Anniversaries

The month of May always brings a swirl of emotions. It usually begins with me seeing the first blooms of Lily of the Valley in my garden—delicate flowers that, ironically, symbolize new beginnings. They gently remind me that after a long, dark winter, beauty still blooms beneath the surface, waiting for its season. What a powerful metaphor for life, especially when you're in the midst of a battle you never asked for.

I write this reflection with the lens of watching, navigating, and experiencing a loved one sustaining a traumatic brain injury. I think its important to share that because my story is my own. My kids story are and will be their own, and most importantly, Chase’s story is his own. For those of us marking the anniversary of a life-altering event—like a traumatic brain injury (TBI)— these days hold a strange mix of celebration for milestones you never imagined celebrating, reflections on worries that once seemed foreign, and acceptance of a life that looks nothing like the one you planned.

It could be sitting with grief over where your recovery is, accepting the changes that now shape your life, and mourning disappointments and loss— (I’ll save the topic of ambiguous loss for another day.) Or, it could be a beautiful celebration of the grit, determination, and love that got you to where you are at today. I think it can be a combination of both. What once was just another date on the calendar now holds a tremendous amount layers of emotion that can ebb in flow within an minutes time. In a way, it becomes another “birth” day—a date on the calendar that symbolizes the “before” and “after” versions.

I’m inspired by Katherine Wolf of Hope Heals, who refers to the anniversary of her near-fatal stroke as “Katherine Lives Day.” That simple phrase acknowledges the miracle of survival without dismissing the pain, grief, and daily challenges that followed. Her words have stayed with me as I reflect on our own anniversary experience. You can check it out here.

Sometimes I catch myself wishing for May 17th instead of May 18th— but like those Lily of the Valleys, I try to see the beauty in rebirth. These seasons of growth have changed me in more ways than I can count. Is it easy? Absolutely not. Are some years harder than others? Definitely.

But this year, as I struggled to find the words to reflect on this day, it was my kids who gave me clarity. They wrote on the calendar: “Daddy’s Day.” And just like that, I remembered what this day really means—for us as a family, for us as our own storytellers, and most importantly, for the one we almost lost.

I’ll always treasure how they see this day: as a celebration of love, family, and resilience. A day we witnessed the undeniable power of miracles— and for that, 5 years later, I’m grateful.