Life was on the upswing. She was in the midst of a 4.0 college semester and was moving into her first apartment, a one-bedroom that she would fill with furniture handed down from her mom as well as from Nancy and me and that she would decorated adorably — with, of course, darkened bedroom windows. Now, Andrea wanted to earn bucks as she also devoted a few hours each week to a single summer college class: math. She was 20.

The world was entirely in front of her.

Sitting in the passenger seat of my Jeep, she carried a pen and a printout of the 10-15 openings she’d spotted in an on-line search. In my head, I mapped out our route from west to east, with a stop for lunch at one of those potential employers, Einstein Bros Bagels. Our happy meal there  feels like two weeks ago — and also like 20 years ago. We returned to the streets after eating, and she crossed off the rest of the names after running into each place for quick visits and application filings.

Recently, she’s been looking again.

As Andrea has continued to work daily and doggedly on re-sharpening her thinking, (thank you Lumosity), her therapy team at Craig Hospital decided the day had dawned for Andrea to add some volunteer time to her schedule. The idea is that such work will further stimulate new neural pathways and help Andrea re-learn the rigors of keeping responsibilities, managing time, remembering and completing tasks. The Craig team explained that volunteer work now also will help Andrea prepare to eventually meet one of her Big Three goals: returning to college.

A quick update on goals No. 2 — living independently — and No. 3 —  walking. She and we and Andrea’s helpers (Avy and Elizabeth) work on those major milestones daily. We’ve also hired a former Craig physical therapist, Rich, to spend time with Andrea twice a week at our houses to chip away at those goals. Rich was recommended by Andrea’s Craig doctor as the very best in Denver. As to independence, we don’t yet know the exact timeline to achieve that. But she and we see all clear progress. We see lots of little boxes being checked. As for goal No. 3, Andrea already is technically walking — each day, using her walker or her “gaitbelt” to traverse our homes. The walker has primarily become a training tool to help Andrea perfect her balance, her stride rhythm, and her steps, to better use her hips, knees and feet. She’s far stronger and far more steady on her toes than she was just a few months ago. She wants so badly to walk — without any assistance — and do it right now, and she confides this to us once in a while. My reply is always the same: Look at the steps just ahead of you; don’t look at the top of the mountain quite yet; but before you know it, you’ll be standing way up there. Reaching that mountaintop has been and remains a lengthy journey. And all who are close to Andrea can see how many miles she’s come  — from the days one year ago when she needed a mechanical hoist to rise from her bed to the mornings now when she simply stands up and out of her bed without help, and steps confidentially and beautifully through the house on her walker. As for goal No. 3, we don’t know the exact timeline either. But that time will come. That mountain top looks a bit closer each day.

In the meantime, there is volunteering to be done — along with Andrea’s twice weekly trips to the gym for personal training and her beloved yoga sessions.

The search for a job began with that green light from the Craig team and then a decision: Andrea opted to work, for now, with animals. Specifically, dogs. She went online to research dog-related agencies that take volunteers. She emailed several, including MaxFund, a no-kill shelter in Denver.

This was Andrea’s email to MaxFund, sent Tuesday :

“Hey there,

My name is Andrea Briggs, and I’m interested in becoming a volunteer for your organization. I enjoy working with all types of animals, and doing any tasks that your organization would need done.  Currently, I am recovering from a car accident in which I got a traumatic brain injury. In the process of my recovery, I am working with Craig Hospital’s “Community Re-Integration” program in hopes to become a volunteer. At the present time, my main form of transportation is a wheelchair and I have caregivers to help me with minor tasks that I am not able to do independently yet. If you could please email me some more information on how to become a volunteer for your organization, I would greatly appreciate it. Thank you so much for your time and have a great day!

Andrea Briggs”

This was the response she received today:

“Hi Andrea,

I am Karen Sessions, the volunteer coordinator here at MaxFund. First I applaud you on your recovery. I am sure we can help you with your recovery. Right now, the only thing I ask is that you come in and fill out an application and I can get a handle on what we could do for each other! (I have a medical background so you don’t have to ”dummy” things down for me.) We are open everyday except Tuesday. My day off is Wednesday. So any other day to come in would be fine. We are open at 11 and we close at 4pm. Does this sound like something you can do?

Karen”

When the email arrived, Nancy called me up from my basement office and said Andrea had some great news. As we read the email together, Andrea beamed. The house filled with cheers.

As milestones go, this is a big one. But even more, Andrea will be devoting part of herself to something beyond her own comeback — as critical as that recovery is to all of us. Life, we’ve truly learned, is about giving. Andrea has received more love, more warmth, and more prayers than she can ever know, and some that she can never remember.

Soon, she will be giving back some of that love and warmth to some special animals in need.

The world is entirely in front of her.

When she was released as a hospital patient, Andrea still was not verbally communicating or able to feed herself, hold a glass, care for herself, sit, stand or walk. Her neuropsychologist had said the best landing spot would be a single, home-based environment – far easier for her still-mending brain to basically keep track of things. But way complicated when her parents live apart. Of course, we complied. When we arrived at the east Denver apartment just before last Christmas, Andrea had a feeding tube attached to her belly. Into that plastic tube, we would pour medicine twice each day because she wasn’t able to take it orally yet. We hoisted her into and out of her bed with a power lift, which carried her up and down in a mesh sling. We also hoisted her into and out of her mobile shower chair using that same lift. And over the next 12 months, we watched Andrea gain ground and lose those pieces of equipment one at a time. Last week, I carted back to Craig Hospital the hoist, Andrea’s first wheelchair – built in late 2011 for her still-stiff body – along with her mobile shower chair and a power chair that she used for a while. We also gave Craig Hospital the van that a friend in Texas had so generously donated to us. The vehicle will now help other families and other patients go on recreational outings. Andrea does not remember using the hoist or the shower chair. And when I showed her those devices, she just smiled and said, “Wow, I was really f#$#ed up!!”

From December 2011 through November, Lorrie, and Nancy and I, traded two-night stints at Andrea’s place. The wheelchair accessible apartment did its job. It became a place of love and laughter and a whole lot of healing.

