Gratitude in Motion Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Colleen Kelly Alexander

  Jacket design by Edward A. Crawford

  Jacket photography by Herman Estevez and Getty Images

  Jacket copyright © 2018 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  Center Street

  Hachette Book Group

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  First Edition: January 2018

  Center Street is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Center Street name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.

  ISBNs: 978-1-4555-7113-0 (hardcover); 978-1-4555-7114-7 (ebook)

  E3-20171103-DA-PC

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Foreword

  Introduction

  Chapter 1: First Love

  Chapter 2: Someone Else’s Life

  Chapter 3: The Youth Center

  Chapter 4: Brain Surgery

  Chapter 5: Fate. Destiny. Social Media.

  Chapter 6: Costa Rica

  Chapter 7: The Big Move

  Chapter 8: Flatlining

  Chapter 9: Level I Trauma

  Chapter 10: Rehab at Gaylord Hospital

  Chapter 11: Breaking Down

  Chapter 12: You’ve Got to Be Kidding Me

  Chapter 13: We All Bleed Red

  Chapter 14: Stillness and Motion

  Chapter 15: Light Peeks In

  Chapter 16: Racing On

  Chapter 17: Rainbow Bridge

  Chapter 18: Three Trials

  Chapter 19: Endings and Beginnings

  Photos

  Acknowledgments

  How to Be a Hero

  About the Authors

  Newsletter

  With great honor I dedicate this book to my brother Erin Kelly. Thank you for being my first hero. Thank you for helping me throughout my own conflicted adolescent journey and into adulthood. Thank you for always being there. Thank you for showing me what the unconditional love of Christ looks and feels like. Over the course of multiple relationships, failed marriages, horrible diagnoses, far too many surgeries, equally as many post-anesthesia phone calls, joys, moose sightings, selfies with the best beer, and tears on four a.m. calls, you always have my back. You are the truth teller. I may not have always liked what you have had to say, but you have always spoken with integrity and pure grit. You have helped mold me into the wife, advocate, survivor, and person I am in this crazy world. You are the anchor of our family, and I am forever blessed you are my friend.

  Foreword

  by Bart Yasso

  COLLEEN’S STORY TOUCHED ME in a very personal way. I’ve been commuting to work by bicycle for the past thirty years and have ridden my bike across the United States twice. I understand the vulnerability of cruising along on a bicycle in the midst of speeding cars and distracted drivers—your life can change forever in a split second. What separates Colleen from the rest of us is what she did with her very unfortunate circumstances.

  I met Colleen in 2014 at the Gasparilla Distance Classic in Tampa, Florida, when we were both invited to the event as motivational speakers. The night before the big race, we shared our stories to inspire others on their journeys to the finish line the next morning. I was spellbound by Colleen’s presentation. I was ready to head out the door and start running the minute she finished her talk. It was because of the way she involved the entire audience and the way she made us all feel very grateful for what we have. Never could I have foreseen the friendship and bond we forged that night and how often our paths would cross.

  Colleen’s first and only marathon came in September 2014. She and her husband, Sean, stayed at my home the night before the big race. As fate would have it, she had picked a marathon in my hometown, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, where the course is only a few miles from my house. When Colleen set off for the starting line of the Lehigh Valley Health Network Via Marathon, I’m assuming with some trepidation, I could see a damaged body, but I sensed that the love between her and Sean would outweigh her physical limitations. Running 26.2 miles is very arduous. Running 26.2 miles in Colleen’s condition I can’t fathom, and I’ve run many marathons. I was out on the course cheering on runners, waiting to see Colleen pass. I saw a runner coming down the road hugging everyone in sight—every volunteer, every spectator, and every course marshal—and, yes, of course, this runner turned out to be my dear friend Colleen. I shouted, “Stop hugging everyone! You’d better keep running; the clock is ticking.” Colleen has her own clock—it doesn’t judge someone by time but by joy. By the smile on her face and the joy she was radiating, based on the Colleen clock she was winning the race. She finished by running into Sean’s arms, a warm embrace, a marathon run by one but celebrated by thousands. Their love for each other touched me in a profound way. Colleen’s marathon had nothing to do with running; it was 26.2 miles of love, joy, and an acceptance of making the best of what you have.

  What I love most about Colleen is that she always thanks everyone who played a role in her survival. She knows firsthand the love and commitment of our first responders and all the health care workers who helped her, all the way down to the generous people who donated blood to keep her alive. She feels a very strong connection with hundreds of people in this journey and she wants to thank them all.

  When a race starts, we all follow the same path to the finish line, but we all take very different paths to make it to the starting line. Colleen’s path is a journey of survival, gratitude, love, and a boatload of courage to overcome so many obstacles. Colleen has taught me so many life lessons. She literally is gratitude in motion.

