. But resting, to me, feels like failure. Achieving means I'm finding a way to do what needs to be done. Letting the day pass me by... totally failure. This past Thursday, after my surgery, I was pretty sore. My kids were at school. My parents went home. All I had to do all day was rest. About 10 minutes into it (maybe 20), I'd had enough resting. I was fidgety and anxious to get moving. But, I couldn't. Nothing about resting is relaxing for me. I am relaxed when I can get things done. I am relaxed when I check things off my list. I am NOT RELAXED when I am sitting on the couch watching TV. I don'

I recently got the craziest news. I'm still not entirely sure what to make of it, but here's the back story: When I was first admitted to Shock Trauma, my mom approved allowing me to be a part of a double blind study. The medication in the study had shown some initial promising results in quickly reducing brain swelling, and therefore reducing a lot of the complications that can go with it. So, I was a part of this study. Until very recently, I did not know if I had received the medication or the placebo. The woman conducting the study (Charlene), as well as my parents, myself, and anyone who knew I was a part of this study assumed that I had most likely gotten the medication. The swiftness of reduction in my brain swelling post-trauma was remarkable. So, of course, I got the medication, right? BUT I DIDN'T! As it turns out, I was in the placebo group. WHAT?! Part of me is disappointed. I really enjoyed getting to know Charlene and wanted to be helpful to her study, f

So, here it is the second anniversary of Emily and me surviving our accident. In many ways it feels like it was just yesterday. Yet, so many things have changed since then that I cannot imagine how I have fit it all in. It is true that many parts of this experience completely and totally sucked: that Em and I were in a life-changing accident; having a long and arduous recovery; knowing that my friend was hurt when I was driving; understanding the fear that our family and friends felt day in and day out. All of it was pretty horrible. Here's what's also true: I wouldn't change any of it. I am grateful for the doctors, nurses, family and friends that made my survival possible. It is both overwhelming and fulfilling to know that people are working and praying hard for you. I am grateful for the connections and re-connections I have made because of the accident. Meeting new people and reconnecting with old friends is a wonderful thing, something I appreciate tremend

When I asked my children what I should bring home for them from Ireland, they thought that perhaps I should try to catch a leprechaun and bring him home. I warned them that this would be tricky, as leprechauns do not like to be caught, let alone packed in a bag, put on a plane, and taken away from their homes. While I did not catch a leprechaun to bring home, I was reminded of all the ways I can fill my pot with gold. Reconnecting with Friends: A big reason for going to Ireland was to reconnect with my friend and former co-worker, Donal, his wife, Fanya, and their three boys. I love to be around people, and these are some of the best people to be around. Our time together was filled with laughter. Connection and laughter with friends is definitely gold. Meeting New Friends: There was not one person I met while in Ireland that didn't make me feel completely welcome, and like I was immediately a friend. This is a lovely thing to experience. From the staff at Donal and Fanya&

Today my little boy turns 10. 10! How did that happen? It seems as thought I blinked and the little baby boy on the left-hand side of the picture (below) turned into the little man on the right. Simon: Just born on the left and 10 on the right Despite being borderline-depressed that I am old enough to have a ten-year-old, I know that this boy, my first child, has taught me some of the best lessons in life: in how to parent (make it up as you go along), and in just being. Feel What You Feel: It is okay to have feelings. It is okay to have REALLY BIG feelings. Simon may experience big anger and frustration, but frequently and I think because it is big, it also moves through him quickly and he can back to the task at hand. Perhaps anxiety isn't a feeling that is fun to experience in a big way. Perhaps anger isn't either. But, you know what is? Joy. Love. Hope. Warmth. He feels all of these in big ways too. Don't be afraid of feeling - it's what makes you human, wha

Alli decided not to return to dance this year. Although it makes me sad that she won't continue to be a part of such a wonderful dance studio, she wanted to explore other options. So, she is taking an art class - which if you know Alli, you know that this is her true passion. Still, I feel like she should do something physical - happily she chose to try the sport I played in high school - field hockey. Me, my junior year of high school and Alli at her first practice                                                              I was not a good field hockey player - I can perhaps claim being mostly competent. I didn't score for the other team or anything, but I also didn't score for my own (and I played wing position on the forward line, so it was kind of expected that I would). I did, however, learn a tremendous amount from my time on the field hockey team. There are plenty of people who are going to be better than me at things: And, this is okay. Ther

