LAUREN & BROOKS
The recovery journal, from the beginning. Our original stories and updates, in chronological order.
32 stories in Lauren & Brooks
Where it begins
We have no words to describe our gratitude to friends, family, and community members who have reached out to us. We have been receiving unbelievable support, from helping with meals, taking care of the dogs, and just receiving texts of love, prayers, and healing thoughts. Time disappears in this situation, and you live moment to
Dear friends, family and friends we have not met, I have often been reminded by numerous health professionals that dealing with traumatic brain injuries, and the ensuing recovery process, is akin to a marathon—not a sprint. Progress is gradual, and patience is paramount. The anxiety we feel comes from our belief that providing the best
I must confess, despite regularly seeing friends on Instagram and Facebook speak of living with a perspective of gratitude, it always seemed pleasant, and I’ve certainly been thankful for my fortunate life, incredible family, and friends. Yet, it is only now, as I sit here today, that I truly comprehend its depth. For me, gratitude,
I have often been reminded by numerous health professionals that dealing with traumatic brain injuries, and the ensuing recovery process, is akin to a marathon—not a sprint. Progress is gradual, and patience is paramount. The anxiety we feel comes from our belief that providing the best possible support for our kids requires a series of
Today was another remarkable day. Lauren had some extraordinary visitors in her room. I won’t name names, but among them was the ER Trauma doctor who first treated our children and managed those crucial early hours, guiding them towards the ICU. Words fall short in expressing how phenomenal she is. Her presence helped ground us
When you’re intently focused on anything—be it a business, a fitness goal, or any specific objective, like the health and welfare of your kids —it’s hard not to feel disappointment when faced with setbacks, whether they’re minor or even imagined. Most people who know me are aware that I generally lean towards optimism. From January
In the relentless rhythm of hospital corridors, amongst the beeps and whispers of medical machinery, there are angels working 12 hour shifts—the nurses. It is to these unsung heroes that our family owes an immeasurable debt of gratitude. Your work goes beyond the scope of job descriptions or duty hours. In your hands, care is
It’s late on the 28th, and tomorrow brings what we’ve been hoping for—Lauren’s transfer to Craig Hospital in Colorado. Twenty-two days ago, our world changed. Now, we mark time as BC, Before Crash. Despite the stress, worries, and roller coaster of emotions, it’s remarkable how quickly we’ve adapted. The shift from BC to AC is
In the sudden stillness that follows upheaval, there’s a voice that pierces through—a mother’s intuition. On that fateful day, as my wife neared the accident site and saw the flashing lights, her call to me was more than just an exchange of words; it was a revelation. She knew, with a certainty that defies logic,
In these moments, as we stand before the vastness of the journey ahead, the ‘what ifs’ and ‘will it ever be’s’ echo loudly in our hearts. Facing the steep slopes of recovery, the excitement of college and the independence that dances on the horizon of a 17-year-old’s life have been paused. Tennis dreams are shelved,
I remember the days when our children were small, exploring the expanse of our land under the watchful eyes of their mother while I was often away at work—perhaps too much. They were lucky, those days filled with Jennifer’s presence, never knowing the sting of separation anxiety. Jennifer, our pillar, not only homeschooled them in
In the days following the accident, the world outside seemed so disconnected. As I moved between the hospital and the outside world, stopping for coffee or filling up the car, it felt surreal—how could life just carry on? How could people laugh and chat so freely, drive carelessly on icy roads, when our own world
Every day brings a new fragment for Lauren to fit into the mosaic of her memories. As she reassembles what feels like a mirror reflecting her life up to the accident, the process is delicate and gradual. Her recollection of the accident comes from the stories we share, not her own experience, and with each
Lately, there’s a twinge of guilt each morning as I wake in my own bed, knowing Jennifer’s day begins on an air mattress that might be leaking. Plans are in place for my trip to Colorado as soon as Brooks’ team of therapists gives the nod. Yet Jennifer couldn’t possibly be anywhere but with Lauren,
On this Valentine’s Day, a holiday typically awash with flowers and candy, I find myself cherishing the ‘funny’ tucked within the festivities. Today, it’s not just about romance; it’s a celebration of the returning sense of humor in Brooks and Lauren, a glimmering sign of their recovery over the past weeks. Brooks, even amid the
The stretch of time away from my wife and daughter has been the longest since my wife and I became engaged, with business trips previously marking the extent of our separations. While FaceTime has been a blessing, it’s a mere placeholder for their presence. There’s an undeniable void that might not be depression but feels