  Running is the ultimate faith healer, restoring belief not only in oneself but in life’s possibilities.

  Introduction

  THERE ARE SOME THINGS you learn when you get run over by a freight truck.

  It was a beautiful fall day and I had just opened up a great new chapter in my life: I was a thirty-six-year-old newlywed with a fulfilling job where I knew I was making a difference in kids’ lives, and my husband and I were doing triathlons together and talking about starting a family. Things were finally going according to plan—and then the plan got set on fire, courtesy of an impatient driver who blew a stop sign.

  But you learn.

  Mostly, you learn how to be grateful for every tiny thing you probably took for granted before. You spend a lot of time lying down in hospital beds with nothing but your thoughts, and that can go one of two ways: You can drown in your own sorrow (which I did for some time), or you can realize that even with the pain, the permanent disfigurement, the nightmares, and the limitations, life is still not only worthwhile but beautiful.

  Don’t get me wrong: I wo
uld rather have learned that lesson without getting flattened on the street, but that’s how it went.

  All my life, I’d defined myself as an athlete—a cyclist, mostly, considering that my dad owned a bike shop and I’d practically grown up there learning about bike mechanics. I wasn’t even four when I got on my first bike. In my twenties, I’d already had to deal with significant health challenges that affected my competitive abilities. But I could not have pictured the absolute derailment of my life that was to come, and I could not have imagined getting through it and smiling at the end of it all. In the thick of it, there were many days and nights when I wished I had just died on the road rather than endure the constant daily pain and humiliation of a body that could no longer function without machinery and tubes and bags.

  What pulled me out of it were the heroes: more than two hundred people who had collaborated to save my life. So many people teamed up just so I could live to see another sunset, take another walk with my dog, plant another garden. The path back to an active life was fraught with difficulties and setbacks, some of which are permanent, but along the way I learned to keep my focus on gratitude and live my life accordingly—not only feeling thankful, but acting on my thankfulness. The more I found ways to give back, the better I felt.

  Now I’m ready to share my journey in the hope that you will find value in it. We’re all connected in this world, and it’s our job to look out for one another. Just as many people have looked out for me, I hope I can now be a light for people who are seeking one. Thank you for reading my story.

  Chapter 1

  First Love

  I FOLDED THE LOOSE-LEAF note meticulously into an origami triangle, the way high school kids in the nineties did. On the outside was his name: Sean. On the inside were the words that might just lead to young romance—or crushing heartbreak:

  I’ve heard lots about you and I thought it would be cool to get to know you…if you want, you can call me tonight at eight.

  Would I actually have the nerve to give it to him? That remained to be seen.

  Sean walked with his head permanently tilted to the right side because his wavy, sun-kissed brown surfer hair covered his eye otherwise. He was six foot four, with a deep voice and a permanent tan from the Daytona Beach sun. He was a senior and I was a sophomore. I thought he was hot.

  He was my friend’s older brother, and I hadn’t paid much attention to him before mutual friends of ours started buzzing in both our ears about what a good match we’d make. So I started checking him out. Unobtrusively, of course. Before long, I was arriving at school early just to catch a glimpse of his car pulling into the parking lot. He drove a black 1972 Volkswagen Beetle with surf racks on the top and subwoofers in the back. He was so effortlessly cool and yet didn’t seem to have any grasp of his effect on girls. There were plenty of us who hoped to catch his eye, but he was more focused on surfing than dating…or much of anything else. I could have gone gray and wrinkled waiting for him to make the first move. He was sweetly oblivious.

  What I liked about him, too, was his innocence. Lots of high school guys—especially seniors—were all about partying and getting drunk and having sex in other people’s bathrooms. Sean wasn’t like that. There was a rumor that he’d lost his virginity but had decided not to have sex again after that…which was attractive to me because I had already committed not to have sex before I was married.

  My parents were Southern Baptists, and church was a major part of my life. I was devoted to God mostly out of a fear of mortality—I didn’t want to make Him mad and wind up in hell. And there were apparently lots of ways to wind up there, but one of the quickest ways was to have sex before marriage.

  I wasn’t really sure what Sean’s religious beliefs were, but that was pretty far back in my mind at the moment. God wouldn’t mind if we just maybe kissed a little, would He?

  With that hope in mind, I felt my face go white-hot as I approached Sean with my note in hand, clutched against my chest. We’d never really spoken before, aside from quick hellos. I walked up with all the false confidence I could muster, smiled, and handed it to him. Then I walked away in my acid-washed jeans without saying a word.

  Smooth.

