100 posts! I thought it warranted a special post. You never know when you start something like a blog if you’ll actually stick to it. Here I am a year and a half and 100 posts later, with hundreds still to go.
I figured as part of my first 100 posts I could mention the top 5 most read:
It’s interesting what this list shows. Life and death.
It was scary starting a blog. It’s basically a public diary. I’m excited for Ivy to read it one day. Thank you to everyone who has read and supported. The primary motivation in writing and sharing these posts has always been to share my faith story and hopefully help others in some tiny way. If my story or my thoughts have helped one person think about life or come closer to Jesus Christ, then a million hours (close to how much time I’ve put into this) is worth it.
I re-read my first post to prepare for writing this. In reading that, I was kind of surprised by how open and vulnerable I made that. It inspired me to share another more personal post.
As I read that very first post I was reminded why I decided to write this. I had my own very unique journey back to God and I hoped it could help someone, whether that be back to God or to God for the first time. During those years where I removed God completely from my life, I feared every day I was away from Him that I’d never be able to return. I know there are so many people out there that feel the same way. There are also people that have never known God, prayer, repentance, all these things some of us take for granted. These are abstract concepts to many, I know.
I want to share that I believe God is for everyone. As the world screams at us, “You have your screens, your technology, your books, universities, learning, society with its conveyer belt of packaged food, water always, peace, prosperity. Watch Netflix! Relax! All is well (2 Nephi 28:21). Set aside thoughts of life, death, and purpose. You have your purpose, live and let live.” The world is telling us that despite the chaos around us, everything is fine, and we don’t need God. I testify that all is well IF we have God.
I want to tell everyone, there is more than what the world screams at us is important. There is much, much more. I want to tell everyone who will listen, God is for you. If you’ve ever known Him, if you’ve never known Him, if you consider Him a complete foreign concept, if you consider Him a myth, He is for you and He is there for you. You can come to Him, and when you do, your life changes.
That’s what sticks with me most when I think about those years away from God. I removed Him, but He was never gone. We can’t remove our Father. This makes us accountable; it can be a frightening concept if we fear Him. We don’t need to fear Him. He is only there out of love. He will never leave us.
I bear my testimony of the most important things: God is our Father, and He does love us. Jesus Christ did something unimaginable. Would you die for your child? Would you suffer the punishment for the sins of your child? Probably. Would you die for the person torturing you? Christ did. He suffered for all of us, really suffered and felt. I have been blessed to have the Holy Ghost be a part of my life when I’ve made good choices, since it was conferred upon me when I was 9 years old. Joseph Smith did see Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. He translated the Book of Mormon from ancient records. The temples that are now dotting the earth are God’s temples. The temples are clean and holy. I can be with my family forever because of what Christ did for me in Gethsemane and on the cross.
I know this to be true. This knowledge brings purpose and understanding to my life. It doesn’t make trials go away but it makes them understandable.
I wish everyone would consider the great plan of salvation, The Plan of Happiness. But we are distracted.
I have been so blessed by God and I ask Him constantly what I’ve done to be afforded so much. The least I can do is share it with others, and I am glad to do so.
I leave this testimony for my daughter, and my family, and all those I care about to read- forever. I leave it in the name of my Redeemer, my Savior, my King, Jesus Christ.
It was a normal day for fifth grade Brayden. My fifth-grade teacher was one of those memorable educators. Mr. Adams was equal parts kind and disciplinarian, stern and patient. To this day, still one of my favorite teachers.
I remember little else from that day.
What I do remember was this:
In class that day, first thing in the morning a square tv was brought in on a stand. Kids today likely can’t picture what I’m describing. Yes, the tv was square, and it was wheeled in on a stand.
“Yay!” The class shouted. What a treat! A movie this early in the day? The surprise and joy were nearly overwhelming for a class of 10- and 11-year-olds
Yet something was different. All classrooms from K-12 know the excitement of a tv being wheeled in. Even the teacher showed pleasure on these special days. A well-earned break. A day off on a technicality.
Something was different. As Mr. Adams wheeled in the television and plugged it in, there was no joy. He was oddly somber. Remember, disciplinarian, stern, never somber.
What was happening?
Mr. Adams turned to us. He was grave, and he was serious.
He told us that this was a day we would never forget. Interesting that’s the most vivid memory from that day: Mr. Adams telling me I would never forget this day.
20 years later I remember those moments.
He turned on the television to some news station and our 5th grade class watched the worst ever attack on American soil.
Never forget. But have we?
