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Taking on the project of writing my life story was challenging to say the very least. It was hard for me to
think I had a life people would want to know about. After all, I’m just another human in this huge sea of
souls. I have never thought of myself as special so why would anyone want to read my life story? I
haven’t accomplished anything like winning a Nobel Peace Prize or selling ten million albums. I took the
cards that were dealt to me and lived my life the best I could.
My mother is actually the first person who approached me about writing an autobiography. She said
she thought my story was amazing and many people could learn from me. From me? I actually
laughed at her idea because I did not see how any of the hardships I’ve been through could help
someone else. Medical problems, family problems, and self-identity problems- what’s to learn from all
that pain? Besides, it was my mother talking, after all. She would have a slightly biased attitude, right?
The idea didn’t resurface again until my last year in college. In my final Journalism class, we had to
hand in self-portraits and my professor asked me if I had ever considered expanding my story into a
full-length book. I told him my mother had suggested it but I never gave it any serious consideration.
“People would be affected by such a strong story,” he told me. I thought about it as I worked on a few
chapters before I graduated but then put it aside to find a job and go on with my life.
Years later, I met someone I consider to be a special spiritual mentor. I don’t even think she realizes
the true importance she had in my life. From the instant we met, I knew she was a life changing force
for me. We’d spend time talking about the wonders of God and what our purpose is here on Earth.
She was a steady stream of encouragement, explaining how my personal story is the one way I can
reveal God’s glory to others. Through our talks I have finally understood what others have been
telling me. My life is my testimony- a testimony of God and His miraculous power.
The one thing that has always been my center is my faith, faith in God and His son Jesus Christ and
faith in myself. God touches every thing I do and I know I cannot lose with Him on my side. He is my
reason for being and my story is just an example of His love for us. The need to share this story so
others will learn more about the wonder of God and maybe help children and others feeling the same
way I did while growing up is what finally got me to take this project seriously.
Inside you will find my story along with what I hope to be helpful, useful tools in coping with having a
disability or having a child with a disability. I am not a licensed psychologist or doctor of any kind- I only
have a Ph.D. in LE (life experience). Along the road of obtaining my Ph.D., I have learned many life
lessons that can be helpful to others who are on the same journey, especially young people.
Children play a huge role in my life. I love them for their innocence and undoubting trust and loyalty.
They see the world the way I wish everyone would- with optimism and hope. If my story can help even
one child have faith in him or herself and strength to keep fighting in even the worst of times, than I will
have accomplished more than any prize winner or Grammy winning artist. And maybe then, I will feel I
have something to be proud of.
******************
My story. I’ve thought so long about how to tell it. Do I include every single thing that has ever
happened to me? Should I concentrate on just an area or two? Should I make it a self help guide for
disabled adults? A reaffirming testament for disabled children? Which angle do I take? Where do I go
with it? So many questions, absolutely no answers. Thinking, praying, hoping, searching for the right
answer, the magic reply never came. So, the project just stalled and sat. There was nothing I could
do. I had no answer about how to go about it. Getting my story out for all to hear seemed to move
further and further away. Maybe it had been too ambitious a project. Maybe someone else could
convey my life better. But, the longer it sat in my heart, the more unhappy I became. My life, my
experience on this planet we call Earth, all happened for a reason. My life has been saved on more
than one occasion and while others may ask “why?” it’s been more than obvious to me that God has a
job for me.
Figuring out my purpose hasn’t been easy but as I’ve grown into an adult, the picture has become
clearer. My purpose is to share my story, my life, my experiences in order to encourage, to lift up and
to inspire others on this journey and hopefully in the process, spread the love God has given me to
those who need, want and will embrace it wholeheartedly. How it all unfolds is inconsequential- as long
as you receive the message.
I have been on an incredible journey- physically and spiritually. I stored up all of my stories to tell just to
you. There are some rather intense details so take your time but, there are lots of fun moments too,
so I hope you will laugh along with me. I’ve included entries from my own journals, journals that I’ve
kept since I was sixteen years old. You can only try to understand someone’s journey when they are
open and honest and I’ve tried to be brutally so here. (However, some names have been changed to
protect the innocent!) Keep your mind and your heart open and enjoy the ride!
