Some look at those who can’t walk and say, “At least you can breathe on your own.” Some look at those who can’t feel and say, “At least you can walk.” Some look at those who can’t use their left hand and say, “Thank goodness you’re right handed.” Many, who seem to have everything, complain about what they cannot do.

We all know this: the human body is limited. It cannot fly and it cannot breath without air. It cannot withstand the force of a violent collision or a piercing blow. And, ultimately, it wears out. We cannot change that. Continue reading “What can I do today?” →

Every night, without exception, after September 17, 2013, I would awaken at some point in the night by a dream replaying the scene of what I imagined as the few seconds leading up to the instant Theo’s helmet impacted that aspen tree. But the movie always stopped just before that moment and played again, and again. On the third anniversary of Theo’s accident, Jorja and I hiked up Doctor Park trail to visit the tree he struck. I wanted to go because none of the people I interviewed for the book who were there with him were able to remember any details about that scene. Continue reading “Our Labyrinth” →