As opinions run rampant, protests get violent, arguments over masks, arguments over vaccines, arguments over Texas, fighting, arguing, contention, hatred.
Beth and I watched a 6-episode documentary titled, 9/11 One Day in America. This documentary was extraordinarily well done. Viewers be warned. It is deep, dark, and heavy. Just as that day was deep, dark, and heavy. A tragic day in American history.
Some things struck me as I watched: teamwork, bravery, compassion, love. This documentary was filled with extraordinary examples of selfless service to others in danger. It occurred to me, a New Yorker that might have bumped someone out of the way for a taxi was hours later putting their life in danger for a stranger in a stairwell.
I hope we never forget that day. I wish it didn’t take a tragedy to unite a country. Unfortunately, the pride cycle is real. We couldn’t be more divided now. Maybe if we truly remember, feel, and consider the unity that existed during and immediately after 9/11, we can reclaim that love for our fellow man.
I often think about the people God put around me in my life. I’m obviously not the center of the universe, but sometimes, when I think about all those who have looked out for me throughout my life, it’s hard not to feel like that.
There’s an individual in my life who played a critical role at two of the most important junctures in my life. He was a dear friend, coach, mentor.
What’s so funny is, Coach Gonzalez never actually coached me. Jessie Gonzalez was the athletic director at my high school. Coach Gonzalez got close with most of the teams he looked over as athletic director. The basketball program was no exception.
My senior year at Cimarron we went to a tournament in Hawaii. Coach Gonzalez came on that trip to “watch” us, or chaperone, I guess. On that trip, Coach Gonzalez went from Coach Gonzalez to Gonzo, or just Coach.
Gonzo looked out for me throughout high school. Many don’t know this now, but I needed a lot of looking out for at that time.
I had bonded with Gonzo a bit on the Hawaii trip, but he wasn’t someone I would have considered a close friend or confidant. That is until I really, really needed someone to talk to. Then he was there, at the most difficult time of my life. Somehow, for reasons I won’t understand until I see the bigger picture, Gonzo was the phone call I made. He helped me through some very difficult things. I look forward to speaking to God, and Him showing me how critical that moment was. I look forward to seeing why Gonzo was there at that precise moment, and why God made sure I reached out to him.
We stayed in loose contact as I left high school.
Gonzo had a few of us he took under his wing and looked out for. I felt truly blessed to be “one of his boys.”
After high school, this fascinating thing happened where the roles Gonzo played in my life morphed. He went from 100% mentor to 50% mentor and 50% friend. Gonzo was only 11 years older than me. Not that many years, in the grand scheme.
In 2015 I went to a birthday party in Houston. It was a relative of Gonzo’s and made no sense for me to be there. It was really just an excuse to go to Houston and see Gonzo, who had moved to Michigan, and I hadn’t seen since high school. That trip is so memorable. I’m not going to elaborate any further. During that trip Gonzo stayed a 50% mentor but also became one of my closest friends, a lifelong friend.
The second, extremely critical cross roads in my life- I was trying to return to church. Who did I turn to? Who talked me through a year plus of difficulty, repentance, trials, temptations, questions, doubts, uncertainties? Countless hours were spent on the phone with him. He was going to see me through.
Gonzo isn’t a member of my church. He’s a member of a grander organization. He’s a brother and an angel that was here to look over me and guide me. I’m not sure I’d be an active member of my church today without his guidance. That was the power of Coach. He didn’t need to be a member of my church to help me with something so important. He only needed to listen, love me, help me.
Another moment I’ll never forget, I was only a couple months into trying to return into activity in the Church. Satan was hard at work in those first months. I could go on and on about what he put before me during those months.
One of those temptations was a staycation at my favorite place at the time, Talking Sticks Resort. I was still playing poker. During this weekend that TSR gave me a free suite to stay in, there was a huge summer pool party. My room overlooked the pool, of course.
Imagine me for a moment. Just a couple months into not drinking. Here I am at Talking Stick Resort, in a super nice room, overlooking a pool filled with beautiful people and all my temptations. I was literally in the great and spacious building. I had alcohol in the fridge. For those who don’t know this feeling, I can’t describe the pull. I don’t have words to describe the need to drink alcohol, go to the pool, let myself fully embrace this staycation.
I had worked so hard. I was going to church and making good choices. Surely, I could give myself this one weekend, right?
I was going to drink and join this party. There was really no doubt. As much as I told myself I wouldn’t, I was going to.
