Thanksgiving Blessing
It’s been almost five weeks since the accident.
As I sit here at my keyboard—struggling to type with a wrist that now holds a plate and screws—I am flooded with gratitude. Gratitude to the universe for helping me live through this incredibly challenging time: the horrific accident, the slow, relentless recovery.
Earlier this week, I went to the ER here in town to retrieve a bag of property that had suddenly surfaced from the few hours I spent there before being flown to Albuquerque. Inside were my helmet, the goggles I was wearing, and a bandana. They were covered in blood—my blood—and although I don’t remember the accident, it was haunting to bear witness to the havoc I’d survived.
Those dried blood stains were a stark reminder of the chaos I endured, the twisted wreckage I somehow lived through. The TBI. The pins holding the metatarsals in my left foot. The fracture in my left radius. The broken bones in my face. The piece of my lower lip that’s simply… gone. New scars now pin my tattoos in place, reminders to myself—and the world—of the journey I’m on.
I’m filled with gratitude for my previous group at work, who banded together and donated an incredible amount of money to help me through this time—money that will make my return home easier when I’m ready. They didn’t have to do that. I left them, moved on to another opportunity, but I’d spent nearly ten years with that group. We’d become family. I’d forged friendships and lifelong bonds, and they didn’t see my departure as a betrayal. They remembered me. They reminded me that I’m still part of their family.
The emails, the messages—they brought tears to my eyes. Knowing I had a real impact on their lives, and they reciprocated… God, how I love them all. Leaving that team was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made, but they will always be my family.
And gratitude, too, for my sister and brother-in-law, who put their lives on hold—drove all the way from Minnesota to New Mexico—just so I wouldn’t be alone in my time of need. They disrupted their own lives for me. That kind of love is humbling beyond words.
My heart throbs this Thanksgiving. I’m pushing through the hardest recovery of my life, yet surrounded by so much love, so much grace, so much humanity.
Above all, I am thankful for my best friend. She’s watched me die before—literally—and still found the strength to stand beside me again during the hardest fight of my life. She didn’t just offer help; she offered herself. Her time, her expertise, her home, her patience—her entire damn life orbiting around making sure I wasn’t alone.
It’s not easy being my friend. It never has been. But she’s been mine for a long time, and she always shows up. She always chooses me.
And that… that is a blessing that humbles me more than anything else this Thanksgiving.