This couldn’t be happening. Any moment now, my eyes would open and I’d be safe and warm in my bed. As
much as I wanted to believe that, I knew I was lying to myself. The moment of horror that passed over me as I
saw my Honda hurtling towards the mini school bus stole my breath. I wanted to scream. I wanted to close my
eyes. I wanted to do anything I could do to stop the inevitable from happening. But I couldn’t. I was about to
collide with a bus. This was no dream.
I pressed my foot down frantically, trying to stop the car in its tracks. I could feel the tension in the car as it
struggled to stop but at the same time continuing its forward momentum. Distantly, I could hear my cousin Cici
scream. At least one of us could. My scream was still caught in the back of my throat as I prayed harder than I
ever had. ‘Please God, please let the bus pass us. Please don’t let the bus hit us.'
-----------
The day of January 18, 1998 started off rather unassumingly. Weather wise you couldn’t ask for a prettier day.
Clear blue skies stretched as far as the eye could see and although cold in the Northeast at 40 degrees, the
sunshine brought surprising warmth. Having just quit work a few months before to try my hand at freelance
writing, I spent many a day online, doing research or in the library, finding information about several selling
markets. This day was no different. After running to the grocery store and the library for the newest Writers
Market, I jumped in my two door, beige Honda Accord and headed out to pick out my cousin Cicilia from
school.
Cicilia Carter is like a daughter to me. I’ve been helping to care for her since she was a baby of two and we’re
extremely close. The teenage years, however, brought about a side of her I never knew existed and I found us at
battling ends more often than not. I cherished our relationship so this change didn’t sit well with me at all. In
efforts to bridge the gap, I thought if I enlisted her help in my new career, she’d open up to me a little more.
She climbed into the car, throwing her bag in the back seat and pulled the door closed, the seatbelt automatically
coming over her shoulder, all without saying a word. Her beautiful chocolate brown skin glowed with teenage
health and vitality and I envied the cute little figure developing on her. However, right now I could tell from the
lines across her forehead that the day must not have gone so well so I kept quiet as I pulled out of Matawan
Regional High School’s parking lot. The silence stretched out uncomfortably until I finally couldn’t take it
anymore and spoke.
“Hello.” I glanced over at her but her head was turned as she watched out the window.
“Hey.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just tired. A long day.” She sighed, putting a hand up to her forehead.
“Are you feeling okay? Headache?” I glanced her way once more and her gaze met mine.
“I’m fine. My head just hurts a little because I’m tired. I’ll take a nap when we get home.”
She meant my house, where we spent almost every weekday from 3 to 7 pm. She’d do her homework while I
worked on the computer and after we finished, our nightly shows awaited us- The Nanny and Friends. I’d never
watched either sitcom before but Cici turned me into one of their biggest fans. No matter how our day started,
we somehow always managed to end up laughing with one another. It was a time I wouldn’t trade for anything.
I nodded, turning on the radio. “I just have to go to the post office first to mail off these query letters.”
My comment spurred the first smile of the day and I grinned back at her, feeling excitement in me rise. This was
my initial attempt at feeling out the waters of freelancing. If I could get a few short stories published and build up
my confidence, then a book wouldn’t be too far behind. I had so many goals to fulfill. Having my dream within
reachable distance seemed surreal but I was doing all I could to soak it in. We enjoyed the music on our ride,
singing loudly and laughing, and soon were headed back home.