I can’t remember if I called him. There’s a chance he called me. I talked to Coach Gonzo. In true Jessie fashion, he didn’t tell me not to drink. He talked me through it. He told me it was a choice I had to make. He reminded me how hard I’d worked to return to church and stop drinking.
Then, almost nonchalantly, as if an afterthought, Coach said the most critical thing. He said, “You can drink and get wild and crazy, but man, after not drinking for as long as you’ve gone, tomorrow is going to suck. That hangover is going to be bad. Hangover aside, how are you going to feel about yourself in the morning?”
That was all I needed to hear.
For those wondering, I did join the pool party. I hung out, walked around. I didn’t embrace the party. I owe Jessie, Coach, Gonzo for that. I may owe him my now 5 years of sobriety.
Jessie Gonzalez left this stage of his coaching journey 6/8/21. He had some new people to coach and mentor, and he couldn’t do that here. I will miss him dearly. I already wonder who I will turn to when I need to be guided through the next trial. Part of me thinks he could move on because he already got me to the point where I can take care of myself. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t need him anymore. The greater and more comforting truth is that you always need a mentor and friend like Gonzo, and he’s still there for me, more than ever now.
He was light. And he was joy. Nobody brought together a room like him.
He protected me from harm while here, both physically and spiritually.
I thought of something interesting last night. It hit me that Gonzo likely, just recently, had his life review. It brought me so much joy to think of him getting to see all the good he had done. I considered him getting to see every moment he impacted me and how big a role he played in my life. I thought about the net of goodness and light he spread while he was here.
It brought a smile to my face to know that he got to see his Savior. He was embraced, and loved, and free from the difficulties of this world.
He can coach in purity now, for, a purer heart there never was.
I miss him a lot now. Though I can’t hear his voice or see his face, he’ll continue to be with me, coaching from above. I look forward to the reunion.
I love you Jessie, Coach, Gonzo, and I thank you for all you did for me.
Tomorrow is the three-year anniversary of my Aunt Laura passing away. Laura was an inspiration to everyone she met. She had a profound impact on my life.
I want to share a little about her and why she was so special.
Laura was diagnosed with cancer when I was younger. As long as I can remember, Laura had cancer. When I first found out, it was scary, but I was young and didn’t understand. When Laura was still there year after year I really didn’t understand. What was so scary? She clearly wasn’t going anywhere, she was as healthy as ever. I’m pretty sure within a year of her first being diagnosed my next memory of Laura was her, my mom, and another aunt going on a sling shot carnival ride. I remember thinking, “clearly she’s ok.”
It wasn’t until I was older that I learned and better understood what Laura went through for many years. She was diagnosed with cancer at a young age, I believe she was 28. She wasn’t expected to live too long. It’s amazing to think that I’m 30 now. Two years older than she was when she was told she wouldn’t have much longer to live. I feel invincible every day. Death is not something that crosses my mind (see Facing Death for the exception to the rule). The thought of truly coming to terms with my mortality tomorrow is daunting.
Cancer made Laura live life with a fervor that was powerful to witness. She lived every moment to its fullest. She went to school to get (more) degrees, she travelled, she wrote, she served. She spent every moment in the most worthwhile way.
When I would visit her, I would want to relax, watch movies, read. She was a big fan of reading, but relaxing, watching movies? Not going to happen. I’ll share a story I told at her funeral.
It was 2011 and I was visiting Utah. I was staying with Laura and my Uncle Jon for a few days. See You Sent a Dog to Comfort a Boy and Jonah and the Whale posts for more details on this all-important trip in my life. Laura used a pass she had for me to do a free skiing class. I had never been on snow with a board or skis in any capacity. After the class we were able to go up the mountain. Remember, this is my first time ever on skis. We’re going up and I’m seeing signs about diamonds and circles and squares. I don’t know what it all means. Laura explains Black Diamonds are the hardest. We’re heading towards a Black Diamond. I don’t even know how to get off a ski lift.
Garrick and Laura skiing
I voiced some concern about this, and she told me to quit worrying, I’d be fine. So, my first time ever on a mountain and I’m doing Black Diamonds. How could I possibly argue? Here’s my aunt in her 40’s daring me to say something so she could call me all sorts of wimpy and scared.
We started down the mountain and I was having a rough go. I was up and down constantly. I was spending more time on my back than on my skis. I hadn’t mastered stopping yet so whenever I gained speed I would fall to keep from losing control. Laura, meanwhile, was the epitome of consistency. Left to right… left to right… slow and steady. She’d get way ahead of me then stop and watch me clumsily fall down the mountain.