I was raised in a religious family; my father was a minister’s son. Reflecting on my upbringing, the emphasis was on learning to do the right things, forming a conscience, and living by the golden rule. It wasn’t an overly spiritual environment, except for a few strange occurrences that unsettled my parents. As a naive
I am immensely grateful for the progress my children have made, particularly in these last few weeks. We’re in communication with their therapists—speech, occupational, and physical—and the updates on their advancements are heartening. Both Lauren and Brooks have made significant strides recently, filling me with joy. Yet, alongside this happiness, a tide of anxiety sweeps
Today’s update is a tangle of emotions for me. Firstly, I’m elated to report that Lauren and Jennifer are finally home. Their return brings a mix of joy, disbelief, and a sense of strangeness. Craig Hospital’s commitment to healing is nothing short of remarkable. Deƒspite any shortcomings, they excel at what matters most: fostering recovery
Having our family together again is a blessing I’ll cherish endlessly. Each morning brings a moment where I think to reach for FaceTime, only to remember Lauren and Jennifer are actually here. But this closeness has uncovered new challenges. People often see Lauren or Brooks and assume they’re completely recovered. Lauren’s radiant health and Brooks’s
I grew up in Kansas City near the Missouri state line, which has some mild terrain, but is nothing like the flat, mind numbing expanse stretching west towards Denver. I remember the many trips from Kansas City to Denver, departing from around 1,000 feet above sea level to the Mile High City at about 6,000
Just this week, I watched a little lizard attempt to navigate our kitchen floor. Typically, I’d quickly usher him outside, but this time, I paused with my morning coffee to observe. As I leaned in, he squared up to me, mouth agape in a silent challenge. Creeping closer, I saw him scramble, his tiny feet
I recently watched my daughter standing with her peers at an event. At first glance, the scene was picture-perfect. However, like those optical illusions drawn in chalk on a sidewalk, which a good rain can wash away, I wondered if what I was seeing was real. I’m incredibly proud of her—her dedication not only since
As I reflect on what might be meaningful to share about my kids’ recovery, I realize how much the incredible support we’ve received has impacted us. Over time, the extremes of their progress seem to moderate, becoming less pronounced from day to day. However, both Jennifer and I are sensing an underlying change within ourselves—a
It has been over a month since my last update, a period filled with subtle yet significant developments. Let me share the latest on my children’s progress and some personal reflections on this ongoing journey. Brooks’ Journey ContinuesBrooks is preparing for a new chapter at the University of Oregon, where he will continue his jazz
It always seems to hit me at the most surprising times. I’ll be going about my day, doing almost anything, when suddenly, the accident comes rushing back, bringing with it a wave of emotions like a cold water bucket challenge I didn’t know I’d signed up for. Recently, my wife and I went out alone
It seems my need for updates is becoming fewer and farther between, but as a couple of dear friends have reminded me, these updates aren’t just for me—they’re for my family and others who have been with us on this journey. I’ve learned that when something lingers with me—a feeling, an epiphany, or just a
Today feels like the right day to share this update, which I’ve been putting off for some time. The short of it is that we’ve been encountering icy mornings on our usual half-mile drive past the accident site to the pickleball club. We learned that city maintenance ends just past where the accident occurred, and
I was quite nervous about traveling on January 6th, as that date most significantly changed my life and my family’s. Though marking 365 days later only holds significance for us, it denotes a day that has profoundly affected us all. We decided to escape the ice and cold for a few days, trying to forget
Life has a way of reminding us about the impermanence of everything. Just when you think routines are set and some aspects of life seem unchangeable, something occurs that turns everything upside down. We once lived in Southern California, in a house that was more than just a structure; it was a symbol of personal
In today’s world, we have numerous sources of information, from traditional news and social media to podcasts and text messages from friends. This wealth of information gives me a much better sense of the world than the limited options of the past, like just three TV stations and a newspaper—a setup I rarely engaged with,
For the first time in a long while, I find myself just a little less afraid. Maybe it’s the changing seasons—no more ice on the roads, warm sun through the windows. Each time I drive to the club, it feels a little bit easier. A bit more normal. But every so often, something still catches
