Wow, I can’t believe it’s been 10 years from my first Miracle Day. It was a day my life almost ended–but instead began anew. Sometimes, you have to lose everything to learn what’s really important to you–and it’s all the sweeter to regain it once you’ve had to fight to get it back.
I’ve long thought the 10-year anniversary would feel especially momentous to me, but in reviewing my post on this day two years ago, I feel much the same as then, but more–more grateful, more inspired, more driven. Life has changed in interesting ways, but our life stories should be just like good books, not knowing what’s on the next page until you’re there. And sometimes, it’s a relief just to move the story forward, to turn the page, and to know you’re still there, still the hero(ine) of your own journey.
I’ve been blessed every single year since Miracle Day with a life full of love and joy. It can be hard work sometimes, but it’s worth it. I’m proud to say, since this post two years ago, I’ve worked more towards that “giving back” goal I made for myself, speaking on disability awareness panels, organizing charity donations, and, most importantly–spreading kindness wherever I can. Thank you, dear readers, for your constant support every step of the way. For, as the bracelet my sister gave me in the hospital says:
“A journey of 10,000 miles starts with a single step.” Here’s to many more steps, with eternal gratitude to the loved ones (including you, dear readers) in my life.
I’ve put off writing this post until this moment, because I wanted to make sure I enjoyed every. Single. Second. of Miracle Day.
“Miracle Day” is what I’ve decided to call November 21, 2005. It was the day I almost died–but I didn’t. Last summer, Wheaton Franciscan Healthcare asked me to tell my story for their annual report. Please watch this short video to learn about my journey (mobile users, click here):
I feel bad for the video editors, who had to cut down 2+ hours of my speaking about my experience into two minutes. 😉 I think they did a great job, though. There’s so much I have to say about all of this; as you may recall, I’m working on my memoir of this experience now.
Words are my gift, my tool, and I had to fight hard to get them back. Initially, I couldn’t speak, except…
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