But living out of a suitcase and sleeping away from home half of each week was, to be honest, physically and mentally grueling on the adults. We were coming and going constantly. We couldn’t tell our friends where we would be on a given night in the future because the schedule was so complicated. Trying to hold down full-time jobs amid all that commuting, packing and unpacking was highly challenging. Hopefully, our bosses didn’t notice. But if you did, thank you for not saying anything about the quality of our work during that time. We all fully and happily agreed to pay that price in order to help Andrea progress. Given the miles she’s come this year, I believe it was a worthy sacrifice.

Andrea now spends time at both of our homes and will for at least a year. At my house, it’s been the battle of walkers lately. Nancy underwent double knee replacement surgery Nov. 5. There have been moments in which both Nancy and Andrea were shuffling on their walkers, laughing at each other, trying not to let the puppy knock them flat. Nancy is off the walker now. Andrea is working to meet that same goal. She has bedrooms at each home and she is able to use and fully access each of our spaces – bathrooms, hallways, kitchens and living rooms – with her walker or her chair. Initially, she didn’t like the idea of “moving back home,” because that’s precisely how she viewed it. A step backward for a 21-year-old independent spirit. In time, she realized, though, that our homes are – and will be – springboards to better days: like college and walking.

Speaking of which…

Our girl is on the move. I think back to her first steps post-injury, taken March 23. Tentative and a little stooped. Having to rely on parallel bars for support. Having to be told how to shift her weight from side to side. Having to be instructed to move her hands along the bars.

This was then:

Eventually, she learned how to use a walker with help at Craig. Next came her first steps at the apartment, using her walker with my hands guiding her body. Just a short trip down and back in her 10-foot-long kitchen. It took her probably 15 minutes to complete. She was terrified and drenched with sweat when it was over. That was in June.

The walker trips soon stretched into full-apartment strolls. I would trail behind her, just in case she lost her balance, but otherwise would keep my hands off her. She usually needed no help, including standing up from a chair and grabbing her walker. Later, we adopted “No Chair Sundays” in which Andrea only used the walker to get from room to room, from chair to chair. She now was able see her own physical victories – and, even better, remember them.

Soon, Andrea and I began practicing at home with a gait belt – which is just what it sounds like. The belt wraps around her hips. I hold the belt to keep her from falling forward or from tipping to the left or right and she practices steps without holding onto anything with her hands. And she began mastering stairs.

At Craig Hospital, where Andrea attends two personal training sessions weekly in the facility’s Peak Center gym, the staff has been isolating on four areas to help improve her balance and strides. Her right hip muscles remain overly tight due to the brain injury and, as a result, they sometimes cause Andrea to pull her right foot too far inward when she steps, narrowing her standing base or causing her to trip over her own feet. Her tight right hamstrings add to that issue, while her tight right elbow and rigid right shoulder don’t yet swing freely – keys to the normal rhythm of walking. So Kaci, TC, Julie and the other staff members are slowly working to stretch out and strengthen those muscles and tendons through a variety of exercises and poses that Andrea sweats though with a smile and an occasional wince.

On Tuesday night, Andrea took what may have been her longest gait-belt stroll yet – about 200 feet total without sitting to rest at any point. As you can see, she’s working with TC, fighting after each stride to regain her sense of balance, focusing intensely on properly shifting her weight for each step, on not rushing, and she is concentrating fully on proper foot placement and on keeping her shoulders upright yet not leaning too far backward.

This is now:

It is truly a complicated dance – a highly orchestrated series of individual movements, brain instructions, balances and counter-balances that we don’t even think about when we stroll across a room. At this stage, Andrea is a bit like a puppeteer, pulling the strings, making her knees and feet do what they’re supposed to do. She is learning beautifully how to do all of that again with confidence and without fear of falling – but ultimately teaching herself how to do it without having to think about what every tiny muscle, tendon, joint and toe is up to somewhere down there.

This is her journey back to life, one careful step at a time. She is walking the walk, and smiling that smile.

Andrea walked into her gym last Tuesday night.

Roughly 53 weeks after initially entering Craig Hospital via ambulance atop a stretcher with her body, face and mind seemingly frozen, we arrived at the same facility in Andrea’s Jetta, listening to Sublime, ready for her 5 p.m. personal training session. She rode from the parking lot to the hallway outside the Peak Center in her manual chair. At the gym door, she stood up and out of her chair without help and gripped a metal walker with her strong left hand and her awakening right hand. Then she calmly stepped into the gym, maneuvering the walker, lifting her knees and executing beautiful, balanced strides, all while her smile blazed across the massive room. The trainers each stopped what they were doing with other clients to cheer and clap. One trainer came dashing over to Andrea just to congratulate her.

In the movie version of Andrea’s life, this truly was a goose bump scene, maybe a moment scored by one of her favorite songs by A Tribe Called Quest. Can she kick it? Yes, she can.

Of course, this is no movie. And this journey has some rugged miles left before she reaches her specific vision of the finish line. Still, Andrea’s inspiring, upright gym entrance marked a first – another milestone amid, thankfully, a continuing string of “firsts.”

She and I had planned it, actually. She’s been practicing at home with her walker for months, especially since mid-September when she went on a planned break from her twice-a-week therapy sessions to take full control of her daily schedule and all the facets of her recovery. At this stage, the progress is all on Andrea. This is her time to relearn how to live life on her own. She’s in charge. Her therapists want it that way: planning every daily detail herself, using her iPad and iPhone schedules to stay on track, initiating each task, and completing each exercise. Andrea has taken this bit of freedom and, well, walked with it. When I emailed one of her therapists as to how she has embraced this phase, her response was: “Yeah!!!”

Many nights during my stays at Andrea’s apartment, I have asked her to start from a sitting position in her gold sofa-chair then stand on her own – with no help – to her waiting walker. Next, as I walked just behind her (just in case), I would ask her to ramble from that chair in the living room past the kitchen and into her bedroom, hanging a right into her bathroom and then a left into her shower. About 75 feet total. On the two back feet of her walker, there are two yellow tennis balls. Without helping her physically, I do offer occasional instructions: “Keep the tennis balls even with your toes … Squeeze right, step left. Squeeze left, step right … Shoulders back. Head up … Tennis balls to toes … Awesome.”