When we finished, I was exhilarated. It was the most fun I’d ever had. I loved the mountain. We were driving home and I called my mom. I excitedly told her about the day. When I mentioned Laura and I went down the mountain together she yelled over the speaker, “Moofy you what?!?!” Moofy was Laura’s nickname. I learned that Laura had recently had pelvic surgery on her pelvic bone that had shattered. I don’t think she was supposed to leave the house. Her consistent nature down the mountain was partly to protect her frail bones from any potential impact from falling. In fact, if she fell, she likely would have broken multiple bones.
I learned something that day that I’ll never forget. Laura was consistent, smooth, never wavering. She was steadfast until the end. She was always an example of strength and perseverance. They were qualities I admired in her. The other thing I learned was that Aunt Laura was never going to let anything slow her down. She didn’t care if she was supposed to stay in bed, she wanted to ski with her nephew. No wonder she had no sympathy for my worry about Black Diamonds. I was young, healthy, the worst that was going to happen to me was a sore backside by the end. She had the real possibility of a shattered bone with any fall. What did I have to worry about?
That is one of my fondest memories. Laura taught me so much and I’m forever grateful for the example she was to me. It brings me so much comfort to know she’s now moved on from my angel here on earth to my guardian angel in heaven. I know she’s very busy up there because someone with her will, faith, and drive is being put to work by Heavenly Father. But, in times when I’m in the most need, I will pray for Heavenly Father to spare her for a brief moment to be with and comfort me. When I make this request, it warms my heart to know she’s quickly coming to my side. I am excited to one day see her again and thank her for all she did for me here.
Love you, Aunt Laura.
Rest in peace doesn’t work for you so instead I’ll say, keep busy, and I’ll see you soon.
“We need to wait for a helicopter. It’s 2 hours by road to the nearest hospital. You might have internal bleeding in your brain. You might die before we could get you there.”
I was in the back of an ambulance for the first time. It’s an interesting thing to wonder if you’re being melodramatic about dying and then being told by an EMT that you might die. It becomes a real possibility, if it wasn’t already.
My family rented ATVs over the weekend. We rented a cabin and stayed in Duck Creek, near Cedar City, Utah. We had the ATVs for four hours. My family went out first while Beth and I stayed at the cabin with Ivy. Then Beth and I swapped in for my mom and sister.
There were nine of us total and three ATVs. Two of the ATVs held four people and one of them held two. When Beth and I swapped in I drove with Beth in the front seat, my dad and brother in the back seat. We drove to Mammoth caves and explored. After 30 or so minutes looking at the caves, we went back to the ATVs to off road for our last 90 minutes before the ATVs had to be returned.
Moments before the accident
Beth hadn’t driven so we made her drive. My brother Garrick and his girlfriend Arielle rode in the back. We reminded Beth that if you’re not flipping the ATV you’re not trying. My uncle Jon led in the two-seater and my brother Dresdan drove the other four-seater behind them. We took up the rear so Beth could go at her own pace and not feel the pressure of Dresdan bearing down on her.
I had one glove off because I was eating airheads from my pocket. Beth was driving as cautiously as expected and the other two vehicles got ahead of us. I had a thought cross my mind: ‘I bet it would be safer to have no seatbelt on. It would probably be safer to be thrown out of this thing than stuck and crushed inside of it.’ I did have my seatbelt on. That thought I had was undoubtedly wrong.
I’ll describe what I remember next. Then I’ll tell the whole story from the perspective of those who stayed conscious throughout.
We were coming up on a turn. We were not going that fast. I had driven with much more reckless abandon when I was behind the wheel. We came up on this turn and Beth began to break and then we started to tip.
The next thing I remember was feeling pinned down and stuck. I couldn’t see anything. But I was stuck. My arm couldn’t move. I believe I started yelling.
The next thing I remember was the feeling of flipping over.
I still couldn’t see anything.
The next thing I remember was hearing crying and screaming from Beth. I told her I was going to be ok. It was going to be ok. I still couldn’t see anything.
The next thing I remember was moving. Jon was in the driver’s seat next to me. Someone was behind me holding something down firmly on my head.
It is fascinating how the brain works in moments of trauma. How was I thinking so clearly?
I asked if an ambulance was called and was told yes. It occurred to me, we drove way out into these trails. We were at least 30 minutes from anything. I asked who was behind me. Dresdan. It crossed my mind: the firmer whatever is on my head is being pressed down, the more likely I am to survive. I asked Dresdan to push down harder. He did, and it hurt. I asked him to push down less hard. I put my hand up and held it myself and asked Dresdan to support on top of my hand. I felt him start checking my neck and spine with his other hand. I put my right, gloved hand out the window and started flexing my fingers. I was tapping my legs repeatedly. I was acutely aware of the importance of staying awake.
