Two Anniversaries, One Journey

Today carries the weight of memory and the lightness of gratitude, wrapped together in a way that only life can orchestrate. As I sit here reflecting, I'm struck by how two seemingly unrelated dates have become intertwined in my story of loss, healing, and growth.

Today would have been Mom’s 86th birthday. The ache in my chest is as familiar as breathing now. That deep longing for just one more conversation, one more laugh, one more night sitting at the kitchen table, one more chance to tell her how much she meant to me. COPD took her from us slowly, and I watched helplessly as the disease consumed the woman who had always been so strong. Even now, the what-ifs haunt me in quiet moments. Should I have recognized the signs sooner? Could I have pushed harder for more aggressive treatment? The medical professional in me knows better, but the daughter in me will always wonder if somehow, someway, I could have saved her.

What makes today even more significant is that it also marks exactly one year since my own life changed in an instant. One year ago today, I was tackling a Tough Mudder with determination and excitement. I never imagined I'd end that day with a spiral fracture of my right tibia and fibula, or that the year ahead would teach me lessons I never expected to learn.

Living with chronic pain has been an education in empathy I never expected. When my foot turns inward unexpectedly, when I catch myself mid-stumble during a run, when the frustration builds because my leg won't cooperate the way it used to; these moments have opened my heart to everyone who faces similar battles every single day. 

The truth is that I am truly grateful for all that I have learned. Today I worked out, I ran, and I fueled my body with nourishing plants. Every day reminds me that gratitude isn't about perfection; it's about showing up with whatever capacity you have.

My Mom’s battle with COPD showed me what grace looks like in the face of suffering. My injury has shown me what strength looks like when it's built from brokenness. These experiences, the loss, the pain, the slow climb back to wholeness, haven't just made me stronger. They've made me more human, present, and committed to the WHY that drives everything I do.

I'm still healing in so many ways. My gait isn't perfect, and some days the grief for my Mom (and my Dad) feels fresh as a new wound. But I've learned that healing isn't about returning to who we were before, it's about becoming who we're meant to be because of what we've endured.

To everyone reading this who knows the weight of loss or the challenge of recovery: you're not walking this path alone. Our stories of struggle and triumph are meant to be shared, to remind each other that on the other side of our deepest challenges often lies our greatest purpose.

Mom, thank you for showing me that love transcends physical presence and that strength can be quiet and fierce at the same time. Happy birthday. I carry your lessons with me every day, especially in the work I do helping others find their own path to wellness.