On these jaunts, we are definitely all about the time – the shorter the better. But form and posture are equally critical. During all of her short, inside strolls on the walker, I’ve only had to catch her once or twice, when her feet stepped too deeply inside the walker and her balance began to tip backward. The first time we made that particular trip from living room to shower, I timed her. Of course. It’s what a coach does, right? We want to mark progress. The inaugural trek: 8 minutes. One week later: 6 minutes. Working with Emily, Lorrie and me, Andrea eventually extended those apartment walks – going from her gold chair to my bedroom at the end of a long hallway and easily the longest possible stretch in her place; after a rest in my room, she then would turn and walk back to her gold chair. We even declared the past two weekends: “No Chair Sundays” – using only her walker for all of her apartment excursions.

No Chair Sundays soon will become the norm, I’m sure. And in time, the walker will be replaced by the gait belt. Andrea and I have used the gait belt once in the apartment: I strap it around her waist then hold each her hips just beneath the belt while she steps, practicing her stride without holding anything in front of her for support. To keep her from reaching around to grab me, I ask her hold onto her cell phone with her left hand. As with her first tries on the walker last summer, her initial gait belt steps were tentative. But she will gain confidence and build more balance in the belt. All in time.

So, this is “the walking program” – the game plan to eventually perform independent steps. As with all of Andrea’s big goals, however, we must bust it down into manageable chunks. This is true of her cognitive work and her goal to return to college classes, hopefully taking one next summer. This is true of her reaction time and her goal to drive again. This is true of her memory and her goal to live independently.

Funny how most of us have these inherent abilities yet barely give them notice. Andrea has had to relearn each one from the ground up – starting with simply breathing on her own and swallowing on command. Those came back one year ago. For Andrea to finally reach independent walking, we’ve chopped that No. 1 priority into tens of thousands of practice steps – and, equally important, strengthening and stretching her back muscles, right shoulder, abs, arms, hips, hamstrings, glutes, knees, quads, feet and toes. All of those body parts – literally from head to toe – were weakened by her brain injury and by the ensuing months of lying motionless in hospital beds. She often gets on a blanket on the living room floor with her mom or with me to stretch these various tendons.

And after walking into the gym that evening, the claps faded and Andrea immediately embarked – as she does twice each week  – on two hours of exercises with her personal trainers. She began with one-legged squats:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wAiutC-wvQ4

Then knee and hamstring stretches:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vpoh5Laqs1g

Then arm presses into kneeling squats

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-SaTl9UmNo

Then standing squats:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q8LCL1eA8o4

And, finally, lying pull-ups:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1-13AyA5Es

Since we’ve last checked in on this blog, Andrea has checked a lot of big boxes on her list of “firsts.” Dressing herself. Showering herself. Preparing simple meals. Moving from lying in her bed to sitting at her breakfast table without any help.

During breakfast about week ago – over her usual cup of coffee, banana and bowl of Fiber One – she told me about the dream she’d had the night before.

“I was in a store shopping,” she said.

“Of course you were,” I said. “That’s, like, your best thing.”

“I was in the dressing room, trying on this really cool jacket. It was black with fur on the collar and numbers on the chest. I think it was a 4 and an 8.”

“So, a jacket-jersey?” I asked.

“Yeah. Weird. But it was actually cool looking.”

“So in this dream, were you were walking in the store?”

She paused to think about it.

“Yeah, I was walking. I was walking around the store and I was doing my best thing – shopping.”

Due to tech problems, some or possibly all of our subscribers didn’t get email alerts about last night’s post. If you received an alert, apologies for a second one. If you’ve already checked this out this via the many Facebook shares, we thank you. – Team Andrea

One year ago tonight, a few minutes before 7, Andrea entered the intersection of East Bayaud Avenue and South Steele Street. Her life seemingly had fallen, finally, into perfect order.

The dean’s list at college. A part-time job at her favorite mall. Her own apartment. Independent at age 20. One European trip under her belt. Other global adventures surely to follow.

She left that intersection in the back of an ambulance. Her body shattered, her brain bleeding, and her life sustained by the breathing tube in her throat. Her world was about to shrink from boundless horizons to an ICU bed.

If you have visited here, you know all that has followed. If you are new, welcome to a tale of recovery and love, of redemption and sweat – of hilarious political rants, endless Facebooking, afternoons of “Sponge Bob” watching, nights of occasional pain – of hope … piled on top of even more hope.

A few days ago, Andrea requested a favor.

“On the night of the anniversary of my accident, can I to go to that intersection? I want to go there and say a prayer.”

The photo above shows the white board on Andrea’s dresser in her bedroom, where we list the upcoming events of each day to help orient her and organize her mind as soon as she wakes. Her short-term memory is building back but it is not fully restored. The white board gives her an instant reminder as to what’s ahead or — at the day’s end — all she has accomplished. Today’s board spoke of Andrea’s mindset around this anniverary.

So tonight we went to that terrible spot – an intersection through which I often drive, next to the tennis courts where Nancy and I take lessons on Saturdays. I hate that piece of pavement and what it has come to represent. I avoid it whenever possible. We arrived roughly at the same hour of the crash that momentarily took Andrea’s mobility and forever stole some precious and important parts of her long-term memory. Like her 4.0 semester. Like living in her own apartment. Like the sudden passing of a best friend six weeks before Andrea’s own near-death experience.

We drove there in Andrea’s Jetta with Andrea riding in the passenger seat and her wheelchair folded and lying in the trunk. In the back seat were Jenny and Emily, school friends and best friends, steadfast girls who have never given up on Andrea. Emily has been helping Andrea four or five days a week at Craig and at her apartment, even sleeping over once in a while so allow us a break. Her nickname is “Gold” because those letters are part of her last name. I know this will embarrass her, but Emily is gold. At a parking lot next to the intersection, Nancy met us. Four of us walked over as I pushed Andrea in her chair, answering her pointed questions on exactly where she was struck on that street, on the brief sequence of events that altered her life so immediately. We gathered on the northwest corner.

