Seven Years Ago Today...

Facebook Memories has been a source of many trips down Memory Lane. Though there are many things that I find appalling about Facebook, being able to fall back on an external memory has its advantages.

Having a memory that still often fails me, I find these reminders of life past a great help in me not letting the details of my life simply fade away. Though I have many compensatory strategies that let me function pretty well these days, memory problems remain an ongoing source of angst, and occasional embarrassment.

Today I was reminded of a day seven years ago that I will never forget – the day of my first ever keynote presentation – October 27th, 2013.

“It was a cold and blustery late October day, much like today,” Said the Winnie the Pooh narrator who dwells within. Then again, it’s always cold in Maine in late October.

The BIAA-Maine put Sarah and I up at a local hotel in Portland the night before. It was a great room with a view of Maine Medical. I watched an occasional helicopter land, saying a quiet prayer for whomever needed to be coptered to a hospital.

No sleep was to be found that night. I was excited and terrified at the same time. Excited as I had found a new reason to keep moving forward in my newly brain-injured life – helping others.

But oh, I was so very terrified.

I was never a public speaker before my injury. Not even close. My mom and dad were driving over in the morning to hear me – only adding to the fear.

What if I screwed up? What if I lost my words? What if my ability to speak evaporated? That was a legitimate fear as I was still in the period of time when speech often failed me.

What if, what if, what if…

I remember pacing nervously that morning. I didn’t want to shake any hands as my dripping palms would have revealed my abject terror.

Never one to read prepared speeches, I had a list of talking points that would accompany me to the podium, reminders of things I wanted to speak about.

Looking down, I saw Sarah, Mom and Dad in the front row. Though I don’t remember for certain, Sarah most likely was giving me a not so subtle thumbs-up, using mental telepathy, telling me that I could do it.

After an embarrassingly kind introduction, it was time to share my experience. My hands gripped the podium, lest my knees give out. I remember having a tough time for the first few minutes, as I struggled to find my groove.

And then it happened. The fear left me. I was helping people to better understand challenges many of us within the brain injury community face. In attendance were doctors, nurses, medical professionals, family members, and my beloved survivor brothers and sisters.

Looking down at my Mom at one point, I saw her eyes filled with tears. For a couple of years, Sarah and I hid the depth of our struggles from just about everyone close to us, including our family. It was our own private journey.

An hour later and it was over. A couple hundred attendees standing while applauding.

There is no manual for advocating. I learned on that day that one does not simply walk out of an auditorium. A couple of dozen folks, almost all survivors, wanted to talk to me, to tell me what happened to them. It was profoundly emotional. It has happened at every conference since.

So much has happened over the seven years since that day. It was like flipping the first domino in a long line of dominos. In the years that passed, there were keynotes in Rhode Island and Connecticut, in Chicago and Seattle, in Canada and more. There were books and book signings, all very much a blur.

It was a heady and exhilarating time, one that I am grateful to have had, and grateful to now have behind me. I was an advocate sprinter for many years, but you really can’t sprint forever.

These days, I’ve found a new groove, more like a marathoner. I’m in for the long haul.

Face-to-face conferences are now a thing of the past. Earlier this month I came full circle, again presenting in Maine. There was no two hour drive, no overnight accommodations – just me, my office and Zoom.

My focus has changed a bit as I regularly ask myself how to reach the largest numbers of survivors effectively. Our Facebook community reaches over 100,000 folks every month, some months at closer to a million. Pretty stunning numbers. HOPE Magazine reaches over 60 countries. We’ve got some exciting things in the works for next year.

I’ve always said that if I can make one life easier, it’s all worth it. But time, fate, circumstance and a lot of work has seen that many lives have been helped.

And it all stared almost a decade ago when DJ and I met by “accident.”

~David