Alive-versary Year 9

Before writing this reflection, I went back and reread every “Alive Day” post I’ve written. I love that I’ve kept this tradition. Each year is a timestamp of who I was, what I felt, and what I hoped for. Reading years seven and eight with fresh eyes, I can see something I didn’t fully admit at the time. Those years were harder than I let on. I was due for a win, and boy did this year deliver.

For most people, January 1st offers an annual reflection and a chance to reset. My reset happens each February 11th—the anniversary of when my life ended and I was born anew.

Nine years ago, my life force-restarted. Like yanking the power cord on a computer and rebooting it only to find everything glitching and unfamiliar. Each year since has started the same way: hope for opportunity, fear that my pain will worsen, anxiety about secondary conditions, and a stubborn determination to make the most of each day. I set goals, push forward, and take it all one day at a time. This year was still difficult, but it was different. The biggest miracle used to be that I survived. The fact that I’m alive to write this is not something I take lightly. But this year taught me an even deeper lesson.

I really try to focus on the miracle of life. My miracle has never been a “cure” for my paralysis, as many in my position lament over. My miracle is in the day-to-day things that sustain me: friendship, family, love, fellowship, security, art, compassion—my Daily Bread. When I pray, it’s never for an easy life, because I know that isn’t promised to any of us. Rather, I pray for the strength to endure a difficult one. My only ask is that God grants me the wisdom to recognize the lessons that my suffering may offer, and that I am able to apply them in ways that help others.

Recognizing these lessons isn’t always easy, and sometimes I feel like I’m failing in many of my roles.

After Kass and I got married, we started trying to grow our family. At first, we were passively trying, then actively trying, and eventually I found myself asking something I had never really considered. What if I wasn’t able to be a dad?

Grief is strange. The way that it can circle back into your life is humbling. All my life, I pictured myself as a father. I didn’t know exactly what that would look like now that I’m disabled, but I always assumed it would happen. Here I was in 2025, grappling with the mere acknowledgment that this process was going to be difficult, all because someone chose to play with a handgun nine years ago.

This is where I have to thank modern medicine. One of the miracles I recognize in my life is access to quality healthcare and science. Kass and I began the IVF process last summer, and all things considered, we had incredible success. This summer, we will be welcoming twin boys. I am blessed beyond measure.

I plan to write a more in-depth post about my experience with IVF when the time feels right. For now, I simply want to acknowledge the blessing of modern medicine and express my deep gratitude to my wife.

I am so grateful to have such a strong and passionate woman in my life. I watched Kass inject herself with more needles than I can count for months on end, all to create the perfect home for our babies. Now I sit in awe, watching her body adjust to carrying our boys. Witnessing the miracle of pregnancy after being so unsure I would ever get this opportunity is something I will never take for granted.

This year has shown me the true meaning of resilience and commitment. Reflecting on year ten next February is going to be wild. I’m sure I’ll be a much more humbled man as I experience fatherhood, graced with the opportunity to raise twins while being a twin myself. This coming year is going to change me in all the best ways.

Before I get too far ahead of myself, I want to close with this: Around 3:30 today, get up and do something you love. Give a loved one a long, standing hug. Do a dance. Go for a run. Make a snow angel. Do something active for me.

Nine years ago, I lost all autonomy and had no idea if I would ever get any of it back. Every day since has been me clawing my way forward. I can say my efforts are paying off, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still think about how different my life is.

If you have autonomy today, use it.
Use it for me.
But mostly, use it for yourself.