Court Hearing // My Impact Statement

There is no sentence or judgment that can be made that will change where we are today or what we have been through.

The judgment today will not bring Brian back.

So - I’d like for you [Angel]  to listen to how your actions have impacted our lives.

Today is a day I’ve dreaded the most because it is forcing me to look back. To grieve what once was, and to relive the most painful and scary moments of our lives. It pains me to have to do this today, without Brian whole, when deep in my heart I hoped and believed he would be the one to speak today. 

Before I share how the crash has affected us, I just want to say to Brian, that caring for you and speaking for you has been my greatest honor. You are not a burden to me or to any of us who care about you. The things I'm going to share are difficult to communicate but important for the court to hear today. The things I share are to help convince the court that you receive some measure of justice for the joy stolen from you in your role as a son, brother, friend, state trooper, and my husband. For the good health and good life that was stolen from you when you stopped to help others on the road while on duty.

We could call character witnesses for Brian all day long that would without a doubt depict how inherently good he is. There's not enough time today, so I will say that Brian is humble, thoughtful and generous. He is careful to notice and remember little details about people. He loves to give gifts, and he loves to spoil our dog Layla. He loves Christmas and Halloween and has not allowed adulthood or cynicism to spoil his enthusiasm for the holidays. Brian is friendly with nearly everyone he meets. His big smile and genuine laughter brighten up any room he's in. Brian has always been an incredible athlete. He excelled in high school sports. He loves fishing, golfing, and bowling and is good at all of them. He once bowled a perfect 300. He's mindful of his health and enjoys going to the gym daily. He loves walking our dog in our neighborhood every night, no matter the weather. Brian is goofy and hilarious. I think he reserves his goofiest side mostly for me and our dog, but Brian has always been funny. 

I don’t doubt that you [Angel] are also a good person. But that does not mean you are exempt from the consequences of breaking the law and critically injuring someone. My someone.

Brian, myself, our families and friends - we are all still paying the price for your actions that day. But no one has paid more than Brian. 

We will likely be paying the consequences of your actions for the rest of our lives. There is no amount of money to pay, or time to serve, that will relieve us of this long, painful journey we have been on [- with no guaranteed end date. unlike any sentence on the table here today.]

So tell me how that’s fair or why we deserve that? Why does Brian deserve that when he was doing his job to prevent crashes like this same one from happening? 

To watch the man that I love more than anything in the world lose all abilities, autonomy, privacy, dignity, strength, and almost life… to lose his voice, which effectively leaves us with meaningless interactions, is by far the most painful thing to witness and endure. It is exhausting to be responsible for handling a whole human life, when that same life is the one I leaned on for strength and support. 

Grieving someone that is still living is the cruelest existence that very few people understand. Everything I do is veiled in sadness, angst, and fear. To walk this road is to endure palpable, unfathomable suffering, every single day.

Every day I wake up wondering if I will ever be comforted by his embrace again. If our house will ever be filled with the joy of his goofiness and laughter. If our dog will ever run to him because he’s able to call her name. If we’ll ever go on another date or start our own family. If he’ll be conscious enough to experience our 5 year wedding anniversary this September, or if I will celebrate it alone for the third year in a row.

While each day passes for us in a repeating time loop, my time is robbed by doctors appointments, research, a multitude of legal matters, navigating Brian’s employment deal and workers comp processes, becoming a landlord to our old home, working with contractors on ada modification projects, medical finance management and reimbursement requests. I now have two mortgages, two house insurance policies, insurance payments for the handicap van, and I am still fighting the state to reimburse me the $120K for the ADA renovations. 

I was advised early on in Brian's injury that I should become his advocate, that I should become an expert in “Brian”. This involved being with him in the hospital, observing him and learning what certain sounds, movements, and behaviors meant. Being an advocate for Brian while he was hospitalized was important, because there is no facility that could dedicate a care team to Brian with eyes on him 24/7. This was a problem, because Brian can't communicate. He couldn't press the call button for a nurse if he needed something. He couldn't express discomfort or pain in a way that would always result in getting attention. He could have seizures that were missed because there wasn't always a nurse in the room to see them, and Brian's vitals were not continually monitored. So I stayed by his side. And I became his expert. 

Due to these additional demands of my time in order for Brian’s needs to be met and get the best care possible, I am unable to work and had to sell the company I had spent three years building. I am left without a career, without time to participate in social events or hobbies, and worst of all, without my husband. I exist to meet the needs of all the parties and entities involved in this never ending nightmare. My dedication to Brian’s recovery has resulted in losing friends, giving up vacationing, and having little to contribute in group settings because I don’t have kids or any stories to tell outside of Brian’s medical details  Many don’t know what to say or do anymore outside of asking “How is Brian” and “how are you?” Imagine having to explain the complexity and the insane amount of details we have endured in response to such a simple, three-word question, almost daily, for 2.5 years. It is truly difficult to find joy or reprieve in anything that I do. 

There have been countless negative experiences, which embed themselves in our brains and threaten our sanity on a daily basis. All of these injustices rise to the surface of our consciousness whenever another effort to protect Brian goes sideways and off the rails. At every step in this journey, there is, without fail, always someone who gets in the way of Brian's care. There is always someone who decides that maintaining their ego, or their flawed, limited, jaded medical opinion is more important than the patient in front of their eyes. Some of these people see Brian as a statistic instead of a person. Sometimes Brian is stuck with doctors who think their degree in a completely unrelated field of medicine somehow qualifies them to speak to severe traumatic brain injuries and its complications. 

