Traditions After Neuro-Changes

???? ???????? ?????? ???????????? ????...

My wife Sarah wrote this article for our December issue of HOPE Magazine. I still find looking at like through her eyes to be very difficult. Brain injury is hard to live with - and I feel that it can often be harder on those we love.

My wife is a beautiful human being, both inside and out. I still struggle in knowing how much our lives have been effected. Rereading her words has brought me to tears - every time.

Here is a bit of insight as to what our lives are like today - through Sarah's eyes.

~D

# # #

???????????????????? ?????????? ??????????-??????????????

I had a recent conversation with my husband about some of the things we did before his accident and how we navigate those things today. Traditions came to mind because it's December here in New Hampshire, and Christmas, New Year's celebrations, and gatherings with people we don't usually see happen almost every day.

Before his traumatic brain injury, which left him with brain fog, PTSD nightmares, the random lack of filter, and exhaustion, we raced through the days leading up to Christmas like little kids giddy to see what Santa Claus would leave under the tree for them.

We visited everyone; we threw holiday parties; we invited many friends and family to our home to celebrate, play games, bake cookies, and spend time together. We braved the mall, the bookstores, and restaurants, and we even went to the occasional First Night celebration, counted down to the New Year, and watched fireworks with a few thousand friends.

David was hit by a car while riding his bike in our neighborhood. His accident was in November, and we were so focused on making him comfortable and letting him heal that we didn't notice that his lingering symptoms from the accident might be forever.

Thanksgiving came and went. In hindsight, it was my first glimpse into what might have been a red flag. We still had five kids at home, so things were always busy. After the cleanup, we took our family picture after dinner, and everyone returned to their everyday lives except David. He went to bed. It took weeks for him to recover. Weariness was always front and center of our daily lives.

Thanksgiving was quickly followed by Christmas and New Year's, where we repeated the "lights are on, but no one is home" story. He was always exhausted. He was easily startled. (This one is difficult with lots of kids in the house.) His PTSD nightmares continued, and I put the brakes on large gatherings. We stopped attending concerts.

We stopped spending time at other people's houses. He doesn't remember any of that first year or the second one. We stopped doing lots of things. Today, he looks at the pictures from that time and says he can see that something was clearly wrong.

As the years passed and holidays were celebrated, we got better at navigating our traditions. When we invite people to our home, the invitation includes a start time and an end time. This adjustment has been vital to David's enjoyment of these gatherings. I've been able to figure out that his threshold for "peopleing" is four hours, and as his advocate, I'm able to enforce the end time with our guests.

We sit on the edge when we go to restaurants or movie theaters. It's the theater's back row for us or a quiet booth in the rear of the restaurant. We're never in the middle of the action anywhere. The only concerts we attend today are those with seats - something I thought only older people did. If the shoe fits, right?

We've created new traditions to replace the old ones, and they're not terrible. We've had celebrations before the holiday, at a restaurant, instead of having everyone at our house. My son hosts some of the holidays and does the majority of the cooking, so we only need to bring a couple of dishes and desserts.

Our world has gotten smaller, but in a big kind of way. The new traditions we've created are more than just adjustments; they're a commitment to each other and our family. Through this, we've found strength in facing happiness in the simple moments.

Our story is not just about adapting to life's twists; it's a source of hope for others on similar paths, showing that amidst change, there's always room for joy and growth.