  My brother Erin and I had just gotten our own phone line, so I sat in my room that night and waited eagerly for its distinctive ring. For effect, I turned on my music much louder than it needed to be just before eight o’clock so that I’d sound cool when I picked up the phone. Living Colour’s “Cult of Personality” would really camouflage the sound of girl-sitting-by-the-phone. Right on time, it rang. I waited two rings to pick it up because…you know.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. Colleen?”

  “Oh, yes. Let me just turn down my music.”

  And so it started. I want to tell you that we had deep talks about the meaning of life, but we really just talked about school and our teachers and the other things high school kids talk about. Then we made plans for our first date at Friendly’s.

  He picked me up in that Volkswagen Bug that I had admiringly stalked for months. The view from the passenger seat was a little different from what I expected, though…you could actually see the road if you looked down. The floor had rusted-out holes right through the metal.

  Depeche Mode was blaring through the subwoofers, and the whole car smelled of Sean’s Cool Water cologne. He rolled down the windows, which was a disaster. I had so much hairspray in my well-thought-out hairdo, and wind and hairspray are a terrible combination. My hair had not yet gotten the memo that we were out of the eighties, and it had two natural enemies: water and wind.

  Once I was in Sean’s car, I had no idea what to say, and apparently neither did he, because we drove along for a good ten to twelve minutes saying absolutely nothing.

  Nothing.

  I was dumbstruck by insecurities; there was a whole movie’s worth of inner monologue happening in my mind as I desperately tried to look cool and unaffected by the wind—not terrified that I would emerge from this vehicle looking like Tammy Faye Bakker. Once a silence gets started, it’s very hard to end it. Eventually, as we were crossing a bridge, Sean took the plunge.

  “So…do you still want to go to Friendly’s?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  I smiled nervously. In a non-windblown way.

  After we got there, we both eased into real live conversation. We ordered big, sloppy burgers and Cokes and talked about our mutual friends.

  “I nicknamed you Colleeny-Bopper,” he said. “Because of how you’re always bopping down the halls with so much energy and a big smile on your face.”

  “Well, I don’t have a nickname for you yet. But my friend calls you Lurch because you’re so tall and have that deep voice.”

  Maybe it wasn’t the most flattering nickname.

  He complimented me on my big blue eyes, and there was some banter about his cool hair. I had butterflies the whole time we sat there, and nervous giggles filled the air. When we were done eating, we went to play putt-putt golf.

  By the end of the night, not only did I know that Sean was going to be my boyfriend, but he already felt like my best friend, too. We had such a great, playful rapport, and he was so sweet to me. I didn’t get the feeling that he was just waiting till the right moment to get me to “park” and rip off my clothes. In fact, he didn’t even kiss me that night.

  Sean was so respectful of not only me, but my parents, too. He never pushed my curfews or did anything that would cause them to worry. Our relationship was innocent and joyful, consisting of lots of lunch dates to Wendy’s and Taco Bell, movies, and trips to the beach.

  The first time we went to the beach together, I wore a tankini, but it wasn’t the shape of my body that I was nervous about…it was my feet. I buried my toes in the sand as quickly as possible after taking my shoes off, and hoped he wouldn’t notice if I kept them buried, like an ostrich avoiding a predator. But he noticed.

  “Why are you hiding your feet?”

  “My toes,” I
said. “They’re ugly.”

  “Come on, let me see.”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you see these things?” He pointed at his own—okay, yes, odd—toes. “These are called hammertoes. It can’t be worse than that.”

  “Yes, it can. My friends always make fun of me. My feet are too big in general, but my second toes are really long.”

  “Well, now you have to show me.”

  Peer pressure.

  I showed him. And he didn’t make fun of me. Yet.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your feet! Those are the coolest toes I’ve ever seen!”

  We did get to a point where we gleefully made fun of each other’s quirks and flaws, but he was so good about being sensitive and building me up so that I’d always feel safe with him. It was a wonderful feeling. It was also ridiculous that he liked my giant toes.

  Surfing was a huge part of his life, and he tried to teach me, but I was terrified. A few times, I paddled out with him and sat on a surfboard, but only once did I manage to stand upright. The rest of the time I mostly spent fantasizing about when I would be allowed to paddle back to shore. I didn’t like the feeling of not being able to see land, or of waiting for a wave and hoping I’d get my balance right in time.

  So after that, I would just sit on the beach and watch him, and then we’d go out for greasy food afterward. I was a serious athlete, primarily a cyclist, but I could still down cheese fries with the best of them.

  Every Sunday, I went to church with my family, and Sean came with us a few times. Sometimes he also went to church with his parents. They were Episcopalian, which was much different from being Baptist. Episcopalians were barely Christians at all, in my pastor’s mind. It was a much more liberal religion.

  When Sean once again didn’t go to church one Sunday, I asked him why.

  “The ocean is my church,” he said. “When I want to be spiritual and connect, that’s where I go.”