I never imagined I’d be that parent—the one chasing an ambulance, heart pounding, not knowing if their world was about to fall apart. My daughter, Maren, has always been a spark of energy—fearless, outdoorsy, constantly challenging her brother to races, never letting anything hold her back. But then one ordinary spring afternoon turned everything upside down.
We were out front, enjoying the day, when her ball bounced into the street. In a flash, she ran after it. I shouted—but it was too late. A car rounded the corner. It wasn’t speeding. It just appeared. And it hit her. Even now, those words are hard to write.
Her hospital stay felt endless. The doctors walked us through her injuries, what the recovery would involve. I remember thinking, “How are we supposed to get through this? How is she supposed to?” But Maren wasn’t one to stay down for long. The day she was allowed to sit up, she asked for her favorite helmet—bruised, bandaged, and still determined. She made friends with the nurses, joked with the therapists, and turned the hospital into her stage of strength.
When we finally brought her home, I didn’t know what to expect. She came back in a wheelchair, her body healing from multiple injuries—but her spirit? Unshaken. It wasn’t long before she insisted we rearrange the furniture so she could cruise around the house like old times.
There were tough days—plenty of them. Moments of frustration, pain, and tears. Days when she didn’t want to try. And sometimes, I didn’t have the right words. But somehow, there was always laughter too. Even on crutches, she found ways to bring joy. I’ll never forget her challenging me to a “race” in the living room—her swinging along on crutches, me stumbling behind in mock defeat.
She wasn’t just surviving—she was thriving.
A few months later, at a follow-up visit, I saw something in her I hadn’t fully grasped before. The doctor noted her impressive progress—but also mentioned a lingering stiffness in her left leg that might never fully go away.
Without hesitation, Maren shot back, “I’ll beat it. You’ll see.”
In that moment, I understood who she really was. Most kids would’ve wilted under that news. Not Maren. She treated it like a challenge waiting to be conquered.
We made a pact that day—I’d support her in every way I could, and she’d keep fighting with everything she had. From then on, physical therapy became part of our daily routine. It meant early mornings, missed playdates, and a lot of hard work—but Maren never backed down. Even on the hardest days…