If I were to name one trait that I hope my daughter has, it would be bravery. I hope my son has it as well, but I think it is sort-of socially expected that boys will be brave, and it is more socially important that girls are. Would I describe myself as brave? Perhaps... sometimes. I have friends that would say I'm brave because I defied death. I don't actually believe that makes me brave at all. I think that makes me... hopeful... and lucky. It isn't some fear I faced. Instead, it was just the belief that I wasn't going to die. There's a difference. To me, bravery is facing a fear... being afraid... and doing it anyway. My surviving my accident wasn't brave - I didn't face any fears. I'm not afraid of death. All I did was believe that I would be fine. I will believe I am (and was) strong... in body and in mind... but brave... not in this instance. I have been brave, on more than one occasion. And yet, I'm not sure it is an adjective I'd us

Children can be cruel. I understand that this is, unfortunately, a part of life. I was taught that being intentionally unkind to another person is not acceptable behavior. I was taught that if someone speaks to you, you should be respectful and respond. I was also taught that if I was unkind, whether intentionally or unintentionally, the person I was unkind to was owed an apology. For the most part, I have upheld this behavioral standard (my brother might argue, at least where he was concerned) set by my parents. While I am working hard to share these lessons with my own children, it always astounds me that other children are not brought up this way. Alli is very shy and she does not readily ask someone to play with her, even when she really wants to play. She'll often ask me to intervene for her, and I tell her that I will come with her, but that she has to ask herself. She is the one who wants to play, so she needs to do the asking. Simon is not shy at all. Simon craves c

Occasionally, I mourn the loss of my children's childhood. I know that it seems premature to grieve for something that is not already gone, but childhood is so fleeting. And, they change so much so fast. 2011 and 2015 There are evenings when I am performing our nighttime rituals, the time in which I have one-on-one with each of my two children, that I am brought to tears. I am not sad... exactly. Sadness rarely makes me cry. I am overwhelmed... by the gratitude of getting to do this and by grief that soon there will be a time when I don't get to do this anymore. When I am overwhelmed by these feelings, I think, is it possible that other parents feel this way? I mean, it seems... so, personal. Is it actually... universal? How did I get to be so lucky as to have these two children? Not any two children, but these in particular that seem so right for me to love, to nurture, to mother, to help along their journey. Do they know how perfect they are for me? Do they think

Yesterday, I began a close-out year. That's right, I turned 39 and have begun the process of closing out my thirties. I am not a fan of close-out years. To be honest, I don't know if nine bothered me and I'm pretty sure 19 didn't, but I know 29 was challenging - not because the year itself was particularly difficult, but for what closing-out a decade means to me. I am so much better at hello than I am at goodbye. I had no problem with 30, as it allowed me to open a new chapter, fresh with new possibilities. I believe I'll feel the same about 40. No qualms whatsoever. I like fresh starts. I hate, however, long goodbyes. I don't like feeling sad about saying goodbye, so I generally do it quickly and get on to the next thing. I don't want to feel mired down by the sadness of leaving. And yet, here I am, with 365 days to say goodbye to my thirties. Why on earth would I want to say goodbye for 365 days? Can't I just skip 39 and go right to 40? Since I

I am a medical miracle. And, not a day goes by that I don't think about how I am grateful to the doctors, nurses, and staff at Shock Trauma that worked so hard to ensure my survival. And yet, sometimes, modern medicine is unspeakably cruel in its quest to save. Sometimes, there is no quality left to the life that has been saved. Sometimes, being able to save someone doesn't necessarily mean that you should. I believe that it is nothing but good intention that has driven modern medicine so far, has allowed so many medical miracles, and has driven medical practitioners to get better, to do more. And still... at some point, shouldn't it stop? Shouldn't the wishes of the patient be taken into account? Shouldn't a life well-lived be more important than a long-lived life, especially when it is no longer of quality? The next part of this blog is not just a political agenda. It isn't just what I believe (although I do believe very strongly in a patient's right

I have always been the type of person who faces big fears head on - the larger it is, the scarier it seems, I go all-in and just get it over with. But, I have to admit that the less-scary things, the ones where I was unsure of how to proceed - those, I didn't often do. I'd analyze the situation, come to the conclusion that perhaps the risk wasn't worth the reward and I wouldn't do it. And, often, I'd find myself disappointed in my lack of bravery, in missing the experience. This year, though, I am working on being more brave. It isn't that I don't still analyze the situation, because I definitely do. Now though, once I've checked to see that there is actually water in the pool, I'm much more likely to jump in without knowing the exact depth or what could be lurking at the bottom.  For me, this means that things I've thought about doing and have been unsure of - like traveling by myself or learning new things - I'm just going to go ahea

An idealized version of me: Perfect parent: always patient and kind; always doing things for and with my children Perfect daughter: always making the right choices; succeeding; never argumentative Perfect sister: always there for my brother; helpful and kind; never argumentative or irritated Perfect granddaughter: always visiting, and happy to be doing so; giving of my time; never complaining Perfect friend: always reaching out; always making time; always remembering every important thing in my friends' lives Perfect business-person: always has a good head on my shoulders; makes great decisions that puts my business and the businesses I work with forward and ahead of the game. Perfect in mind and body: always eats well and exercises daily; always works hard to learn and get ahead; always looks good doing it And then here's the real me: Parent: sometimes patient; sometimes I lose my temper and yell; sometimes doing stuff for the kids, and sometimes doing stuff for

