by Chris Adams | Nov 28, 2015 | Day by Day |
Hi everyone, this is Chris.
I arrived at the Moore residence about an hour after Vernon. He was in a rather comfortable looking bed I might say. After a few minutes of getting his thoughts together he decided he wanted to come out and visit.
With my work schedule and young children I don’t have the luxury of visiting Vernon as much as I’d like. In the early days I was able to work remotely and keep a close eye on his progress and try to constantly stimulate his memories. That being said my viewpoint may be a little skewed due to the time between visits.
I was fighting back tears much of my visit with Vernon. Not the tears of frustration and anger I’ve had previously but tears of joy. Not the type of joy you may have say after you have your first child is born, but the type of joy you have after surviving a long battle with depression. The type you get when a particular scene in a movie makes you realize that life really is a bundle of crap and somewhere inside that lies the beauty of it all. Or maybe it’s the type of joy a platoon feels after a long battle, they may have lost some of their friends in the fight along with their innocence, but there is a measure of deep joy nonetheless. A measure of gratitude. A richer appreciation for life.
For the last 18 months I’ve been asked how is Vernon doing? I mean, how is he REALLY doing? It is difficult to put a number on his progress. On a scale from 1 to 10…in the beginning he was a 0, then a 1, then a 2. I’d say now he is probably a 5. He’s confused. Many times completely bewildered by what the hell is going on and who the people around him are. Other times he’s angry. Then other times he’s the most gentle and loving person I know. He says some of the most beautiful things. He is like a child and an adult. He’s a dad (and a good one). He’s also completely helpless.
But he is more capable today than he has been since the accident.
Vernon has continued to make strides forward. He will never be the Vernon he was, but the Vernon he has become is a lot like the person we probably all are on the inside.
My lesson from Vernon for this Thanksgiving is to let a bit more of my inside show on the outside.
by Chris Adams | Apr 29, 2015 | Day by Day |
“The thing about football – the important thing about football – is that it is not just about football.”
― Terry Pratchett
Though we hadn’t been following English Football (soccer) closely this season, it was recently brought to our attention that Vernon’s hometown team, The Bournemouth Cherries were just a few games away from being promoted into the elusive Premier League—aka playing with the Big Boys.
Bournemouth is a sleepy southern town and their stadium is much smaller than the big teams. They have never got this far. In fact, they were nearly out of business just a few years ago. But they are well-loved by the locals, and Vernon grew up rooting for them. His dad faithfully attends the game every weekend they play home. And Vernon, whenever asked what his favorite team is, will always answer “Bournemouth,” although a blank stare is usually the response. It’s not exactly a household name.
Here is Vernon as a kid, posing with his jersey and his ball. Most of his childhood photos show him in a soccer-kit. He loved playing.
Now, if you know anything about England (or most other countries outside of America) soccer is a massive sport there. It’s extremely popular, so much so that it’s fondly called “the Beautiful Game.” When Vernon and I were first married, and he would scratch his head about how people were so passionate and divided over political parties in America, I used to compare that to how loyal and committed English fans were to their chosen football teams. It’s a for-life thing, usually. (Not sure how correct I was with my analogy, but it drove the point home.)
Well, last night, in the match that would make the difference, Bournemouth won and was all but ensured their promotion to the Premier League. Its very unlikely they won’t make the point they need on Saturday. The odds are almost guaranteed to be in their favor. It was very exciting to follow the story. Vernon’s good friend in Norway wrote to update me. Then I got an email from his mother, making sure I’d tell him the unbelievable news.
Of course I couldn’t wait to share the news. After all, he was so impressed with the possibility a few weeks ago. But you never know what response you are going to get with Vernon these days. He didn’t react quite like I thought. He didn’t seem surprised at all. If anything, he seemed kind of bored with the news.
In typical Vernon fashion, he will support the underdog until they are no longer the underdog. Its the principle of the thing for him.
Or so I thought. A little later on, he said: “I’ve been thinking, perhaps I should start working with Chelsea football club.” Hmmm….I’ll ask again tomorrow.
Anyway, I like a good underdog story, don’t we all? To rise to unprecedented success from the brink of extinction. I’d like to think of Vernon’s recovery story like this. We may not even be halfway through the story, maybe not even a quarter (groan), but there is always a chance. I think they call it TENACITY. Go, Vernon, go! I’m your fan in the downs as well as ups. They’ll balance out one of these days.
“The fact of being an underdog changes people in ways that we often fail to appreciate. It opens doors and creates opportunities and enlightens and permits things that might otherwise have seemed unthinkable.” —Malcolm Gladwell
by Chris Adams | Nov 5, 2014 | Uncategorized |
I’ll keep it short and sweet.