In time, Andrea said her piece: “Thank you, God, or whoever is up there. Thank you for letting me still be alive. Thank you for getting me through this year and, hopefully, all the years to come.”

What happened next left all five of us momentarily shaken and stunned.

***

One year after the crash, there is much work still to be done. Andrea cannot walk on her own, live on her own, drive, shower herself, fully use her right hand, fully straighten her right arm, or roll over in her bed.

Yet.

But thanks to her own healing, toughness and sunny spirit, the talents of her therapists and doctors, and 11 months of laborious work – first from the edge of a hospital bed, where she initially couldn’t breathe independently or hold her chin up for more than a second, and later in gyms where she sweats, swears and winces four days each week – this is what she can do: Stand herself up from a sitting position – and heck, just being able to sit at the edge of her bed without help is nice – stand alone without any support for several seconds, use a walker to maneuver from one room to another (with a bit of hands-on stabilizing and moral support), ride in the front seat of a car, carry on long, deep conversations, fold her laundry, play strategic board games, fill out a budget, write beautiful cards to friends and family (with her left hand), keep close tabs on the electoral vote projections this November, stay abreast of local news, shop on line, laugh instantly at the most subtle humor, detect and react instantly to the most subtle changes in body language or tone in her family members, and offer head kisses to all those she loves. We are using the chair less and less – especially when she goes to the gym. The hoist with which we came home from the hospital was shelved months ago. She goes to the mall. She goes to restaurants. She goes to the movies. She goes on semi-nightly rolls with her dog, Jessie. She plays with our new puppy, Wilson, in our backyard.

The work at Craig and at Andrea’s apartment continues to help bolster her mind and her body. Physically, she and her Craig team are focused on loosening and reviving her core muscles, her back muscles, the tendons in her right hip, right knee, right shoulder, right arm and right hand. That work is done while she is standing, lying on mats, kneeling on mats, walking a treadmill or soaking in a heated pool. Splints are worn daily on her right hand, right arm and both feet. She will have to grind out 10,000 more practice steps until she notches those first gorgeous strides taken on her own, without help.

The progress is nagginly slow. But it can be measured. The finish line is out there. We wish it would approach us so much faster. She wants it here now.

We also have started hard work to shore up Andrea’s resolve. She tires easily. A common symptom of traumatic brain injury. She complains about feeling fatigued. Sometimes, these complaints seem to sap what little energy she has left, slowing therapy sessions to a crawl. Her therapists and her family and Emily have some sympathy, but it is limited, and should be. So pep talks are in. Whining is discouraged.

These sorts of chats also are venturing into a new area: Andrea’s confidence in her own body. Why should she trust her body? It hasn’t really been there for her since the injury. And while it is coming back, gaining fresh strength, better agility and more balance, the mental fogginess of her early recovery makes those landmarks so hard for her to view in context. She has no memory of not being able to breathe on her own, or swallow, blink on command, or sit. So when the time comes for Andrea try to use the walker or to stand in the kitchen, she has doubts. Deep, vocalized doubts. We try to talk her through them.

A conversation from last night about attempting another short stand in the kitchen:

“But I don’t want to fall on my face! What about my face, dad? ” She points at it. “This is the money maker, honey!!”

“What,” I ask with a laugh, “is that from?”

“That,” she responds with a smirk, “is from my own brain.”

The girl makes it fun. That, alone, is beautiful.

***

Tonight, as were we still standing at one corner of that intersection, one year – to the hour – after Andrea was critically injured there, two cars violently collided.

It seemed like a cruel joke to us.  I’m sure it was far more terrifying for the people in the cars.

My back was turned to the crash. I only heard the sharp smack of metal on metal and felt hot air from the impact rush past my neck. It was that close. As I turned, I saw one car with a mangled front end, already leaking fluids onto the pavement, smoke rising from the hood. It also was rolling in our direction. It slowed then stopped maybe 20 feet away. All five of us looked at each other with giant eyes. “Did that really just happen? Really?” Then a few choice expletives. We all quickly checked on one another. We were OK. Andrea, now with a look of confusion and sadness on her face, was OK, she said. I walked to the closest of the two cars and helped a sobbing woman out of her front seat. Her airbags had deployed. I had my hand on her shoulder. She was quivering. I told her she was alright and suggested we walk out of that intersection to the sidewalk. She had been alone in her car. Others were checking on the two people in the second car. They were rattled but not hurt, we were told.

Surreal. Miles beyond surreal – whatever that may be. We went to dinner at Cherry Creek Mall – as planned. But some of our appetites had vanished. Nancy ordered nothing. We had a great meal, nonetheless, talked and laughed about some little things but also tried to make sense out of what we had just witnessed,   especially – ESPECIALLY – given the somber reason we had gone there.

Denver, I think you have an intersection problem.

I wasn’t initially sure what to make of tonight’s accident – so loud and violent and frighteningly close to us — too damn close to us —  a mirror image, really, of Andrea’s crash: one car turning left in front of another. But the more I thought about it – having seen the familiar physical damage to the two vehicles, but then having seen all the parties thankfully stand up and get out of their wrecked cars – I guess I was momentarily angry that Andrea didn’t enjoy the same good fortune.

I then thought about one of the healthiest lessons I’ve learned this year: You cannot change the past. You simply have to accept the facts, deal with them on your own terms, and move along.

We did exactly that tonight. And so we will again tomorrow.

I’m taking the day off to accompany Andrea on a Craig-wide event at Cherry Creek Reservoir. There she will practice standing out of her chair and getting into a boat. We will float and enjoy the Colorado sun.

Year One was about mere survival then steady recovery, about patience and love and hope. We’re are glad to have that mile marker in our rear view. Year Two will offer Andrea a return to walking without any help and countless other gains, equally thrilling. Year Two will, of course, be about more love and more laughter, about a young women’s profound strength and spirit – and, most importantly, about living.

We are ready to begin that next mile. I like that it begins in a boat.