The road stretched out in front of us soon became littered with traffic and I glanced at the dashboard clock. 3:30
pm. School release time. As I drove over the parkway bridge about five minutes from my house, I saw the cars
and buses waiting to pull out of the side street ahead. It was a road I sometimes took as a shortcut home but
today I decided to stay on the main street. With all this traffic, I’d be better off not trying to turn. I hit my
brakes lightly as the large moving truck in front of me signaled his right turn, continuing on at a good speed. Two
cars came out from the side street before he began to turn. Cici leaned over to turn the station as I eased to the
left of him, ready to pass when he completed his turn. It was then the world stood still. A mini school bus came
up to the stop sign of the side street but never slowed down. I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing as she
continued to come into the intersection, where we undoubtedly would collide. Cici screamed, “The bus!” as I
slammed on my brakes but my car propelled forward from mere force. The bus was heading straight for us.
--------------
I don’t remember the actual collision. Sometimes the sound of it still awakes me from nightmarish dreams but I
can’t remember the moment the bus crashed into the front of the car. My baby, my 1990 Honda Accord, went
reeling backwards as I sat there terrified, adrenaline pumping through my system and shock cutting off my
normal response mode. I tried to take a deep breath but I couldn’t. I couldn’t breathe.
“Put the brake on, Lis!” Cici yelled.
I looked at her in a daze, not understanding what she was asking me to do. “What?”
“Put on the brake!” she repeated, “We’re rolling backwards!”
I looked out to see the bus slowly retreating. Why was she backing up? The hood of my car was crumpled up
like an accordion and white smoke billowed out. A feeling of nausea overwhelmed me and I realized we were
indeed moving. Thinking I would just pull on the emergency brake, intense pain met my efforts to move my right
arm and I cried out.
“I can’t move my arm!”
Cici reacted quickly, reaching between us and pulling on the brake herself. The car shuddered to a halt as the
white smoke escaping the mangled hood doubled in volume.
‘This cannot be happening! I am not allowed to have an accident. Don’t they know that? My mom is going to
have a fit!’
As these thoughts and more tumbled around in my brain, my head turned slightly towards Cici, the movement
painful and slow. She had to be okay; my heart couldn’t take it if she wasn’t.
“Are you okay?” The second time I asked her today but now the most important question in the world.
needed medical assistance and she said I did. She finally got her seatbelt loose and jumped from the car.
needed medical assistance and she said I did. She finally got her seatbelt loose and jumped from the car.
My door swung open and I turned my head back slightly to see a heavy set woman in dark pants standing there
with an extremely annoyed expression on her face.
“Are you hurt?” The question came out like a bark and if I hadn’t been distracted by the situation, I probably
wouldn’t have responded to her rude tone.
“Yes, I...I think I am. I have a lot of medical problems,” I cried, the tears beginning to come as I realized the
severity of my pain. My whole right side felt as if it were being ripped from my body and my back was on fire.
“Please help me!”
I reached out my hand to her but she just grunted, turned and walked away. Dissolving into a weeping mess, I
looked up into the sky. Still a beautiful shade of blue with the sun blazing brightly, I wondered if I’d live to see
tomorrow. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.
‘God, You’ve said You’d never forsake us. Did you bring me through everything to leave me now? Am I going
to die on this beautiful winter day?’
***************************
Fear of death. It has followed me all of my life, although more so in my adult years. From the time I’ve been 18,
the thought passes through my mind everyday. “Is today the day?” A silly fear for most, I’m sure. Not many
people think of their mortality that often. It usually takes something “life or death” to happen to spur someone
into worrying about impending doom. Not me. I’ve been through so many “life and death” moments, the
reaction is instantaneous now.
Life cannot be lived in such fear, though, and I’ve struggled hard to do exactly that. Live. Not only live but enjoy
life. Every day I can go outside and see the sun, I’m grateful. Everyday I can wake up to the sound of the rain
gently falling, I’m grateful. God blessed with my life and I’m going to do my best to honor Him by living it. But
being a permanently disabled adult does make it challenging. More challenging than I’d like. At times, it seems as
if nothing is easy for me. Just parking a car and walking into the house can have me out of breath and tired.
Dancing for five minutes can exhaust me for hours. Almost every day brings an obstacle of some sort and there
are days when I just lean up against it, tired of fighting. But I don’t stop. I may want to sometimes, but I don’t.