I had the chance to visit Vern for a few hours today. He was in a t-shirt getting ready for physical therapy.
We hung out in the physical therapy room with his therapist where he sat up, rode on the stationary bike and worked on a few other critical things. Then we hung out with Pilar his wonderful speech therapist. Then we cruised outside into the sun and in the lobby at Kindred watching Obama speak after getting hammered in the mid-terms. Vern was super interested.
He still has no idea who I am but he is so much like he’s always been, he was telling jokes the way we used to joke together. He even asked me to come back after his nap today. It was really good to hang with Vern today. Can’t wait for him to keep getting closer to San Clemente so we can all see more of him and keep having laughs together!
Chris
by Chris Adams | Oct 7, 2014 | Uncategorized |
Before a man opens his eyes everyone is positive. But after the eyes are open and they stare…and stare…and stare…people, nurses and doctors start to form opinions. Opinions which are based on large case studies and in most cases are probably highly accurate.
It was some time around 6 weeks into Vernon’s recovery and between candid conversations with nurses and a doctor. I asked the nurses one at a time to cut the sugar-coated responses and give me their straight opinion for his chances of recovery. I listened to the highly experienced SICU nurse’s opinion that Vernon at best might offer a faint smile from time to time but would most likely not recover to a coherent state of consciousness. I listened to a trusted doctor give me his opinion that Vernon had shown absolutely NO neurological progress and would most likely not progress any further. I even spoke with one highly experienced person who mentioned that in some cases it was better for the ambulance not to show up on time.
These may sound like dark conversations. But that is the reality with TBI cases. These are the conversations that take place. At least 4 men passed away while I was in the hospital with Vernon or shortly before I arrived. Many people said goodbye to sleeping friends, sons and brothers while we watched Vernon’s pulse, brain pressure and temperature.
The fact is that God saves some people and he lets other people pass away. He allows some to walk again and others to sit in a chair and drool for decades while they are cared for day in and day out. I struggle to accept that God would save someone who is prayed for more fervently than someone who doesn’t have the good fortune of having loads of Christian friends. If prayer is the key factor in someone’s recovery and we believe that, why do we not pray from the moment we wake ’til we rest our heads at night? Are Ali, Vernon, Justine and Maki worth that extra bump we can give by simply investing more into God’s bank of prayer? If it truly means the difference between recovering to 40% or 90%. Or perhaps the prayer of a righteous man availeth much and in that case we must allow the righteous man ample time to pray. Perhaps we pay his bills so he can pray without ceasing?
Being confronted with these mysteries head on I have been forced over the past few months to wrestle with my understanding of God and his methods of doing business.
Whether we have confidence in God’s course of action for our dear friend Vernon or not, in the united states the clock ticks over and medical care is provided. The patient either lives or dies. If he lives, he is tended to. If he has friends, he is visited. If he has none, he sits alone.
Some days are good, others are terrible. A son sits at home and longs for his father, he wonders why and how, perhaps he wonders how he can possibly focus on school at a time like this. But he must. A little girl waits patiently for the day Daddy will hold her again. She wants to curl up in his arms. But she can’t. A wife tries to figure out what the right thing to do is. Some decisions feel selfish and others feel justified. At the end of the day there are no good answers – no decisions that are good enough. Nothing replaces a daddy or a husband. No amount of time is short enough. Every minute is too long.
It’s like waiting at a train station for 4 1/2 months, hoping a train will come down the line carrying your daddy, your friend, your husband, your son, your brother. Knowing that there is a train on the track and it may never come back to your station. But you wait nonetheless. You must wait. You have no choice.
Then one day, a train pulls up. Today was that day for me. After 4 1/2 months. The train pulled up and Vernon was speaking. He was conversing. I suddenly have to be careful what I write about because he may wonder why he’s had such a profound impact on me and on so many others. The light is on. We just had no way of knowing. Until today.
When I walked in Vernon said: Hi…
I asked: How are you?
Good.
Do you remember me?
No, I don’t.
Do you know the font Pacifico?
Yes, I do.
Is that one of Dave Crossland’s fonts?
No, it’s one of mine.
Would you like me to bring up your iPad?
Yes, I would like that.
Do you know who your son is?
Yes…Maki.
Do you know what Glyphs software is?
Yes I do.
Is it on your mac?
No, it’s on my, um, laptop.
Do you think you could use it with your right hand?
Yeah.
And as I left I said “well, you are doing great, I’ll see you tomorrow. Is that ok?”
He replied “Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Laptop from allison moore on Vimeo.