Thank you for joining us, for your generous help and support and, most importantly, for sticking by our side during this remarkable journey.

One year ago tonight, a few minutes before 7, Andrea entered the intersection of East Bayaud Avenue and South Steele Street. Her life seemingly had fallen, finally, into perfect order.

The dean’s list at college. A part-time job at her favorite mall. Her own apartment. Independent at age 20. One European trip under her belt. Other global adventures surely to follow.

She left that intersection in the back of an ambulance. Her body shattered, her brain bleeding, and her life sustained by the breathing tube in her throat. Her world was about to shrink from boundless horizons to an ICU bed.

If you have visited here, you know all that has followed. If you are new, welcome to a tale of recovery and love, of redemption and sweat – of hilarious political rants, endless Facebooking, afternoons of “Sponge Bob” watching, nights of occasional pain – of hope … piled on top of even more hope.

A few days ago, Andrea requested a favor.

“On the night of the anniversary of my accident, can I to go to that intersection? I want to go there and say a prayer.”

The photo above shows the white board on Andrea’s dresser in her bedroom, where we list the upcoming events of each day to help orient her and organize her mind as soon as she wakes. Her short-term memory is building back but it is not fully restored. The white board gives her an instant reminder as to what’s ahead or — at the day’s end — all she has accomplished. Today’s board spoke of Andrea’s mindset around this anniverary.

So tonight we went to that terrible spot – an intersection through which I often drive, next to the tennis courts where Nancy and I take lessons on Saturdays. I hate that piece of pavement and what it has come to represent. I avoid it whenever possible. We arrived roughly at the same hour of the crash that momentarily took Andrea’s mobility and forever stole some precious and important parts of her long-term memory. Like her 4.0 semester. Like living in her own apartment. Like the sudden passing of a best friend six weeks before Andrea’s own near-death experience.

We drove there in Andrea’s Jetta with Andrea riding in the passenger seat and her wheelchair folded and lying in the trunk. In the back seat were Jenny and Emily, school friends and best friends, steadfast girls who have never given up on Andrea. Emily has been helping Andrea four or five days a week at Craig and at her apartment, even sleeping over once in a while so allow us a break. Her nickname is “Gold” because those letters are part of her last name. I know this will embarrass her, but Emily is gold. At a parking lot next to the intersection, Nancy met us. Four of us walked over as I pushed Andrea in her chair, answering her pointed questions on exactly where she was struck on that street, on the brief sequence of events that altered her life so immediately. We gathered on the northwest corner.

In time, Andrea said her piece: “Thank you, God, or whoever is up there. Thank you for letting me still be alive. Thank you for getting me through this year and, hopefully, all the years to come.”

What happened next left all five of us momentarily shaken and stunned.

***

One year after the crash, there is much work still to be done. Andrea cannot walk on her own, live on her own, drive, shower herself, fully use her right hand, fully straighten her right arm, or roll over in her bed.

Yet.

But thanks to her own healing, toughness and sunny spirit, the talents of her therapists and doctors, and 11 months of laborious work – first from the edge of a hospital bed, where she initially couldn’t breathe independently or hold her chin up for more than a second, and later in gyms where she sweats, swears and winces four days each week – this is what she can do: Stand herself up from a sitting position – and heck, just being able to sit at the edge of her bed without help is nice – stand alone without any support for several seconds, use a walker to maneuver from one room to another (with a bit of hands-on stabilizing and moral support), ride in the front seat of a car, carry on long, deep conversations, fold her laundry, play strategic board games, fill out a budget, write beautiful cards to friends and family (with her left hand), keep close tabs on the electoral vote projections this November, stay abreast of local news, shop on line, laugh instantly at the most subtle humor, detect and react instantly to the most subtle changes in body language or tone in her family members, and offer head kisses to all those she loves. We are using the chair less and less – especially when she goes to the gym. The hoist with which we came home from the hospital was shelved months ago. She goes to the mall. She goes to restaurants. She goes to the movies. She goes on semi-nightly rolls with her dog, Jessie. She plays with our new puppy, Wilson, in our backyard.

The work at Craig and at Andrea’s apartment continues to help bolster her mind and her body. Physically, she and her Craig team are focused on loosening and reviving her core muscles, her back muscles, the tendons in her right hip, right knee, right shoulder, right arm and right hand. That work is done while she is standing, lying on mats, kneeling on mats, walking a treadmill or soaking in a heated pool. Splints are worn daily on her right hand, right arm and both feet. She will have to grind out 10,000 more practice steps until she notches those first gorgeous strides taken on her own, without help.

The progress is nagginly slow. But it can be measured. The finish line is out there. We wish it would approach us so much faster. She wants it here now.

We also have started hard work to shore up Andrea’s resolve. She tires easily. A common symptom of traumatic brain injury. She complains about feeling fatigued. Sometimes, these complaints seem to sap what little energy she has left, slowing therapy sessions to a crawl. Her therapists and her family and Emily have some sympathy, but it is limited, and should be. So pep talks are in. Whining is discouraged.

These sorts of chats also are venturing into a new area: Andrea’s confidence in her own body. Why should she trust her body? It hasn’t really been there for her since the injury. And while it is coming back, gaining fresh strength, better agility and more balance, the mental fogginess of her early recovery makes those landmarks so hard for her to view in context. She has no memory of not being able to breathe on her own, or swallow, blink on command, or sit. So when the time comes for Andrea try to use the walker or to stand in the kitchen, she has doubts. Deep, vocalized doubts. We try to talk her through them.

A conversation from last night about attempting another short stand in the kitchen:

“But I don’t want to fall on my face! What about my face, dad? ” She points at it. “This is the money maker, honey!!”

“What,” I ask with a laugh, “is that from?”

“That,” she responds with a smirk, “is from my own brain.”

The girl makes it fun. That, alone, is beautiful.

***

Tonight, as were we still standing at one corner of that intersection, one year – to the hour – after Andrea was critically injured there, two cars violently collided.

It seemed like a cruel joke to us.  I’m sure it was far more terrifying for the people in the cars.

