Written by Chris’s partner, Anna-Liisa, in the aftermath of his accident

I have been thinking a lot about time recently.

 

Somehow, I always perceived time as being linear. Everything having its own beginning and ending. Its own past, present and future.

 

But it was the evening of the accident when I felt the true meaning of time. I have heard it being described before, in books, in films, by other people with remarkable stories - that in certain moments in life, time can stop.

 

Stand still.

 

Cease to exist as it did before and change your life forever.

 

The night I received the message about the accident was the moment when life and time truly stood still. I can still remember some of it, how alien time felt. I remember my knees getting weak and shaky. The outside world disappearing. The truth is, it is a feeling like no other, one that I hope that you would never experience.

 

And yet, it was once of the rarest moments of my life when I felt time as raw as I ever have. 

 

Reacting to trauma

 

The way people react to trauma is as intimate and individual as human lives are.

 

I learned some powerful insights into my own psyche throughout the experience, and how I am, indeed, able to look fear into the eye and not back down. And how much I had been afraid of the unknown.

 

I did see surprise in some people’s faces when they learned we had only been together for 6 months and I would drop everything in a heartbeat. I didn’t see it that way. I know it is possible to fit a lot of love into 6 months that some may feel in 6 years.

 

There was no question in my mind what I had to do when I heard about the accident. Through my career, I have learned fair few things about trauma and hearing the words ‘traumatic brain injury’, a fall, air-ambulance and sedation - I knew there was a chance our lives had changed forever.

 

But equally, from where I come from, my Dad had raised me to not walk away when life gets difficult.

 

I am incredibly proud of my Estonian roots, humble and strong people who know suffering but who are loyal to the ones they love. And when things get really tough, that’s when they show up.

 

After all these years, I had found love in my life, this was never going to change my mind.

 

The coma

 

I had to learn about TBI as quickly as I could.

 

I have always taken interest in psychology and I had some previous knowledge of the studies showing it is beneficial for the patients to be surrounded by the people they know and care for. The reality is, sitting by your loved one who is in coma and fighting for their life, is a harrowing experience and something you cannot learn from the textbooks or understand from films.

 

It is cruel and heart-breaking and makes you feel powerless.

 

It shakes your belief in life and love and hope and higher power up there.

 

You ask yourself why or how.

 

You feel sad and angry and sorry for yourself and for him and grieve for the life you had. It is like you died too on the evening of the accident and now you are living in a parallel universe in a body that looks like yours but isn’t really you.

 

But then at your lowest moment, and there are many, sitting on the hospital floor and crying, all by yourself late evening outside the ICU door, your brain tangled by the emotions and thoughts, your body aching from sitting hours by his bedside, you accept it.

 

You feel all alone in this world, with the mountains in the dark evening colours outside the hospital gates, stealing your faith.

 

You dry your eyes and think to yourself: What if I can do this. What if I can take all the strength I have and look fear in the eye. What if all I have in this life is my time now. And you decide to fight it.

 

Fight for the life you love.

 

Yours and his.

 

The hospital becomes your reality. Your new life. The beeping machines - you will learn all the sounds. You tell him the stories about the day, and what the city looks like and how the hours are changing the colours in the sky.

 

And you tell him to still believe in the dream of having a house together by the sea and a dog and perhaps children one day.

 

You promise you won’t ever cry by his side. You are the one who needs to be strong now to help you both through. You keep your promise, apart from the fair few tears you brush away with a smile.

 

 

Support and lifeline

 

In trauma people go inwards and outwards.

 

When something tragic happens, you learn who your real friends are and you witness incredible kindness from the people you love and who, with the strength of the whole world, love you.

 

Tragic accidents are difficult logistically, emotionally and financially.

 

They drain you and squeeze you.

 

Literally. Physically.

 

Although already slim, I started losing weight quickly as my already little appetite, disappeared rapidly. I even saw myself losing hair before I decided to pull myself together and have at least a small something to eat once a day. I found it hard to swallow water as I felt tense with every fibre of my body. But I was incredibly lucky to have amazing friends around me to help me with the life admin – Airbnb and logistics and financial support.

 

Some days I even forgot my cash for coffee, normal life seemed so far away from reality now. But my friends were there for me even when I couldn’t accept their calls, as on many days, I found it hard to speak to the people who I loved.

 

Somehow, speaking about the situation made it all feel more real. But they were there for me and even flew over to Italy to be with me for a day or two, because they wanted to give me a shoulder to lean on. And for that, I am forever grateful.

 

And I found comfort in my new acquaintances who messaged day and night, his friends who contacted me to ask me how I was. I felt the love and support all the way from the lonely small town between the mountains in Italy. I felt belonging and strength in numbers in the campaign in the social media #shaka4chris.

 

And when the night fell in the valley of Aosta, I knew had strength to wake up the next morning.

 

Have hope in the unknown

 

None of it was easy.

 

None.

 

But it would be naive to think life is.

 

It was awful and painful and traumatic. But there was also so much kindness and love and beauty in the whole journey in the face of the people we love.

 

The first awake, overcoming and recovering, the laughter, the kindness of strangers, the small joys, the hugs, the smiles, the friends, the family, the hope, the love. And the faith in the unknown.

 

In the end, we made it.

 

Although a long road to recovery, for both, we lived to tell the tale, together.