“I’ve spent years worrying about whether I could give my family enough. I hadn’t thought much about how suddenly I could lose the chance to try.”
There’s something I haven’t told you about last Wednesday’s accident. When the other car struck the driver’s door and front panel beside where I was sitting, the impact spun my car approximately 180 degrees.
There was open space to my right for the car to make that 180. I keep thinking about what might have happened if another vehicle or a curb had blocked it. I can’t know for certain, but I believe that room to spin may have saved my life.
I was heading to pick up an Uber passenger, doing something I had done countless times before. I had bills to pay and work waiting at home. Then an oncoming driver turned left into my car, and within seconds, everything changed.
My first thought was, “What am I going to do now? I’m letting my family down.”
I had tears in my eyes. It was one of the first things I said in the ambulance, still stunned and trying to understand what had happened. The car was how I was keeping us afloat, and suddenly it was gone. Before I even knew how badly I was hurt, I was worrying about how I would take care of my family.
Nearly a week later, I’m still finding out what I’m dealing with physically.
I saw a doctor today. She examined my spine and said my symptoms sound consistent with a concussion. She also raised concern about a possible injury to one of the small bones in my hand. Another hand X-ray and a scan of my back are being arranged.
The headache hasn’t gone away. Neither has the pain between my shoulder blades. My hand makes typing difficult, and my thinking feels cloudy. My wife has noticed that I’m stuttering more and sometimes struggling to get words out. Sitting or standing for very long hurts, so working means frequent breaks. I don’t yet know how long recovery will take.
I’d like to tell you that I’ve handled all of this with unwavering optimism. I haven’t.
There are moments when I feel more determined than ever, almost unbreakable, which is probably a strange word to use while waiting for another X-ray. There are other moments when I wonder how many more obstacles I can manage. I give my family the same encouragement many of you probably give yours: keep trying, keep going, things can improve. Some days, I struggle to believe my own speech.
I’m 58. Starting over feels different when you have a family depending on you and very little room for another mistake. I’ve worked hard, made decisions I regret, and spent plenty of time wondering how I ended up here. Losing the car brought all of that to the surface at once.
But I still want to build something. I still have things to say and people I hope to reach.
If I’m lucky, perhaps I have another twenty or thirty years. Maybe less. I knew that before Wednesday, but it feels different now. I want to spend those years doing something useful, including the writing so many of you have supported.
I write about government waste and corruption, the rewriting of history, and political ideas I believe threaten the freedoms and opportunities we inherited. I want people to question what they’re told and understand where those ideas lead before their children have to live with the consequences.
I think about my kids, your kids, and their kids. They’ll inherit whatever we leave behind, including the problems we were too comfortable or too intimidated to confront. I want them to have the chance to build a business, raise a family, speak their minds, and appreciate their country without being taught to feel ashamed of it.
I can’t fix all of that from a keyboard. But I can research, explain, challenge an argument, and give someone a reason to look again. That work is worth continuing.
Right now, continuing means recovering, accepting help, and working in shorter stretches. I’m also rebuilding my website and SEO business from home. I want to get my family onto firmer ground, where one bad day doesn’t take away the income paying our bills.
Many of you have already helped. Readers contributed through Buy Me a Coffee, became paid subscribers, sent money through Venmo, and wrote to check on me. The money helped with an immediate crisis. The messages meant a great deal too. Thank you for both.
The car is still gone, the Uber income has stopped, and the injuries are making my other work harder. If you’d like to help with a one-time contribution, you can do that through Buy Me a Coffee below. A paid subscription is another way to support my writing and help me keep doing it. My articles will remain free to read.
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If you’ve already helped, please don’t feel obligated to give again. If money is tight for you too, take care of your family first. Sharing an article or recommending this publication to a friend helps me reach people I otherwise wouldn’t.
I wish Wednesday had been an ordinary day of driving, earning money, and coming home to my family. It wasn’t. But I did come home, and I’m grateful for the chance to figure out what comes next.
I still have work to do.
Chris