Sometimes something happens that leaves you wondering if there really is a reason for even the greatest of challenges.
In the years since our family has been affected by brain injury, I’ve become a passionate disability advocate — something I never envisioned. My wife and I started what we expected to be a small online community for brain injury survivors, only to see it grow… and grow… and grow. Last year, we took the next step and became an official nonprofit organization. We’ve grown in our ability to serve humanity in unexpected ways. But with our new organization come new responsibilities. We are essentially learning as we go.
Just last week, I took a trip to our local bank to set up a bank account for our organization. It was a big step for us. I set the pile of required paperwork down on the banker’s desk. On the very top was a letter from the New Hampshire Secretary of State declaring the Brain Injury Hope Network (BIHN) a nonprofit in good standing.
There was a palpable and unexpected shift in the energy in the office. The bank representative was young — young enough to be my own child. I expected this to be a relatively uneventful trip to the bank, but I quickly sensed otherwise as I watched her eyes fill with tears. "My mom had an aneurysm this morning," she said, struggling to hold her emotions in check. "She's in a coma in a Florida hospital."
Where does one even go with this? I shared a bit of my own story but did more listening than talking. I’m older now. I’ve learned the importance of just listening. Not all silent space in a conversation needs to be filled with words. And sometimes, the deepest level of communication between two people happens between the words.
She shared what had happened to her mom — the unexpected early morning phone call, the sense of powerlessness that comes with being over a thousand miles away, the numbness she was feeling. The shock and disbelief left her understandably, and quite visibly, distraught.
"How are you holding up?" I asked with legitimate concern. She went on to share that she was still in a state of disbelief, still reeling from the morning's news. I offered a patient ear and kind, gentle words of encouragement. She looked at me with red-rimmed eyes, a soul-level sadness. "I was supposed to speak with you today," she said.
I nodded without saying a word. No words were needed.
An hour later, I left her office. We spoke very little about banking, but we spoke a whole lot about life. Not yet thirty, she was still a kid in my eyes. She extended her hand quite professionally as I left. I let her know I'd keep her and her mom in my prayers.
I never did set up the account. There was more paperwork needed. But it was clear I wasn’t there to do bank business that day. Call it what you will, but I was there to help another member of our human family. The bank was only a couple of blocks from where my own life forever changed back in 2010.
And again, I wondered if I was spared from death that day to fulfill a greater purpose.
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