Defining Moments

A-Rod, in his fifth season in the Bronx, was on deck to face The Angels. The crowd, at this point still enamored with their two-time MVP, erupted in a rousing ovation. But it wasn’t long before Rodriguez showed signs of fatigue. Yup, he was struggling. To make matters worse, Andy Pettitte was pitching wild and couldn’t seem to keep anyone off base. The Yankees had won the previous eight games in a row, and this was one of the last ever to be played in the iconic, old Yankee Stadium. The energy and tension was palpable among the fans.

Rich and I were on a newlywed high and no loss could dampen the joy we felt as we huddled together in the stands, sharing plans for a future nursery in our new home and reviewing a to-do list for our dog, Moses. What a summer this would be! At 30 years old, I was already a VP and rising star at a top New York City PR firm and I was excited about a trip I’d be taking for a client the very next day. Rich, an aspiring singer/songwriter, softly sang one of his new melodies in my ear. It was a night to remember.

Or so I imagine.

I have no real memory of that evening or of many of the days and nights that came before and after it.

I am told that Rich and I were at that game. The date was July 31, 2008. The final score was Los Angeles Angels 12 – New York Yankees 6. It was a devastating loss. As we were driving home, an 18-wheeler on the other side of the median jackknifed over a concrete wall and crashed into us. Six weeks later, I awoke in a strange hospital bed. My husband had been killed in the crash.

Our one-year wedding anniversary had passed by while I was in the coma. I am unable to recall the year before the crash which includes my wedding and all the planning that went into it, the purchase of our first home, many professional accomplishments and lots of small memories made with Rich.  

When I awoke from the coma, I had to relearn everything from the cradle on -- how to walk, talk, read and write.  I also had to get to know myself again.  I reached out to people who had been part of my life before the accident, including my high school prom date, my first intern, business partners, neighbors, colleagues and editors with whom I’d worked; unfamiliar but apparently dear friends who visited me in the hospital or sent me cards and flowers. I made it a point to reconnect weekly with a person from the past. I asked each one to tell me who I was. The person they described is whom I now refer to as Angela1.

The fact is, Angela1 died after that fateful Yankee game.  She was confident, arrogant, driven and focused.  She was also kind, smart, creative and friendly.  She loved to sing, to write, she loved the spotlight and she had big plans for her future.  At 30 years old, she was a VP and rising star at a top New York City PR firm.  She filled countless journals that would later become a road map to rediscovering myself.

On the same night that Angela1 died, Angela2 was born.  Angela1 and Angela2 are very different people.  Angela1 was a young executive, a new bride and a proud owner of her first home with her first true love.  She was an innocent who was unaware that life can change dramatically in an instant. She had memories, a clear history and believed she had a clear future.

Let me introduce Angela2, who began as a depressed, medicated, young widow, without a career, home or independence.  My full time job became healing.  I was an outpatient at NYU Langone for more than six years attending a variety of therapies including weekly cognitive remediation (individual and group), vestibular, physical, occupational, and drivers rehabilitation, vision therapy at SUNY Optometry, and weekly private psychotherapy sessions. 

I also attended weekly Sunday services and countless classes at Unity of New York.  Being on a disability schedule has provided me an opportunity to grow in ways that Angela1 would never have had the time to explore. I’ve strengthened my spiritual muscles and I’ve learned the powerful tool of meditation. As a result, I have successfully navigated my way through anxious moments and situations by quieting the thoughts, stilling the body and relaxing the mind.

I needed to find a brain injury community and searched for support groups in New York City, which led me to Maggie Ornstien's group.  This would become a safe space for me, and played a huge role in my discovery of the disability community in Manhattan and the Brain Injury Association of New York State.

Angela2 still gets lost frequently, sleeps a lot and moves slowly.  But she is a rockstar who has recovered and grown beyond anyone’s expectations, including her own.  Once I was able to embrace these two selves, I stopped trying to wear the shoes of Angela1.  They simply don’t fit anymore. Instead, I wholly love and inhabit Angela2.

I am a big believer in expressing gratitude wherever possible. I’m confident that my life before the accident was filled with as many blessings as it is today. It’s just that Angela2 is more focused and aware of them now. And I no longer have the dubious luxury of sweating the small stuff. After surviving the enormity of what happened, everything else pales in comparison.

I have learned that by concentrating on the blessings, more blessings come, and that expressing gratitude attracts more reasons to feel grateful. Angela2 is happy, present and determined to keep moving forward.