“You’ll be fine,” my father said as i stayed frozen on the ground. mom was upset i was interrupting my brother’s celebration. (6 of 7)
“Not until Rachel, the nurse, intervened,” I confirmed.
“Your brother, Jason Matthews, was taken into custody last night on charges of reckless endangerment resulting in serious bodily harm,” she continued. “Your parents are currently being investigated for negligence.”
The news stunned me. As much as my family had hurt me, I had never imagined them facing criminal charges.
The weeks following passed in a blur of medical procedures and rehabilitation. Jason accepted a plea deal: five years, with two to be served in prison. My parents also took plea agreements: two years of probation and 400 hours of community service. Six months after filing a civil lawsuit, we reached a settlement. My parents’ homeowner’s insurance paid out its maximum of $1 million. Additionally, they agreed to sell their house and liquidate their retirement savings to create a trust fund of an additional $2 million for my ongoing care.
By the eight-month mark, I had made remarkable progress. With specialized braces and a walker, I could take short, labored steps. I moved back to my apartment, which had been modified with ramps and wider doorways. I began working with a therapist who specialized in trauma and family dynamics.
“What happened to you was not just a physical injury,” she pointed out. “It was the culmination of a lifetime of emotional abuse and neglect.” Acknowledging this truth was painful but liberating. It allowed me to see that my injury, devastating as it was, had also freed me from a toxic family system.
As I approached the one-year anniversary of my injury, I received an unexpected letter. It was from Jason, writing from prison. It was a lengthy, handwritten apology, the first genuine one I had ever received from him. He wrote about the therapy he was undergoing, how he was finally confronting the person he had been. I understand if you never want to hear from me again, he wrote. I would not blame you. But I wanted you to know that I am truly sorry. You deserved so much better.
My parents never reached out. I heard they had moved to Florida.
My life today bears little resemblance to what it was before. I use a wheelchair for most of my daily mobility, but with leg braces and crutches, I can walk short distances. The most significant healing has not been physical; it has been the internal journey from victim to survivor. Six months ago, I became a peer mentor for newly injured patients at the same rehabilitation center where I once spent months relearning basic life skills. Through this work, I met Thomas, a physical therapist. Our professional relationship gradually evolved into friendship, and more recently, into a tentative romance. He sees me for who I am.
My chosen family has grown. It includes Sarah, the paramedic; Rachel, the nurse; my therapists, and now Thomas. They have taught me what healthy attachment feels like. Last month, I completed my master’s degree in educational psychology. Next fall, I will begin a new position as a consultant for the school district, training educators to recognize and support children experiencing trauma.
My paralysis will always be part of my story, but it no longer defines me. Sometimes, it takes being broken to discover just how much strength we contain.