I am constantly haunted by the words of pessimistic doctors telling me things like “this is the new Brian,” “this is the best he will ever get,” “call me when you’re ready to give up,” Brian’s care is just custodial,” when the truth is, no one really knows. But how do I un-hear those words? How do I convince myself to choose hope over a professional’s opinion? How do I forge ahead when the healthcare system has failed us so miserably time and time again? How do I forget the sight of my husband on a ventilator without half of his skull? Or with dozens of staples in his head? How do I make sense of spending 2 of my birthdays, Christmas eve, new years eve, and the 4th of July in an emergency room? How will I ever forget what his body looked and sounded like when he was going into cardiac arrest? What kind of life is this?

We can continue to fight, and wait - while aggressively seeking solutions for new and innovative therapies and procedures, and medicines that are always emerging. 

But the alternative? The alternative is putting him into a nursing home, where he would likely decline rapidly. Or, at any point we can choose to withdraw his care. I did not understand what that meant after he started to breath on his own over the ventilator. How can you withdraw care from someone that is breathing on their own, if there is no life support machine to pull the plug on?

I learned that because Brian is still on a feeding tube, I do in fact still hold the power as his guardian, to give up on Brian and his unknown future, and remove his nutrition source. Or in other words, put him into hospice where they would sedate and starve him to death.

Imagine holding that kind of power over someone's life. Making that kind of decision because your partner is incapacitated? I could never live with that decision. I cannot believe that this is the position you have put me in.

Since doctors only know a fraction of a percent about what the brain is capable of, navigating the possibility of his recovery feels daunting, impossible and hopeless most days. We are stuck in limbo, holding our breath, waiting for any small sign that Brian’s brain is healing. But we don’t know. Most spouses would just have given up in the face of so much incompetence, chaos, cowardice, and malpractice we have endured, but if anyone can defy the odds, it will be Brian Frank. So I have continued to fight to find any answers, treatments, or therapies in the nation and even the world in order for him to thrive. It may appear that I know exactly what I'm doing, but I do not. I rely every day on hundreds of hands that are feebly attempting to hold myself and Brian up and keep our hopes high.

Today, Brian is home with 24/7 care. One nurse and one CNA morning and night. Our once private home life is now shared with our best friends, their kids, and our care team. It wasn’t too long ago that Brian and I were dreaming up our future, making plans to renovate our little house, planning trips, and experiencing the small joys of life in the privacy of our own home - like watching the Office together before bed, testing out new rollerblades in the kitchen, seeing who could make up a funnier dance or who had a better opera voice. Our old life is a distant memory now. All personal space is now shared and there are no new memories to make with Brian right now worth remembering. My world went silent the moment Brian was hit.

I cannot believe that this story is our story. All my wounds have been ripped back open today and I will leave here heavier than I walked in. Once again, another part of our journey that asks something of us that will not reap a reward. Everything that has transpired has been, and will continue to be, at our expense. Everyone will go home tonight, return to their “normal lives,” get into bed with their partners and go to work tomorrow. Brian will go home in the care of his nurses, I will tuck him in, walk down the hall, go to sleep alone and wake up to this reality again tomorrow. He won’t kiss me goodnight or wake me to tell me he’s going to work and that the coffee is ready. He won’t be in the passenger seat of the jeep when I get groceries tomorrow. Instead, we will leave here lacking meaningful human connection and life experiences as husband and wife. He won’t be able to comfort me when this exhausting day comes to an end. 

I hope you never get a phone call like the one that I got 900 days ago. The call that uproots life as you knew it and thrusts and traps you in a world of fight or flight. The saving grace in all of this, is that Brian and I are the real deal. Our foundation was already standing firm on love and hope and faith, so that when tragedy struck, we were prepared to take it on together. 

Since February 15th, 2021, severe traumatic brain injury has ruled my life and has taken Brian’s hostage, dragging us through hospitals and ERs with no end in sight. I cannot imagine a more cruel existence than the one we are living. The consequences you face today will always pale in comparison.

I would never wish this upon anyone ever, but there will be a day in your life that your joy is complete in another human and you will vow to spend your life with them. And I hope you remember Brian Frank on that day. He lit up my whole world, and marrying him was the best moment of my life. I am endlessly thankful for what we had, but it is absolutely meaningless that I have to continue life without him, even though he is right here.

💔💙🙏 

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8/11

Thank you, Angel, for your remorseful, heartfelt apology.

Thank you for apologizing directly to Brian.

Thank you for owning the mistake.

Since I am hopeful for our roadways to become safer so that everyone can make it home to their families, I pray for a judgement that will honor what we have endured, as well as the lives so tragically taken from us by wreckless drivers. The world will never be perfect, but we can certainly hope for some level of justice so that violators will take accountability for their actions and we all learn to make better choices in the future. I hope the ruling can set a precedent -- knowing that beyond a financial penalty or time served, the consequences of taking or harming someone's quality of life is insurmountable. Driving is a privilege, not a right.

Slow down. Move over.

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“The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all.  Amen.”  -Revelation 22:21