I didn’t get to say goodbye…

until now.

Some people find their purpose in the highlight reel. I found mine in the wreckage.

Before the wheelchair, the hospital bed and yes… the adult diapers… I was a bad ass business coach, public speaker and podcaster. I was crushing goals, building momentum and saying yes to rooms I once dreamed about.

Then life pissed in my Cheerios.

Not once. Twice. And somewhere between a semi truck staring me down on a Wyoming interstate and a terminal ALS diagnosis at 42… I found my purpose.

It was the most normal day. I closed my office door, buckled my seatbelt and said “see you tomorrow” to an empty room. Two miles from home, on a patch of black ice, a semi truck came at me head-on.

“No, no, nooooo,” I screamed as the headlights stared me square in the face.

I plowed my foot into the gas pedal. My hands clenched the steering wheel. My life flashed before my eyes… my husband, my children, my parents… sisters, nieces, nephews.

Then I surrendered.

I took my foot off the gas and braced for impact knowing this was it. This was how it ended.

In a split second the semi truck driver flipped his own truck into the median. A gust of wind carried my car to safety. I landed in his tire tracks… uninjured and still breathing.

I trekked through four feet of snow and looked up at the night sky wondering why I was still here… and what on earth I was supposed to do with that.

I spent the next year in trauma therapy… talk therapy, EMDR, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. I built margin I never had. I felt steady. Focused. Ready.

I made a vision board covered in sunshine and glitter. Proof that healing was working.

Twelve days into the new year it went up in flames.

The headlights were staring me in the face again.

And somewhere in that moment I heard the quietest, most unexpected question…

Do you still believe what you said you believed?

I wasn’t scared to die. I’d already proven that. But this time… I got to say goodbye. That changed everything.

Why I’m here

I traded business coaching, stages and the podcast microphone for a wheelchair, adult diapers, breathing machine and a hospital bed.

But somehow… I still found that pocketful of sunshine.

This corner of the internet exists for everyone facing the end, which is all of us. You don’t have to share my faith to find hope here. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to have the 3-6 month plan or a terminal diagnosis to know that you may be just one breath away from taking your last.

You just have to be willing to see the glimmer of hope even through life’s darkest storms.

We’re all dying. Let’s pour mimosas and make today count!

Beyond These Pages

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