Missing Screws and Disappearing Months: Living in the Shadow of a Traumatic Brain Injury

I knelt down and took Rachel’s hand and told her I was there. When the paramedics arrived, I couldn’t help it. I asked them if she was going to die. I whispered, so she couldn’t hear. I knew even then it was a stupid question. But there was so much blood. A man in a fluro vest squeezed my shoulder and told me I had to be strong for her.