One Year. We Persevere.

One year ago today Bob's cell phone ring pierced the early morning quiet. In the next few minutes we learned that life would be forever changed; for Dennis, Cearra, us.

***

I remember the first time they met as adults (having occasionally been at the same parties in Dennis' - and Bob's - hometown of Cumberland as kids). It was Nascar weekend in September 2011. I knew right away that Dennis, in his gentle, quiet way, was attracted to Cearra, and I thought, "oh, I wish you had a chance". Throughout the weekend they gradually started talking more, and I knew that Cearra was drawn to this handsome young man who helped in the kitchen, braved a cold rain to accompany the other guys during a round of golf although he didn't have clubs to play, and shyly blushed as the older woman - after a few glasses of wine - oohed and aahed over his biceps. As we all went our separate ways Monday morning, I saw a sparkle in Cearra's eyes that had once been dimmed, and I thought, "well, maybe".

A little over a month later, they met again at the company's 10th anniversary party. Dennis had gone shopping the day before, and arrived looking handsome in a new shirt and tie. They sat next to each other through dinner; easy, companionable. And when Bob and I accompanied a few folks to a local bar for after party drinks, Dennis and Cearra stayed behind to talk some more. When we swung back by the hotel to pick her up, I saw in them both the possibilities.

The next day Cearra approached me, chatting about how nice Dennis was, what a gentleman he was, how easily they had talked. How much he made her smile. He knew she was in a long term relationship, and he respected that, but added that he just wished he had the chance to date her. She wasn't ready yet, and headed back to school and the course she had long thought her life would take. I waited. Because I knew.

They continued to text as friends, getting to know each other. And eventually Cearra was brave enough to take the big and scary step of ending something that wasn't making her happy. When she did, her friend Dennis was there waiting.

From that point on they were best friends. They just fit, as I suspected they would during that weekend at the race. Dennis supported Cearra and made her feel safe, secure and respected. He knew how to calm her down and make her laugh at herself when needed. He didn't get angry with her or pick fights - he was her constant. Cearra took care of Dennis in a way I think he'd been searching for a long time. She was (still is) fiercely loyal and supportive of him. 

Cearra finished her last semester at school, and Dennis came to her graduation. He beamed with pride as her name was called and she walked to her diploma and then, to him. She moved back home, and he followed, and fit smoothly into our family. He was always game to help me in the kitchen, even though I usually gave him the job of chopping onions. Many weekends he helped Bob with jobs outside; power washing the siding or moving our annual delivery of the mulch mountain.

I've always suspected I overwhelmed him at first; intent on making him tell me about himself or join in a conversation. And while he was never rude, I quickly learned that Dennis preferred to take in what was said rather than babble on himself. 

That very quality is why Owen instantly took a shine to him. Dennis treated Owen with respect and interest. He'd listen to Owen tell him about Monster trucks and often came home after work and played Wii with him, or threw a baseball in the side yard. Owen liked his shiny, loud, black Mustang quite a bit too.

I watched some of Bob's stress melt away as Dennis took on more and more responsibility at work. Dennis was smart and conscientious; he wanted to learn about the business and was eager to listen as Bob talked of everything from interacting with the customer to contributing to a 401k. People often remarked on how much Bob and Dennis looked alike, but I think it was more that they just were alike.

Dennis was generous and kind (just like Bob). He gave me some of his frequent flyer miles so that I could go help out a friend in Atlanta; and he wordlessly put a check on my dresser to help her out monetarily. He was always good-natured and easy to be around; he even happily donned a Ravens jersey and accompanied us to New Orleans to cheer on our team, despite being a proud Dallas Cowboy fan. 

But more importantly to me, he made Cearra happier than I'd ever seen her. Soon, I began referring to him as my future son-in-law. We all believed that.

***

People ask me all the time how Cearra is doing now; and while I appreciate their ongoing concern, it is hard to answer that question. I tell them that she wakes up every morning and goes to work, then returns to the apartment she has slowly made into a home. That she has a new kitten that has brought a beautiful smile back to her face. That she joins us on the weekends and that her and I enjoy some time each Saturday to shop, or get manicures. I tell people that she is strong and brave, although her heart is still shattered. And that she loves Dennis, and she misses him every day.

They ask about Dennis, and sadly I can't tell them much of anything. We know he's progressed much father than his original neurologist predicted; that's he's in a nursing home; that he can walk with assistance and has recently passed a swallow test and may be able to start eating soft foods. But his guardian denied Cearra the privilege of visiting Dennis the day after Thanksgiving, and she hasn't been able to sit by his side since. This woman has also blocked us from being able to see her occasional updates on the facebook page set up to share information and prayers; both actions which have caused even greater pain and which I will never understand. No matter what, Dennis is always in all of our minds, hearts and prayers.