I was staring through the windshield and thought I saw a crack. I stared harder and realized there was no crack, my vision was getting blurry. I was so tired. I told Jon and Dresdan that my vision was getting blurry and I was very tired. I told Dresdan to talk to me. He said something to me, and I can’t remember what it was. It wasn’t a conversation starter. I put my hand on Jon’s leg and squeezed. He put his hand on mine and held it. I asked Dresdan about the book I’d given him to read. He told me it was good and that I’d really like the one he gave me for Christmas. I talked about the book he had just read briefly, then got quiet. I was awake enough.
I asked Dresdan to give me a blessing. It was too loud. He would have to yell it. The talking I’d already done had made my head throb. I asked him to quietly give me a priesthood blessing.
I’ve always wondered how I would react at the prospect of death. It’s easy to say you don’t fear dying but what about when you actually might die?
I’ve always hoped there would be no fear, just faith.
On a destroyed ATV, soaked in my own blood, I learned the answer. I wasn’t afraid to die. While I wasn’t afraid to die something kept coming to my mind on repeat. My daughter is 6 weeks old. I want to see her again. Beth was driving, she can’t live with this guilt. I love my daughter more than anything in the world, I need to see her again. I love Beth so much and can’t have her live with this pain. I want to see my daughter again. I love my wife.
Beth’s cries in that moment of blackness were in my mind. I could hear her grief. Could she live with this? I might die. Probably not. I was conscious. I was awake. Dresdan was keeping pressure on the wound. I would be fine.
But what if I wasn’t?
In that moment I confirmed what I’d always known. The two most important things in this world are God and family. In that moment I prayed relentlessly. I believe the blessing and my prayers kept me awake. What else mattered in that moment but God and my family?
Nothing.
I wanted to see my mom again, I wanted to see my dad again, I wanted to see my brothers and sisters. More than anything I wanted to see Ivy again. It hit me, maybe I wouldn’t. I realized, just in case, I should say something that needed to be said. I told Jon he had to tell Beth that I was ok, and it wasn’t her fault. It was an accident.
We came to a crossroads in the trail. I remembered where we had come from and told Jon. Adie and Jared drove up in the two-seater and told Jon to follow them to the main road.
We got out to a main street and started driving. We came to an intersection and there was the ambulance. We pulled into a dirt lot. I was surrounded by people I didn’t know. I was asked a lot of questions. They cut my clothes off of me and told me not to move my neck if I could help it. I was able to get my seatbelt off. They asked if I could get to the stretcher. I said I could with some help. I took the couple steps to the stretcher and they buckled me in. As I was taken to the ambulance, I saw Beth. Her eye was extremely swollen. She said she was ok. I was put into the ambulance.
This is where our story started. The EMT told me I might die.
Oh.
Ok.
It was real then.
Still no fear. Maybe that’s natural. Maybe the panic and shock takes precedence. I don’t know, I’ve only almost died this one time. The main EMT was a young blond guy. I asked him, “Are you a member of the church, you know, we’re in Utah right?”
He told me he wasn’t, he was raised in the church but had distanced himself from it. We had a conversation about the comfort I felt having that hope. He told me that hope was a powerful thing. He told me that hope told me that even if I died today, I would see my daughter again. He told me the other EMT in the ambulance was a member of the church.
I was told we had to wait for a helicopter. The drive was too long. I might die on the way. We had to wait. I was tapping my toes repeatedly. I was doing it to stay awake. I asked the EMT, Aidan, if it was ok. He said it was a panic response, my anxiety was high. He said it was natural, but if I could take some deep breaths and calm my body, that would help.
I haven’t been meditating all this time for nothing.
I took a few deep breaths and felt my body relax. He said my vitals (I don’t know, blood pressure?) improved and I was looking good.
They asked if I wanted my clothes that they’d cut off thrown out. I told them my garment top was there and it needed to be disposed of properly. Every person I saw from then on got the message that my garment top was present, and it was important it went with me.
The helicopter arrived and I was airlifted to the hospital. I asked the man sitting with me in the helicopter if he was a member of the church. He said he was just Christian. I told him we were part of the same family. He said he loves to discuss the differences. Oh, if I could have gotten his phone number.
