Whatever happens now will be okay

What an extraordinary trip we enjoyed to New York this past week.  My husband Augustus and I had already planned to return to Lake George to celebrate the Fourth of July with his parents.  Although there was a bit of rain in the forecast, we enjoyed plenty of fishing, boating, and eating anyway.  I wanted to benefit from as much relaxation and down time as possible to prepare for the second half of this journey.  Which meant lots of naps, fresh healthy meals, and early bedtimes with 9 hours of sleep.

My father-in-law Papa Bruno packed us some gooseberries from his garden and gave us a ride to pick up the rental car that we planned to drive home.  Mother Margaret waved us off as we departed for our big adventure.  In the car, I played the Daily Word app on my iPhone.  As the author read the date, July 7th, my father-in-law said under his breath “Happy birthday Dad“.  I learned it would have been my grandfather-in-law’s birthday, as he was born on this day in 1904.

In all these years, it had never crossed my mind to return to the crash site where my life unexpectedly changed, and another abruptly ended.  This was not on my radar until I joined a writer's group for those living with brain injury, and the group's facilitator invited us to return to the place we were injured and write about the experience.  The car crash that killed my first husband Rich Betancourt happened on the New York State Thruway at mile marker 0.2 in Yonkers 15 years ago. I wondered if this visit was even possible? 

If I planned to return there, I also wanted to visit Helen Hayes Hospital, the rehabilitative center in West Haverstraw where I spent 6 weeks as an inpatient recovering from the car crash and rebuilding my broken brain.  I am still in touch with my former Physical Therapist who taught me how to walk again, Tammy Goedken.  She no longer works there so we met up for dinner the night before.  I had gotten together for a meal with she and her husband a few years ago, so it felt like catching up with old friends.  She acknowledged the future is unpredictable, but the Blue Ridge did jump up in her priority of potential summer trips next year.

Augustus drove expertly to the hospital which was only 45 minutes away from his parents’ home.  Because they live so close, several of his friends have recognized my voice and story in a radio ad that played in 2015 for the hospital.  Before you even enter the hospital there is a sign that says the "Power of Rehabilitation". Augustus was taking a picture of me flexing my muscles under it when the Public Relations Administrator Lisa Fielack came out to greet us.  

The Power of Rehabilitation

We stopped at the front desk to grab outpatient visitor badges, and I paused for another photo at a familiar sign on the wall that says, "Never give up, there is always hope."  Lisa walked us outside to MacArthur Park, which I vividly remembered was the spot where I sat in a wheelchair with my dog Moses on my lap, during his brief visits.  This lovely terrace has a commanding view of the Hudson River, which was the same view that I recalled seeing from my hospital room window.

MacArthur Park at Helen Hayes Hospital

Not many of the folks who worked there 15 years ago were still on the staff, except an Occupational Therapist Tara da Rosa.  None of us were quite sure which room number was mine, until Tara had a hunch it may have been 12.  Sure enough, as I walked into the private room, a familiar sensation washed over me.  This was it.  The room was cleaned and ready to receive its next patient, so I jotted down a note and hung it on the patient information board:

Congratulations friend!  This is the lucky bed.  I healed in this bed 15 years ago and came back to visit this amazing team of therapists and doctors.  Enjoy the view and reach out if you'd like to connect.  Warm regards, Angela (I included my cell phone and website info)

Room 12 has the “Lucky Bed”

As I left the room, I smiled at the staff manning the Unit 4A Nurses' Station that was just across the hall, and my heart swelled with adoration.  I thanked them for all the hard work they do, and I acknowledged it was likely a thankless and grueling job.  I recognized another familiar face, Amber Berardinelli, a Physical Therapist who was standing behind the desk and confirmed she vaguely remembered me too.

We sat in a quiet room to catch up on what had happened over the past 15 years.  Tara was very interested in my life and full of questions, which I answered as best I could.  Every now and then I'd stop to text her different resources, like the link to book a stay at our AirBnB (wink-wink), and a few fun selfies we took.  Lisa talked about the first time we met at my apartment in Manhattan for a patient testimonial video.  She reminded me that she was going through a difficult personal experience at that point, and I gave her some positive affirmation Post It notes to hang up in her home.  She texted me a picture of one later: "I am divinely guided to my best and highest good."

Occupational Therapist Tara da Rosa and Angela 15 years later

Augustus and I left the hospital after noon, grabbed delicious Italian sandwiches at the nearby Mountain View Deli, then made our way to the crash site.  It was less than an hour and during this drive, I turned on the radio to Graham Nash’s Right Now and swear I could hear Rich's voice:

I used to think that I would never love again
I used to think that I’d be all on my own
I really thought that it was coming to an end
And just the thought chilled me to the bone

I felt him sitting right there next to me and was comforted by his presence.  As a musician himself, I used to hear him talk to me through music all the time.  I doubt he ever stopped talking to me, but I feared that I may have missed some of his messages.