I notice new wrinkles around Bob's eyes as he makes his way through our new reality. I won't forget the night Bob called me from Chicago, and through tears choked out "I can't fix this for her." Any parent knows that your child's suffering is so much more piercing then your own. All you want is to kiss and hug and bandage as you could when they were small and wounds were only skin deep. On top of that pain, Bob was dealing with the loss of an outstanding employee, the threat of financial repercussions, and the emotions of each member of the AES family, including Dennis' best friend, who saw him fall. Is is a testament to Bob's strength and goodness that he pulled us all through those first few weeks.

At first I tried to hide my tears from Owen, but of course he saw my sadness, he wondered at the sudden disappearance of his dad, sister, and one of his favorite people. He struggled for months, developing stomachaches and headaches and anxiety, and often climbing into my lap to cry. In our efforts to help him we took him to a therapist and to visit Dennis once he finally returned to Baltimore; a visit that while stressful and scary for Owen was ultimately also a good thing. He's doing OK now, but I know he still misses his buddy Big D.

As for me, not a day goes by that I don't mourn this huge loss. But I've learned you can't live under the daily weight of grief; you have to look for the joy still around. It doesn't mean you forget, just that you chose to focus on happiness. As I reflect back on this year, I realize I've learned a few other lessons too.

I'm a first born, a Kaufmann, a slightly watered down version of my Dad. I'm accustomed to leading. In the months after the accident I spent a lot of time worrying and planning in my head what should happen next, how people should feel or act, what we should all do. Thankfully I have enough awareness of other people's feelings that the majority of my dictates (all driven by fear and pain and confusion) went unspoken.

Rather I had to learn to let others do what they thought best; what felt right to them. I had to lay down my inclination to look into a future I couldn't see anyway, and just let it be. Sounds so easy - live in the moment; let go, let God - but for me that was a challenge. Actually doing so has been freeing. I trust Bob will do what is best for the business and our livelihood will be OK. I trust Cearra to do what is right for her; to make the decisions that will eventually help her towards the happy life she chooses for herself - whatever that may look like. I've learned I don't need to plan or schedule or arrange for them. I just need to love them and be there when they want my help.

As much as it sounds rotten to admit now, at first I was very angry and often gripped by rage at Dennis. How could he do this to Cearra? He'd made her a promise, yet he chose to make a series of decisions that led to heartbreak for so many. How could he be so careless when his whole life was opening up in front of him? When he fell from that escalator, he changed all of our lives forever. And none of it had to happen.

I've learned that it's best to forgive. Not only does my faith expect it of me, "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us", but harboring negative feelings takes a toll on one's soul. I think most people, myself included, have made stupid, thoughtless choices and mistakes over the course of their lives. Not because they mean to, or because they want to hurt themselves or others, but just because it is the nature of human beings, and none of us are perfect. The tragedy is that Dennis got "caught" in his mistake.

I know that Dennis would never intentionally hurt Cearra, or his family and friends; and of course he'd never choose to be where he is now. Anger is part of the process of grief, and I had to let myself feel it; but once I was able to let go I could breath more deeply again, and focus my heart and energy where it was needed.

I am, by nature, logical and realistic. I value information, especially in situations that are scary and seemly uncontrollable. So as I did when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, after Dennis' accident I read books, traumatic brain injury web sites, scientific articles, and talked to doctor friends. I learned coma scales, recovery rates, and which parts of the brain control which functions. And in this way I quickly realized that the medical prognosis was grim. From there, my reaction was to frame any and all information relayed from Dennis' bedside within the parameters of science, and to try to plan for the future based on what I thought I knew.

Those close to me were operating differently; and their response helped them navigate the fog and pain. They were relentlessly upbeat, "knowing" Dennis would soon wake; believing he'd soon come home. They related stories of a second cousin's best friend who fully recovered after a car accident and saw signs in Scripture. This approach was right for them, and I often berated myself for not being able to share their sunny hope, but in the early days it also made me feel shut out and a little crazy. I thought I was being realistic; they thought I was being pessimistic. Sometimes I felt as if they were being willfully ignorant of the truth. But I also chided myself for not having their view.

Gradually, I realized I could share some of the optimism they professed; after all, no one truly knows when a miracle may occur. I came to admire their faith while gleaming some for myself. Yes, the statistics and current situation point to one outcome, but I've learned that sometimes it's better just to focus on the outcome you'd like to happen. You can understand "what is" in your head, but continue to hope for "what may be" with all your heart. 

***

So today, a year later, we keep going as best we can. Like Dennis, we are on a long, hard road to healing. I read recently that "hope is the backbone of perseverance", and I like that. As a family, for Cearra, we will keep our heads up, our hearts strong. This story is still being written.