It’s not in my nature. Besides my family would never let me. And I love them more than the world.
think I had a life people would want to know about. After all, I’m just another human in this huge sea of
souls. I have never thought of myself as special so why would anyone want to read my life story? I
haven’t accomplished anything like winning a Nobel Peace Prize or selling ten million albums. I took the
cards that were dealt to me and lived my life the best I could.
My mother is actually the first person who approached me about writing an autobiography. She said
she thought my story was amazing and many people could learn from me. From me? I actually
laughed at her idea because I did not see how any of the hardships I’ve been through could help
someone else. Medical problems, family problems, and self-identity problems- what’s to learn from all
that pain? Besides, it was my mother talking, after all. She would have a slightly biased attitude, right?
The idea didn’t resurface again until my last year in college. In my final Journalism class, we had to
hand in self-portraits and my professor asked me if I had ever considered expanding my story into a
full-length book. I told him my mother had suggested it but I never gave it any serious consideration.
“People would be affected by such a strong story,” he told me. I thought about it as I worked on a few
chapters before I graduated but then put it aside to find a job and go on with my life.
Years later, I met someone I consider to be a special spiritual mentor. I don’t even think she realizes
the true importance she had in my life. From the instant we met, I knew she was a life changing force
for me. We’d spend time talking about the wonders of God and what our purpose is here on Earth.
She was a steady stream of encouragement, explaining how my personal story is the one way I can
reveal God’s glory to others. Through our talks I have finally understood what others have been
telling me. My life is my testimony- a testimony of God and His miraculous power.
The one thing that has always been my center is my faith, faith in God and His son Jesus Christ and
faith in myself. God touches every thing I do and I know I cannot lose with Him on my side. He is my
reason for being and my story is just an example of His love for us. The need to share this story so
others will learn more about the wonder of God and maybe help children and others feeling the same
way I did while growing up is what finally got me to take this project seriously.
Inside you will find my story along with what I hope to be helpful, useful tools in coping with having a
disability or having a child with a disability. I am not a licensed psychologist or doctor of any kind- I only
have a Ph.D. in LE (life experience). Along the road of obtaining my Ph.D., I have learned many life
lessons that can be helpful to others who are on the same journey, especially young people.
Children play a huge role in my life. I love them for their innocence and undoubting trust and loyalty.
They see the world the way I wish everyone would- with optimism and hope. If my story can help even
one child have faith in him or herself and strength to keep fighting in even the worst of times, than I will
have accomplished more than any prize winner or Grammy winning artist. And maybe then, I will feel I
have something to be proud of.
******************
My story. I’ve thought so long about how to tell it. Do I include every single thing that has ever
happened to me? Should I concentrate on just an area or two? Should I make it a self help guide for
disabled adults? A reaffirming testament for disabled children? Which angle do I take? Where do I go
with it? So many questions, absolutely no answers. Thinking, praying, hoping, searching for the right
answer, the magic reply never came. So, the project just stalled and sat. There was nothing I could
do. I had no answer about how to go about it. Getting my story out for all to hear seemed to move
further and further away. Maybe it had been too ambitious a project. Maybe someone else could
convey my life better. But, the longer it sat in my heart, the more unhappy I became. My life, my
experience on this planet we call Earth, all happened for a reason. My life has been saved on more
than one occasion and while others may ask “why?” it’s been more than obvious to me that God has a
job for me.
Figuring out my purpose hasn’t been easy but as I’ve grown into an adult, the picture has become
clearer. My purpose is to share my story, my life, my experiences in order to encourage, to lift up and
to inspire others on this journey and hopefully in the process, spread the love God has given me to
those who need, want and will embrace it wholeheartedly. How it all unfolds is inconsequential- as long
as you receive the message.
I have been on an incredible journey- physically and spiritually. I stored up all of my stories to tell just to
you. There are some rather intense details so take your time but, there are lots of fun moments too,
so I hope you will laugh along with me. I’ve included entries from my own journals, journals that I’ve
kept since I was sixteen years old. You can only try to understand someone’s journey when they are
open and honest and I’ve tried to be brutally so here. (However, some names have been changed to
protect the innocent!) Keep your mind and your heart open and enjoy the ride!