Those who knew him or ever got to attend one of his concerts might hear his light tenor voice in Graham Nash's new album Now.  Seriously, I'm calling on Rich's closest boys...  Damon?  Patrick?  Josh?  Have you heard this new album!?  I am stunned by how similar their voices sound!  Through this album, Rich began sending me new messages, like in the song Love of Mine: 

How can I help your heart that really wants to heal?  
Can I ever make it right?
To tell the truth, I know exactly how you feel
I don't wanna be losing you tonight
And so, I'll thank the universe for choosing you
And me

Then in Nash's lyrics In A Dream:

All at once I can feel your heartaches fading into the past
'Cause the way you shine so brightly
Blinding all to the beauty of souls entwined
Time after time in a dream
I can see a future, two hearts beating as one
All at once I remember who we were
And who we become

As we neared the crash site, I told Augustus that I would like to not be distracted by my phone and asked if he would mind holding onto it to take photos and videos during our time there.  I found that the concept of Wizard Time, which is always being right on time whenever you arrive, also extended to those who were able to be there at the perfect moment.  After reading my last blog post about this trip on LinkedIn a week earlier, Maggie Ornstein sent me this text a few days ago: "Angela! You are coming to the city on 7/7 to visit the site of your accident?!  Let me know if you'd like some additional support.  I'm around that day..."

I couldn't think of anyone better than Maggie to be there!  She was my first brain injury support group facilitator from NYC, who once travelled with me to Washington, D.C. for National Brain Injury Awareness Day.  She asked if there was anything she could do to help with the day?  I responded "I don't know yet if there's anything you can do... I am just letting go and letting God."  She suggested that I use the voice recorder on my iPhone to capture important conversations and we both realized later her support would come through photo-documenting this experience.  

Maggie Ornstein, World’s greatest brain injury support group facilitator

By using Google maps and the photograph on the cover of a book written about the crash, Augustus was able to locate the exact spot by matching the graffiti on the Thruway wall and a red brick building on the horizon.  He found a store nearby (ACME Market at 660 McLean Avenue in Yonkers), which was the address we gave the people who planned to meet us there.

I was really looking forward to seeing Rob Kallen, the Life Flight Paramedic who was part of the crew that saved my life on that miraculous flight to Westchester Medical Center.  When he arrived, we exchanged big hugs.  Rob explained the crash was on the line between two counties, so the Yonkers Emergency Services, Fire Department, EMS, as well as the FDNY were all called.

"There were more emergency medical vehicles at the scene than I have ever seen in my entire career.  You could see the flashing lights on top of all the vehicles from... I don't know how many miles North as we flew South.  The other vehicle driving south came across the median right over there.  I remember when we flew over it, and I was like 'that doesn't look good'."  

These words were captured in one of the voice recordings, as cars could be heard speeding by loudly in the background.

As we crossed Central Avenue which runs next to the Thruway to try and recapture the photograph from the cover of the book, Rob kept blocking me from passing traffic.  He encouraged me to stay off the curb and teased that I did not need another head injury.  I had wanted to find a way to pay tribute to Rich during this trip.  When we made our way back to the sidewalk, I poured four toasts of his favorite drink, a vodka cranberry.

Maggie, who was carefully watching my face, stepped closer and asked me quietly "How are you?" I shrugged and responded, "I'm not sure."  She shared the observation later that I was very in the moment, and just seemed to be absorbing it, not reacting to it.

Augustus videoed as we climbed up to the pedestrian walkway, which looked like a metal-fenced tunnel.  As I clutched the wall and looked down at the cars whooshing underneath me, I tried to listen.  Could I hear Rich’s voice?  It was hard to hear anything other than the traffic.  Augustus walked up and casually stood beside me.  In that moment, I felt a sense of relief.  Not only a feeling of safety and gratitude that he was with me, but a sense that Rich was grateful that I was being taken care of too.

This particular stretch of highway was a usual route for me before the car crash, but this time it felt so unfamiliar, foreign, and strange.  I was not sure what to expect.  Would it be a somber visit?  Would there be tears?  Would I hear Rich’s voice?  Instead, it felt more like a positive observance.  There were only smiles, and no tears.  I was grateful to feel supported by the three special people standing at my side.  I do not know yet if this visit has changed me.  It did allow me to express my profound gratitude to those who were an integral part of saving my life, both at Helen Hayes Hospital and the crash site.

After saying goodbye to Rob and Maggie, we departed for our eleven-hour drive home.  When I climbed into the passenger seat, I felt tired and hungry.  There was so much to process that I just wanted to distract myself, so I flicked through countless photos and videos on my phone, then Maggie started sending me hers too.  Those provided the bulk of images that I used to create a video afterwards.  I relistened to all of the voice recordings that were hard to hear because of the background traffic.  

This is when I reached out to my friend Davis Ault who is a pro at creating videos and asked what apps he used.  He suggested trying out the Magic Movie feature in iMovie.  As I considered the soundtrack, I knew it had to be one of Rich’s songs.  My favorites are the sappy love songs he wrote for me, but this experience called for something different.  I played his music on shuffle until I came across a forgotten song “Written On The Wall”.  This tune is one of his more energetic and upbeat songs:

You’re the one for me
Nothing’s ever going to be the same again
I believe all the things that we have wanted
And it seems we could have what’s written on the wall
This is plain to see that whatever happens now will be okay
From this moment on I promise what we need will be revealed

At this moment, I am finding it difficult to answer one of the questions that was in the original writer’s prompt: “What lesson would you share?”  One thing I kept hearing over and over is how rarely the medical and Life Flight professionals get to hear the outcomes of those they worked so hard to save.  If you have ever survived a trauma, I understand how difficult it can be to return to the place where some of your most painful memories lie.  For me, I found it incredibly rewarding to see the smiles on these professionals’ faces.  It was a way for me to create meaning from a senseless accident.  

I am still processing this experience and maybe more lessons will come…