My back was turned to the crash. I only heard the sharp smack of metal on metal and felt hot air from the impact rush past my neck. It was that close. As I turned, I saw one car with a mangled front end, already leaking fluids onto the pavement, smoke rising from the hood. It also was rolling in our direction. It slowed then stopped maybe 20 feet away. All five of us looked at each other with giant eyes. “Did that really just happen? Really?” Then a few choice expletives. We all quickly checked on one another. We were OK. Andrea, now with a look of confusion and sadness on her face, was OK, she said. I walked to the closest of the two cars and helped a sobbing woman out of her front seat. Her airbags had deployed. I had my hand on her shoulder. She was quivering. I told her she was alright and suggested we walk out of that intersection to the sidewalk. She had been alone in her car. Others were checking on the two people in the second car. They were rattled but not hurt, we were told.

Surreal. Miles beyond surreal – whatever that may be. We went to dinner at Cherry Creek Mall – as planned. But some of our appetites had vanished. Nancy ordered nothing. We had a great meal, nonetheless, talked and laughed about some little things but also tried to make sense out of what we had just witnessed,   especially – ESPECIALLY – given the somber reason we had gone there.

Denver, I think you have an intersection problem.

I wasn’t initially sure what to make of tonight’s accident – so loud and violent and frighteningly close to us — too damn close to us —  a mirror image, really, of Andrea’s crash: one car turning left in front of another. But the more I thought about it – having seen the familiar physical damage to the two vehicles, but then having seen all the parties thankfully stand up and get out of their wrecked cars – I guess I was momentarily angry that Andrea didn’t enjoy the same good fortune.

I then thought about one of the healthiest lessons I’ve learned this year: You cannot change the past. You simply have to accept the facts, deal with them on your own terms, and move along.

We did exactly that tonight. And so we will again tomorrow.

I’m taking the day off to accompany Andrea on a Craig-wide event at Cherry Creek Reservoir. There she will practice standing out of her chair and getting into a boat. We will float and enjoy the Colorado sun.

Year One was about mere survival then steady recovery, about patience and love and hope. We’re are glad to have that mile marker in our rear view. Year Two will offer Andrea a return to walking without any help and countless other gains, equally thrilling. Year Two will, of course, be about more love and more laughter, about a young women’s profound strength and spirit – and, most importantly, about living.

We are ready to begin that next mile. I like that it begins in a boat.

Thank you for joining us, for your generous help and support and, most importantly, for sticking by our side during this remarkable journey.

Andrea, it’s turning out, has rich tale to share, full of hope and sweat, laughter and anxiety, inspiration and cursing.

Yes, occasionally, she lets fly some doozies. They’re hurled during political diatribes, comical references, even amid observations about how she wound up temporarily immobile and a bit foggy. These venting sessions and r-rated exclamations likely mean the old Andrea is simply, slowly re-emerging. But it also may, by chance, stem way back to Andrea’s days as a patient at Craig Hospital when one of her Craig therapists repeatedly and playfully begged Andrea to make her first, post-injury utterance one of George Carlin’s seven dirty words. The old f-bomb. Be careful what you wish for. Just know: she makes us laugh. Her comedic timing is impeccable.

Back at msnbc.com, my editors saw a story arc developing as they read how Andrea was inching back from silent, sick person to spunky gym rat, surrounded by not two parents but three. Health editor Linda Dahlstrom, for whom I’ve written articles since 2006, floated the idea a while back of my writing a Father’s Day essay for msnbc.com. A glimpse of this odd, new life from a dad’s perspective. For months, I wondered how I could possibly synthesize this entire experience into 1,200 words. Impossible, really. Then Linda and other editors broadened the scope of the project, asking if we would allow msnbc.com multimedia journalist Jim Seida to visit Andrea’s apartment and accompany us to Craig Hospital, to see how Lorrie, Nancy and I are juggling, hustling, squeezing, racing and sacrificing to support Andrea while she recovers — and as we simultaneously try to maintain some semblance of our own lives.

Jim visited Denver three times. He and Andrea shared many laughs and many songs, singing some of them together as the tunes played on her iPod. He also was there when she grimaced in therapy or, just six weeks ago, when she would ask me the same question 12 times in 12 minutes: “Dad, do you think I’ll walk again?” Jim’s one-on-one interview with Andrea about a month ago was, in a word, classic. Her answers to his probing questions were intentionally – and unintentionally – hysterically funny. I remember standing at the kitchen island, not wanting to miss a second. Andrea’s friend, Emily, sat at the dining room table. With each Andrea zinger, Jim quietly turned my way, just smiling and shaking his head. I then looked at Emily and tried not to laugh out loud so as not to ruin Jim’s video recording. That was tough. We all held it together. The girl was on fire that afternoon.

To compile his footage, Jim slept at the apartment. He rode  in the van. He roamed the Craig gyms. He ate Craig food. He  shared meals at our apartment table. He had a glass of wine or a beer with me in the apartment living room as we both zoned out at the end of yet another exhausting day. “I don’t know how you do it,” he once remarked. “I just do,” I replied. I’m not sure how he does it either.

Tomorrow morning, you can view all that Jim captured then edited and organized into a package of videos and still photographs that document the past two months of Andrea’s way back. And you can read my essay there as well. All of it will appear at http://www.msnbc.msn.com/

We are so proud of Andrea. We are so proud to share her spirit, her smile, her strength. All that she has accomplished so far – from re-learning how to breathe and swallow to re-learning how to stand and walk – are just the first chapters of the story of Andrea’s life. Her long and happy second life.

For the three parents in the picture, our occupations provide income and, equally critical, a sense of balance. For Andrea, her daily tasks are the most important she will ever complete, a cell by cell, neuron by neuron, muscle by muscle transformation from a critically injured, unresponsive young woman on a breathing machine and feeding tube all the way back to a college student staying in her own place (with, of course, a dog), looking after her daily details, laughing with her best friends, cranking her favorite music, walking, driving, traveling the world – living at her former speed and with every ounce of her famous spark. She is getting there, week by week.