This couldn’t be happening. Any moment now, my eyes would open and I’d be safe and warm in my bed. As
much as I wanted to believe that, I knew I was lying to myself. The moment of horror that passed over me as I
saw my Honda hurtling towards the mini school bus stole my breath. I wanted to scream. I wanted to close my
eyes. I wanted to do anything I could do to stop the inevitable from happening. But I couldn’t. I was about to
collide with a bus. This was no dream.
I pressed my foot down frantically, trying to stop the car in its tracks. I could feel the tension in the car as it
struggled to stop but at the same time continuing its forward momentum. Distantly, I could hear my cousin Cici
scream. At least one of us could. My scream was still caught in the back of my throat as I prayed harder than I
ever had. ‘Please God, please let the bus pass us. Please don’t let the bus hit us.'
-----------
The day of January 18, 1998 started off rather unassumingly. Weather wise you couldn’t ask for a prettier day.
Clear blue skies stretched as far as the eye could see and although cold in the Northeast at 40 degrees, the
sunshine brought surprising warmth. Having just quit work a few months before to try my hand at freelance
writing, I spent many a day online, doing research or in the library, finding information about several selling
markets. This day was no different. After running to the grocery store and the library for the newest Writers
Market, I jumped in my two door, beige Honda Accord and headed out to pick out my cousin Cicilia from
school.
Cicilia Carter is like a daughter to me. I’ve been helping to care for her since she was a baby of two and we’re
extremely close. The teenage years, however, brought about a side of her I never knew existed and I found us at
battling ends more often than not. I cherished our relationship so this change didn’t sit well with me at all. In
efforts to bridge the gap, I thought if I enlisted her help in my new career, she’d open up to me a little more.
She climbed into the car, throwing her bag in the back seat and pulled the door closed, the seatbelt automatically
coming over her shoulder, all without saying a word. Her beautiful chocolate brown skin glowed with teenage
health and vitality and I envied the cute little figure developing on her. However, right now I could tell from the
lines across her forehead that the day must not have gone so well so I kept quiet as I pulled out of Matawan
Regional High School’s parking lot. The silence stretched out uncomfortably until I finally couldn’t take it
anymore and spoke.
“Hello.” I glanced over at her but her head was turned as she watched out the window.
“Hey.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just tired. A long day.” She sighed, putting a hand up to her forehead.
“Are you feeling okay? Headache?” I glanced her way once more and her gaze met mine.
“I’m fine. My head just hurts a little because I’m tired. I’ll take a nap when we get home.”
She meant my house, where we spent almost every weekday from 3 to 7 pm. She’d do her homework while I
worked on the computer and after we finished, our nightly shows awaited us- The Nanny and Friends. I’d never
watched either sitcom before but Cici turned me into one of their biggest fans. No matter how our day started,
we somehow always managed to end up laughing with one another. It was a time I wouldn’t trade for anything.
I nodded, turning on the radio. “I just have to go to the post office first to mail off these query letters.”
My comment spurred the first smile of the day and I grinned back at her, feeling excitement in me rise. This was
my initial attempt at feeling out the waters of freelancing. If I could get a few short stories published and build up
my confidence, then a book wouldn’t be too far behind. I had so many goals to fulfill. Having my dream within
reachable distance seemed surreal but I was doing all I could to soak it in. We enjoyed the music on our ride,
singing loudly and laughing, and soon were headed back home.
The road stretched out in front of us soon became littered with traffic and I glanced at the dashboard clock. 3:30
pm. School release time. As I drove over the parkway bridge about five minutes from my house, I saw the cars
and buses waiting to pull out of the side street ahead. It was a road I sometimes took as a shortcut home but
today I decided to stay on the main street. With all this traffic, I’d be better off not trying to turn. I hit my
brakes lightly as the large moving truck in front of me signaled his right turn, continuing on at a good speed. Two
cars came out from the side street before he began to turn. Cici leaned over to turn the station as I eased to the
left of him, ready to pass when he completed his turn. It was then the world stood still. A mini school bus came
up to the stop sign of the side street but never slowed down. I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing as she
continued to come into the intersection, where we undoubtedly would collide. Cici screamed, “The bus!” as I
slammed on my brakes but my car propelled forward from mere force. The bus was heading straight for us.
