What a Difference a Year Makes

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Blake and Hondo, one of our favorite horses at Rollins Ranch, in March 2011

This time last year, I was in Arizona on business. I liked my job well enough but missed my kids and hated being stuck inside so often. We were on the cusp of buying our own farm and had a couple of quarter horses we adored that were boarded at a nearby farm, which we also adored.

There was so much about my life that was rich and full and wonderful. Even the dreams I'd yet to attain felt close enough to touch. I could have never foreseen what was looming on the horizon.

Just before leaving for Arizona, I'd spent a whole day with the boys, soaking up time with them and the horses we loved. I always had to get in as much horse time as possible before and after a business trip to see me through.

So of course, the second I got back in town, I picked the boys up from school and we headed straight for the barn. We were just about to head out for the evening when my mare, Sassy, spooked for reasons I may never know. I won't relive that whole terrifying night in this post – that's not the purpose of my tale – but the short version is that a freak accident left my middle son in a coma for five days. But for the grace of God, we would have lost him. That was March 31, 2011.

He had to re-learn everything. To me, his healing process felt so slow. To the medical world, the speed at which he recovered was nothing short of a miracle. Still, I never left his side. My husband and I didn't question my need to be with him every step of the way. When I ran out of FMLA, Blake still had miles to go in rehab, so I left the safety of my corporate job and leaped into the unknown.

I had no idea where the path we suddenly found ourselves on would take us. The accident flipped our lives upside down in every way, including financially. Credit that had been carefully cultivated so we could buy our farm was destroyed. Horses and alpacas were sold, and chickens were given away. Dinners out came screeching to a halt. Some things we didn't think twice about, some things, like selling my mare and my son's colt, still make me cry if I think about them too long. None of it could dampen my gratitude that my son lived and would recover.

As my family nears the one-year anniversary of that fateful day, I look around my life, a little shell shocked, but also in awe of where we are.

My son is 99.9% healed, and we're not giving up until even that .01% is back. Not one to waste his second chance at life, he jumped right in to help his brothers start 61 Strong this year, a group dedicated to ending human trafficking and fighting social injustice.

Not long after I left my job, I got the publishing contract of my dreams. (Thank you, Booktrope!)

And yesterday, we closed on a little 5-acre piece of land in the Ozarks.

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Dylan, my oldest son, and his new best friend, an Easter Egger chicken he named Yang

It might not be as large of a farm as the one we'd put an offer on pre-accident, and we still have to put a home on it, but to us, there is no place on earth more perfect. This week, I finally caved and let the boys buy more chickens. It was a silly thing to miss, I guess, but having them scurry underfoot brings us joy. It reminds us we're close to recapturing that particular dream.

So much in our world has changed. Some dreams have been lost and can never be reclaimed. Others have been replaced by new adventures. But many things, the ones that matter, have remained. I have three healthy, amazing sons, and our life is filled with wonder and joy. This past year has made quite a difference in our world. I have to admit I'm happy to put it behind us, but I'll take the lessons it taught me, be forever grateful for what I have, and look forward with great anticipation to the year ahead.

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Hondo and Blake, still friends, March 2012

 

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