For me, a steady ramp-up in writing assignments since the start of 2012 formally becomes, on Monday, a full-time writing gig with msnbc.com. On my Newsvine page http://billbriggs.newsvine.com/ I love seeing the word “staff” next to the NBC peacock logo. The people in the msnbc.com newsrooms – in Seattle and New York – are my work family. Though located thousands of miles away, they became a steady support network far back in the darkest, early days of this ordeal. They always ask me great questions. They always pay hard attention to the milestones in my daughter’s recovery. As I now devote even more hours to reporting and writing for msnbc.com, I will be stepping back from the two or, sometimes, three to four days per week that I drive Andrea to her gym sessions at Craig Hospital. One of Andrea’s best friends, Emily, will take my hours, both in the van and at Andrea’s side on the mats and next to the walking rails. (Lorrie can still generally work while at Craig, where I cannot.) As Nancy learned many months ago, this is a rough transition – not being present to witness the triumphs and to help soothe Andrea through the pain and fatigue that so often envelop her on this long journey. I have full faith that Emily will keep Andrea smiling. Now, I have to adjust to not watching and savoring the therapy victories – both giant and tiny.

I’ve shared something personal with a few people during this experience: I feel more at ease when I’m watching Andrea work – on the days when I see her literally making strides. The nagging pain in my gut – which moved in and made itself right at home last July as I first paced the ICU waiting room – completely disappears when I’m at Craig. Maybe it’s a guy thing. Or a dad thing. Fathers are wired to mend, to fix, to act. Being at my daughter’s side and in her ear as she re-finds her steps is a natural tranquilizer. In some small way, I know my being there is helping. When I’m home during the day writing and I can’t go to Craig – far more often lately – I later pump Lorrie, Andrea (and now Emily) for all the details that they can recall from the therapy sessions. I need to know. But I also need to let go, to re-focus my remaining energy and time on my life’s other priorities: my marriage, my health and, yes, my career. In that order.

When I first considered returning to work full-time, I emailed the man who has been overseeing the restoration of Andrea’s body and mind. Dr. Alan Weintraub.

“Is it too soon to go back now?” I asked. “Will that be a detriment to Andrea in any way?”

Given her stunning progress since January, I did not (and do not) want to change the equation.

“It may take you one more month and stepping back to really know,” Weintraub said. “(But) I think you can work just fine, if Andrea has her care routines in place. It will be good for everyone.”

So I took that leap. So far, so good.

On Tuesday this week, Andrea will hit the gym once again. She now does sessions with a personal trainer, Julie, twice per week. (The other training day is Thursday). Julie and Andrea work on her standing, her balance, her core strength, and her re-learning some steps. Those sessions take place in the Peak Center, a new gym on the first floor at Craig Hospital – jammed with new-tech machines that teach injured brains how to move arms and legs. One device is called the Lokomat – a blend of robotics, treadmill and video game. When she is strapped in, the Lokomat pulls and pushes Andrea’s legs forward and backward as her feet trudge along a moving treadmill. She can control the direction by adding more force and more kick to her thighs, knees or calves. She sees the immediate results on a video screen ahead of her: an avatar of a young woman walking in a green field toward scattered farm animals; Andrea’s legs and feet steer the woman toward those targets: cows, lambs and horses. She racks up points for every animal the avatar hits. The idea is to more consistently re-link the communication between her brain, legs and feet.

About a week after this recent session, Andrea did a Lokomat stroll without the lower-leg gear. As her body gains strength and her gait gains rhythm, the staff will remove more robotic pieces. The goal, eventually, is to simply have her walk on the treadmill by herself.

Andrea’s Wednesdays and Fridays are more-traditional therapy days, devoted to the three “classes” she’s been taking since last August: speech, physical and occupational therapy. For those sessions, she continues to work with Heather, Denise (sometimes with Celeste), and with Michelle. These women all are phenomenally talented. And each offers Andrea the perfect blend of affectionate friend and tough coach. Somehow, they actually make this fun.

Heather and Andrea seem to be constantly laughing as they play games to boost her memory and cognitive abilities. Both of those core pieces of Andrea’s mind are improving. Just a second ago, Andrea called me into her bedroom to ask the following question: “Dad, can you take this splint off my arm, take my lap top away, bring me a little water, bring me my phone and turn on my TV?” Quite a laundry list. But she had formulated her multi-phased request, organized it and then asked it with perfect diction. I handed her the phone, her TV remotes and offered a quick sip of water. With the Comcast screen showing her many options, she decided to head to the “On Demand” section, to the TV programs and to the “T’s” to download the latest episode of Tosh.0, her favorite comedy. Then she summoned me back into her room a second later to watch a video of a car smashing into a standing person at a 7-11 as the dude took out a bag of garbage. (He was fine after the collision). A lady emerges from the crashed car and calmly, without even a glance at the downed man, walks into the store “to buy lottery tickets,” Tosh suspects. Just a little ironic, given how all this started. But Andrea was giggling at the footage. And, frankly, so was I.

Laughter aside, the rehab work can be gritty, sweaty and sometimes agonizing. When Andrea is standing and striving to find that single, delicate point between leaning too far forward and falling – and leaning too far backward and falling – she tightly mashes her mouth shut and narrows her eyes in utter concentration. The closest comparison I can envision is if both of your legs fall asleep AND you simultaneously get muscle cramps from the quads to the calves to the feet and all this happens while your head is completely dizzy (as if you just stood up too quickly). This is what standing is like right now for Andrea. She battles through it all.

But when she’s up, Andrea is more upright and better able to brace her body with hard-won core and leg strength. Here, she stands between the walking bars with just a bit of help from Denise, who places a hand on her right side. You can see some of the pain as Denise tugs Andrea’s right shoulder back for better posture.

One of the most beautiful traits about my daughter: the pain is immediately forgotten and the smile and focus return. There is no grudge. There is only looking ahead. She teeters then catches herself.

These days, each one of us is looking forward while striving to find that proper balance. We will teeter. And then, hopefully, we will catch ourselves.

Up first, Olivia Rudeen. Nancy and I have been listening to Olivia’s CD since the event. The big time awaits this young woman.

