When I heard the screeching wheels outside my window and people screaming, “Call the police!” I immediately called from our house phone (this was 1992, before cell phones). They assured me they were on their way.

But where was my husband, Chris? He would be the first one to get help in an emergency.

When the hard things are ours to carry

“Is it a man? Does he have a mustache?” Panic rose as I called through the screen door, seeing a small group bent over someone lying on the side of the road. A stranger looked up and met my eyes. He nodded. I ran out the door, my heart beating fast, fear gripping me.

It was my husband. Chris had been hit by a delivery van as he stood on the corner, intently reading his book, waiting for the commuter bus. The impact threw him several feet, where he now lay curled up, barely conscious.

The ambulance careened toward us, its sirens screaming. Three paramedics rushed toward us. I identified myself and told them I had children in the house, but of course, I wanted to go with him. They instructed me to hurry. I couldn’t go in the ambulance. Chris’ condition was too dire and uncertain. But I could follow behind in a separate emergency vehicle.

“Is he going to be alright? Is he going to die?”

“We can’t tell you anything yet. We will do everything we can. We’ve got to get Chris to a hospital fast.”

I glanced back at my house and saw my three-year-old peering through the screen door.

“Just a minute, honey. I’ll be right there,” I assured her as I ran to the neighbors to ask them to watch my kids.

I scrambled into the medical transport vehicle. We took off for the New Jersey Trauma Center about 20 minutes away, following the ambulance that carried my husband. I remember praying, crying out loud, “Oh please God, be with Chris. Help him! Please don’t let it be his mind. Please, God.”

My husband was a Marketing Director at an accounting firm, with a great love for poetry. He had gotten his Masters in Fine Arts in Poetry from Columbia University. He needed his sharp mind to juggle his job—which involved a lot of writing, organization, and the ability to juggle several projects at once—and his passion, writing and teaching poetry. Even in those first shocking moments I thought, Chris could probably manage a physical injury, but his brain? I have no idea what made me think this . . . I had absolutely no knowledge of or experience with brain injuries.

As soon as I arrived at the hospital, I learned Chris had lost consciousness just as the ambulance pulled in. Miraculously, there were no broken bones, but he did have a severe traumatic head injury that required open-head surgery immediately. So much for my pleas.

There was nothing but questions. Would Chris survive? Would he be in a vegetative state if he lived—unable to move, talk, or function?  How extensive would his injuries be? Would he ever recover?

Chris came through the surgery still teetering between life and death. He remained in ICU for several days in an induced coma to decrease swelling and protect his brain from further damage. Then as he stabilized, Chris was slowly taken out of the coma and transferred to a general medical-surgery floor in the hospital.

Now it’s been almost 30 years. In fact, on June 14, 2022 it will be 30 years since Chris’ accident. It’s been a long and bumpy, winding, up-and-downhill road.

What am I grateful for?

So many things. In the early days of recovery, I was thankful Chris was alive, then that he could talk, walk, and start to care for himself. Next, it was that he responded well to relearning basic math and English skills. Every little step was cause for gratitude . . . and every day, Chris progressed.

I’m thankful for my husband’s stubborn resilience. Even before he could communicate clearly, Chris was a determined, dedicated, focused patient. He underwent years of physical, occupational, psychological, and social therapies and support. Every step of the way, he gave it his all.

I’m thankful for the many people who came to our aid—prayed for us, fed us, cared for our children, cleaned our clothes and our home. I’m thankful for the love and support from our neighbors and strangers from across the globe who shone a light of love and care I don’t believe we would’ve experienced any other way.

I’m thankful for our family’s path. We went on to add another child with a pretty uncertain future. She brought new beginnings, new life to our family. Our marriage was challenged, on the brink of breaking irreparably, but we worked hard to save it. We renewed our commitment to one another and not just a good marriage, but a great marriage (which we accomplish sometimes!).

Chris lost his job. I’ll never forget that day. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and I was in the backyard with the kids. Chris wasn’t due home for several hours. I glanced up to see him heading down our driveway, briefcase in hand, eyes downcast. And I knew . . . Chris had lost his job.

His company had tried to work with him to ease him back into his duties. But he couldn’t do it, and they couldn’t wait. We both cried. Chris was defeated and depleted. What would happen next? How would we make it financially? What could Chris do if not the work he was used to? Already a freelance writer and childbirth educator, what part would I play?

I’m thankful for the courage my husband had to walk into the English department of the nearby university and ask for a job. When he told me his plan, I was terrified he would be rejected and demoralized. Instead, he was hired as an adjunct professor. From there, he was invited into a doctoral program.

I was happy for him, but how could we possibly afford this? Our oldest was heading toward college, and there would be three more to come. The letter announcing his acceptance was accompanied by a grant for free tuition and a stipend.

This story has been vastly abbreviated. There are so many more details, twists and turns, years of challenges and victories. Ultimately, though, I’m thankful for this journey called life and our God, who promises that all things will work together for good.

I’m thankful God’s promises are true.

Meet Elise Daly Parker

Where to find her . . .

• Website
• Instagram
• Facebook (personal and life coach/writer/editor page)

Begin Within is a series to inspire a year-round lifestyle of gratitude that will impact not only your own life, but the lives of your neighbors as well. Gratitude is a theme we talk about often around here because it ties so closely into other missional living rhythms. Practicing gratitude reminds to keep our hearts soft and expectant and our eyes open. Therefore, the more we embrace gratitude, the easier it becomes to truly see our neighbors and where we can join what God is already doing in our neighborhoods.

If you would like to contribute to Begin Within, you can find the submission guidelines here.

Creating Ripples

If you would like to cultivate rhythms in addition to gratitude that will empower you live on mission in your neighborhood, check out Cultivating a Missional Life: A 30-Day Devotional to Gently Help You Open Your Heart, Home, and Life to Your Neighbors. This small book will help you make a big impact in your neighborhood as you learn to let missional living flow from the inside out. Get the 30-day missional living challenge free when you purchase the book.