Confession of a control freak

I am immensely grateful for the progress my children have made, particularly in these last few weeks. We’re in communication with their therapists—speech, occupational, and physical—and the updates on their advancements are heartening. Both Lauren and Brooks have made significant strides recently, filling me with joy. Yet, alongside this happiness, a tide of anxiety sweeps over me. In jest, I say they’ll be independent and driving by the time they’re 30. It’s a joke born from relief—Brooks is nearly ready to drive again, and Lauren is on her way there some day in the distant future (30?) .


If there’s any silver lining to a traumatic event like this accident, it’s that Lauren and Brooks don’t carry the memory of the crash or the uncertain days that followed. They were spared the gut-wrenching anticipation of talks with surgeons and the anxious hours while they were in the ICU.


Lauren is now able to travel in a car driven with Jennifer, and Brooks, in particular, has been given the green light to drive. When he questioned why he shouldn’t, I found myself without a solid rebuttal, despite the doctors’ assurances.


I’m not usually prone to worry excessively. I’ve often remarked that entrepreneurs might possess a sort of ‘defect’ that allows them to press on without dwelling on potential pitfalls. But there have been moments in my life when I’ve felt utterly powerless or envisioned the worst—like the time in California when I had a gun pointed at me over a trivial matter, or the harrowing days beginning January 6th. As someone who’s worked in hospitals, I understand that not all journeys out of an ICU are miraculous.


Today, I’m not quite ready for Brooks to drive, but we took a step in that direction. With him at the wheel and me as the passenger, I found myself instinctively reaching for the brakes and bracing for non-issues. In truth, Brooks drove flawlessly—he’s always been a careful driver, despite the tragic accident.


But the accident didn’t just happen to Brooks; it happened to Jennifer, to me, and to our entire family. It affected countless others who know and love us. Moving forward is not simple, even on a day as significant as this. Had you asked me a month ago when I’d be comfortable riding with Brooks driving, I wouldn’t have guessed today. After he ventured out on his own for a couple of hours, his return was like a breath of fresh air—both a literal and figurative relief.


It was a long couple of hours, but a monumental step for Brooks. As for me, I’m feeling a little worn, but I’m reassured it will get better. Right?

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