In the ambulance they gave me pain medicine. What a difference that made. I was also told it was ok to sleep. I don’t know if I slept, I’m sure I at least dozed off.
At one point the man nudged me and told me we were going over Zion. I turned my head best I could and looked out. My first helicopter ride could have been better. Wasn’t the worst, though.
I arrived at the hospital and was wheeled in.
I can’t emphasize enough how kind every person was to me.
From Aidan, the first person I saw at the ambulance, to the helicopter, to the hospital. Every person treated me with love.
The next bit is a blur, so much happened.
I was given more pain medicine, my skull was numbed, they tried as best they could to clean out the wound in my head and arm, I did x-rays and a CT scan.
At one point a nurse told me something I did not want to hear. She tried to see if I wanted to hear it and I misunderstood and got much more information than I wanted. She could see my skull. Cool.
Eventually they determined I didn’t need surgery. Everything was good. They could staple me up.
The doctor counted 51 staples in my head, I counted 52. He said it wasn’t often they had to use a whole stapler. I was released the same day.
Sounds like it wasn’t that bad, right? You should see me now. My head has been leaking for three straight days and my shoulder is pretty morbid. I’ll put some pictures at the bottom for the sickos in the audience.
It all ended up being fine. I lived. I’m fine.
I should have died. If a couple things didn’t happen I wouldn’t have survived.
The parts that you (and I) missed. Apparently when the ATV flipped, my brother who was sitting back and to the left of me saw my body. He thought I was literally drowning in a pool of my blood.
The other two ATVs had stopped. They said something about knowing that was a slippery turn and wanting to wait. If the other two ATVs had gone on, I’m almost sure I would have died. Them stopping was the difference between me bleeding out in a tipped over ATV and living.
I firmly believe that I am protected by angels. Not just that day, but every day. I tell Beth often that God won’t take me a minute sooner than is my time. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that angels resided with me that day. I know the others were prompted by the spirit to stay. They were feet away when we flipped.
It is difficult to get a group of 8 people to do anything in a quick and organized fashion. Set aside the panic and fear that might have set in. I’ve never been more proud of my family than when I heard the steps they took to save my life.
My brother-in-law Jared heard me yelling and thought I was crushed. Every male in the group, my dad, Jon, Garrick, Dresdan, Jared and Easton immediately grabbed the ATV and flipped it over. Jon got in to drive. Dresdan got in behind me to keep pressure on my head. I learned later that Easton was in my ATV also.
Adie and Jared jumped in the two person ATV and drove off to get cell reception to call an ambulance.
The others got in the other ATV. Initially they were going to drive ahead also. Someone realized, since the other ATV had flipped, it might have an issue driving. They drove behind us the whole way in case the ATV I was still seat-belted into broke down.
Can you believe that? In minutes, every person in my family did exactly what was necessary. Without a moment’s hesitation they saved me.
The doctors at the hospital told me they couldn’t believe I still had my right arm. They told me they’d seen a ton of these accidents and almost every time the person’s arm is destroyed or gone. They said if I’d reached out my arm would be gone. I think the airhead I was eating might have played a part in saving my arm.
God and family.
It’s weird to look back on nearly dying.
I’m amazed at the peace I could feel in what should have been a terrifying moment. I knew if I was meant to die, I would. The only thing that mattered to me was that my wife knew I loved her and it absolutely, positively, was not her fault.
Leaving Ivy would have hurt. It would have hurt. It would have hurt. It would have hurt. But I know that she would have been so loved.
I know what’s important in this life. I’m grateful for trials and scary moments to reaffirm what I know.
God and family.
To all those that have prayed for me, thank you.
To the Hollerbach’s, thank you for sending us food the night we drove back from Utah.
Beth has been off the charts amazing since the accident. She is currently caring for a newborn and someone with a traumatic head injury. She drove us back from Utah, 7 hours, the very next day. I just wanted to get home.
Ivy slept the entire way. We had to wake her for the two stops to feed her. She would get back in her car seat and zonk out. God has blessed me with so much.
I feel it necessary, because Ivy will read this one day, to say something to her.
To my sweet girl when you were born my world stopped revolving around the sun. When I thought I might die, you were my first thought. I hope you never doubt how much I love you. You and your mom are the most important things in the world to me. Never doubt it. Because I did come close the other day. I know what’s important. I love you, Ivy. I love my family and I can’t say enough how grateful I am for them.
God and family.
The pictures below are kind of gross. View them at your own risk. I’ll keep the pictures I wish I never saw private.
No Coincidences 