--------------
I don’t remember the actual collision. Sometimes the sound of it still awakes me from nightmarish dreams but I
can’t remember the moment the bus crashed into the front of the car. My baby, my 1990 Honda Accord, went
reeling backwards as I sat there terrified, adrenaline pumping through my system and shock cutting off my
normal response mode. I tried to take a deep breath but I couldn’t. I couldn’t breathe.
“Put the brake on, Lis!” Cici yelled.
I looked at her in a daze, not understanding what she was asking me to do. “What?”
“Put on the brake!” she repeated, “We’re rolling backwards!”
I looked out to see the bus slowly retreating. Why was she backing up? The hood of my car was crumpled up
like an accordion and white smoke billowed out. A feeling of nausea overwhelmed me and I realized we were
indeed moving. Thinking I would just pull on the emergency brake, intense pain met my efforts to move my right
arm and I cried out.
“I can’t move my arm!”
Cici reacted quickly, reaching between us and pulling on the brake herself. The car shuddered to a halt as the
white smoke escaping the mangled hood doubled in volume.
‘This cannot be happening! I am not allowed to have an accident. Don’t they know that? My mom is going to
have a fit!’
As these thoughts and more tumbled around in my brain, my head turned slightly towards Cici, the movement
painful and slow. She had to be okay; my heart couldn’t take it if she wasn’t.
“Are you okay?” The second time I asked her today but now the most important question in the world.
needed medical assistance and she said I did. She finally got her seatbelt loose and jumped from the car.
needed medical assistance and she said I did. She finally got her seatbelt loose and jumped from the car.
My door swung open and I turned my head back slightly to see a heavy set woman in dark pants standing there
with an extremely annoyed expression on her face.
“Are you hurt?” The question came out like a bark and if I hadn’t been distracted by the situation, I probably
wouldn’t have responded to her rude tone.
“Yes, I...I think I am. I have a lot of medical problems,” I cried, the tears beginning to come as I realized the
severity of my pain. My whole right side felt as if it were being ripped from my body and my back was on fire.
“Please help me!”
I reached out my hand to her but she just grunted, turned and walked away. Dissolving into a weeping mess, I
looked up into the sky. Still a beautiful shade of blue with the sun blazing brightly, I wondered if I’d live to see
tomorrow. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.
‘God, You’ve said You’d never forsake us. Did you bring me through everything to leave me now? Am I going
to die on this beautiful winter day?’
***************************
Fear of death. It has followed me all of my life, although more so in my adult years. From the time I’ve been 18,
the thought passes through my mind everyday. “Is today the day?” A silly fear for most, I’m sure. Not many
people think of their mortality that often. It usually takes something “life or death” to happen to spur someone
into worrying about impending doom. Not me. I’ve been through so many “life and death” moments, the
reaction is instantaneous now.
Life cannot be lived in such fear, though, and I’ve struggled hard to do exactly that. Live. Not only live but enjoy
life. Every day I can go outside and see the sun, I’m grateful. Everyday I can wake up to the sound of the rain
gently falling, I’m grateful. God blessed with my life and I’m going to do my best to honor Him by living it. But
being a permanently disabled adult does make it challenging. More challenging than I’d like. At times, it seems as
if nothing is easy for me. Just parking a car and walking into the house can have me out of breath and tired.
Dancing for five minutes can exhaust me for hours. Almost every day brings an obstacle of some sort and there
are days when I just lean up against it, tired of fighting. But I don’t stop. I may want to sometimes, but I don’t.
It’s not in my nature. Besides my family would never let me. And I love them more than the world.
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| A Precious Faith The Journey of A Lifetime |