I am not a free spirit. I love traveling and adventure. I love meeting new people and seeing new places. I believe that each new person has a story to tell, worth my ears. I love learning new things and being in new environments. And, I will always have a plan. I will always have a goal to achieve. I am forever driven and ambitious. Through time and experience, I have learned. My plans do not always happen as expected. Other people do not always follow my plans. The path to my goal is not always straight. Sometimes I must adjust: jump over or go around obstacles. And, I will always keep going. I will always  achieve my goals. How I get there doesn't matter, but that I get there, does.

A friend of mine recently asked me why I was smiling. My response: "No reason. It's just kinda my natural state." And, it is. My mom has said that I was born with a smile. I am not sure that is physiologically possible, but you get the point. I have always been a pretty happy person. This can be irritating as hell if you aren't a happy person, or it can be infectious. I prefer to think that I spread happiness, but I also know I can't get it right for everyone, all the time. I'm okay with that. There is a myth with happy people, though - just because I'm happy most of the time, doesn't  mean that I never get sad, or angry, or hurt. I feel all those feelings, and express them - sometimes all within the same day. Sometimes, all within the same 10 minutes. Negative emotion can oftentimes feel like a huge and fierce thunderstorm. Fortunately for me, those dark clouds pass by quickly and I am soon back to my natural state of happy. I let them go as qui

This past weekend, I did something: I read, from beginning to end, all of the Caring Bridge Posts (days, weeks, months, post-accident) from my mom and all of the comments and well-wishes from so many of you. I read these once before, but I was still early in my recovery, so I'm not sure it totally sank in. This time was different. This time, I felt as if I was with all of you awaiting my mom's next post. It felt less like this was something that I had actually lived through and experienced myself. Instead, this time, I lived through it from your perspective. I'll admit, it was a little surreal. That was some pretty heavy stuff. Whew! Here is what struck me most prominently when reading these posts and comments: My mom is absolutely amazing. If you ever question where I get my strength, determination, and ability to love, look no further than my mom.  The rest of my family is pretty darn amazing too. They never faltered in their love and support. They stayed by my s

I believe that people come into our lives for a reason. A person may come and go quickly, or may travel with us for a lifetime. It doesn't matter. Each person is significant in unique ways. Life is short (trust me, I got this hint in a big way) and we don't always share the positive things that we think of others because we take for granted that there is always another day. So, in that spirit, I decided to start a kindness campaign. For this past month of March, each day, I chose a new person to send five things that I like about him/her. For the recipients of my five things, I have challenged them to spend one week doing the same - to choose a new person each day and send him/her five things they like about him/her. Small things or large, it doesn't matter. My intentions are not all selfless. It is true that I wanted to make people feel good by allowing them to know what I like about them. And, I also did it so that I would feel good. I feel amazing when I make othe

If life is a game of cards, I go all-in, every time. What does this mean? Well, it means that in different facets of my life: parenting, family and friends, work and play, I fully invest. Does it mean that I'm perfect? Nope. I'm definitely not. As much as it would make me happy to be so, I'm human and humans aren't perfect. Does it mean that I don't make mistakes? Nope. I have made, and probably will make, a ton of mistakes. What counts isn't that I make mistakes, but how I respond to and learn from them. Does it mean that sometimes I'm dealt a lousy hand. Yep. Clearly, being in an accident, and more importantly, having Emily in the accident with me, was a lousy hand to be dealt. That's okay. I've made the best of lousy hands (and so has Em), and do what I can with the cards I've been dealt. Is there risk in going all-in? Absolutely. You don't really know what you're getting into, until you actually get into it. Sometimes, it

I went to visit my grandmother the other day. Recently, she had a fall,  and this resulted in a huge gash in her head, and subsequently, nine staples to put it back together. I mentioned to her that she really should ask for help rather than risk hurting herself. As I spoke these words, I saw the light bulb in my mind turn on. Reality is, I totally get why she doesn't ask for help. I don't ask for help either.  I think this realization allowed me to connect with my grandmother on a deeper level - I acknowledged how hard it must be for her to have to ask for help, to not be as independent as she once was. And, I told her that people want to help her because we love her and we want her to be safe. To say that I am fiercely independent is probably an understatement. I grew up with the belief that I could do it myself, and I pretty much always did.* For that reason, the thought of needing help, let alone actually asking for it, makes my skin crawl. Don't get me wrong, askin