Eventually, we will post a video of Johnny Hickman playing solo then playing with Jim Dalton and – finally – those two brought Olivia back for a killer finale.

Proceeds from the concert will help Andrea continue her therapies and workouts at Craig Hospital. Even better, Andrea had a great night – beaming with old friends. The next day, she talked about the show in glowing terms. Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of our friends who could attend.

Enjoy Olivia’s set, filmed by Kevin Olson.

“Hold of Myself.” – Johnny Hickman.

Cue the music…

—

In the beginning, that’s all I was trying to do. Get hold of myself. Tough job, that.

Now, eight months later, I’m smiling each day.

We all have much to celebrate.

And so we will. With some very cool music and some very cool friends.

We hope you can join us tomorrow night at the Mercury Café in Denver to hear acoustic performances by Johnny Hickman, Jim Dalton and Olivia Rudeen. The tunes start around 8. Please check out our Benefit Concert page for tickets.

What now seems like many years ago (actually, just a few months ago), four of my best buds – Mark Stevens, Mark Eddy, Mike Booth and Alan Gottlieb – sat down to plan a benefit show for Andrea. The idea was to raise additional money to help pay for ongoing therapies not covered by insurance. Nearly 100 people (and climbing) have purchased tickets to the concert and those donations will indeed be funneled toward future sessions to help Andrea to rebuild her once-independent life. To return to college. To travel abroad again. To hang out with her friends wherever, whenever.

To inch back toward normal.

But since those early show-planning sessions among my friends, this event has slowly turned into something even more beautiful. Olivia – along with Johnny and his wife, Soraya – have become personally touched by Andrea’s rejuvenation. They’ve all pounded the social media drums to pull in the crowd. They became core members of Team Andrea. They are donating their supreme talents to help my kid get better. What better gift?

Some context … Many years ago, Olivia was part of the soccer team that I coached along with Mark Eddy. Andrea was on the squad as were at least two other girls – now young women – who will be in the room tomorrow night. The “T-Rex Girls” never won a single game. (It may have been the coaches…. Ok, it WAS the coaches). But some of the girls and their families have bonded for life. Now Olivia will play her music for her childhood friend.

Meanwhile, I’ve been a fan of Johnny Hickman’s vast guitar and vocal abilities since the early ‘90s. My friends and I have driven thousands of miles to see and hear Cracker – the band Johnny co-founded with David Lowery. Cracker music – a.k.a. “Cracker Soul” – became the soundtrack to my adult years in Denver. Anybody familiar with my friends and me is quite aware of our dogged devotion to this band. We’ve caught them in Aspen, Steamboat, Boulder and countless times in Denver. (I didn’t make it, but some of my buds even saw Cracker in Alaska). We’ve bounced to Cracker music in concert halls and tiny bars. During our many dads-and-daughters trips to the mountains when our girls were younger, we constantly cranked Cracker in the cabins or beneath the pine trees while flipping a Frisbee or tossing a football. During our many fishing trips to Lake Powell, we blasted Cracker tunes off the canyon walls deep into the night as our giant bonfires lit the sky. Some people might call us stalkers. We accept that term. Gladly.

A while back, Mark Stevens, another pal, Ralph Beall, and I drove from Denver to Chicago for two nights to see Cracker in a club in Wrigleyville. After the show, we joined the band for a beer in a little basement bar below. Later, Johnny and drummer Frank Funaro made the critical error of accepting a ride back to their hotel with Mark, Ralph and me. I was at the wheel. I am not known for my keen sense of navigation. We became hopelessly lost. I remember passing the Northwestern University campus and Johnny, sitting to my right, calmly suggesting that – “Hey, just maybe, we’re headed in the wrong direction.” We were gone so long, we actually had to stop for sandwiches before we finally managed to find Johnny and Frank’s hotel at about 4:30 a.m. The next time we saw Cracker, Frank mentioned that the band had given us a collective nickname: “Magellan.”

Ten years later, Johnny is helping Andrea find her way home.

Pretty sweet.

As I said, the concert has evolved into something beyond beautiful. We also gather to raise a glass to Andrea’s rapid, sweat-drenched gains in the gym. Few people I know work harder. Few people I know are more motivated to live life.

If you have followed our blog, you know that Andrea has gained solid ground cognitively and in her memory. Her right arm is finally moving again. She now does two miles on the hand bike during her therapy days. And she has been taking steps – twice inside the handrails at Craig Hospital. Her physical therapist last week told me that Andrea is ready for a much more rigorous walking program: getting outside those handrails, pushing a shopping cart, walking on a treadmill while supported by a large sling. She’s now doing two-minute stands at home, bracing herself on the kitchen counter with just a tiny bit of support from me on her right hip and knee.

Andrea is zooming toward the day when she will be walking without help. Tomorrow night, she will be in her chair with – undoubtedly – a giant smile on her face, and with Nancy and me at her side. (Lorrie is away on business and is disappointed to miss the concert. Our friend, Kevin Olson, will video the event to ensure that Lorrie or any of our scattered friends and family can later see the party online). We hope that Andrea’s mental stamina will allow us to stay the entire evening. If she tires, Nancy, Andrea and I will quietly exit to let you enjoy the show.

Either way, we’ll all be grooving to the beat of Andrea’s astounding progress.

Later she got new splints for her hand/arm and feet–big improvements over what she’s been wearing. The expectation is that the hand/arm splint will help wake that arm up, while the splints on her feet will help her with standing and walking.

After getting the feet splints fitted, we had a late afternoon physical therapy session with Denise. After a few attempts at standing, Denise asked her assistant, “should we try that thing I was thinking about earlier?” With a lot of help, Andrea was able to hold herself on the parallel bars and take some small steps (although very big in the scheme of things). The therapy team was so surprised and impressed they came out to cheer her on. Andrea was especially touched when Celeste (who did much of the work on her stiff muscles and joints since discharge) came out and, with tears in her eyes, gave her a big hug.

Here’s a clip (it’s almost five minutes) that shows our girl tackling her biggest feat to date.  She has every right to be proud–it was amazing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_lVO_VzkZtw