from, jamie

My name’s Jamie. I’m 58 — going on 59 — and I’ve lived a few different lives. I served 12 years active in the Navy, then continued in the reserves. I worked for Gateway back when it was still Gateway 2000. I’ve been a dad, a husband, a golfer. Then, in 2014, everything changed.

It started on the golf course — just a casual round with my dad. I’d driven my daughter down to South Carolina to visit my folks. We were finishing up the ninth hole when I felt like I was struck by lightning. I dropped to one knee and told my dad I needed to go home and figure out what just happened. By the time I pulled into a gas station to fill up, I lost the entire right side of my body.

I still don’t know why I didn’t tell someone right then. But I got back in the car and drove myself to my parents’ house. Called my mom from the driveway and told her to call an ambulance because something was wrong.

Everything after that moved fast. The ICU. The clot-busting drugs. My daughter and mom rushing back. My girlfriend at the time — now my wife — packed up her life in Michigan and moved south with her kids to help care for me.

I remember being in the ICU, stuck watching soap operas because I couldn’t figure out how to change the channel. Couldn’t find the nurse call button. Didn’t want to be a burden. That’s the thing people don’t understand — how hard it is to ask for help when you’ve always been independent. I’d point to something and say “toe,” trying to ask for green beans. Couldn’t find the words. It was maddening. At one point, they had to strap me to the bed because I kept trying to get up. I was pissed. But I think that’s when I started to fight.

My first steps happened strapped into this massive contraption with electrical stim pads and a harness — it felt like a robot suit from ten years ago. I was exhausted. But I did it.

I came home in a wheelchair, barely able to speak. We set up a bed downstairs because I couldn’t climb the stairs or stand to shower. Tammy did all of it — sponge baths, meal prep, pushing me up the hill to the bus stop so I could see my daughter off on her first day at her new school. Those moments mattered.

These days, I’m involved in adaptive golf. That’s been a huge part of my recovery — helping others, especially kids and visually impaired folks, get back into something they love. I even got selected for a team to represent the U.S. (Can’t talk about that too much yet, but yeah — I’m proud of that one.)

The hardest part of all this? Staying positive. It takes work. Some days I tip over the edge — from hope to frustration to “why me.” But I keep moving forward. That’s something I’ve always had. That older brother sense of responsibility. That push to keep showing up.

If I had to describe my journey in one phrase?
Not over.
It didn’t end when I thought it could have. I’ve still got a lot of love and life in me.

And to anyone else going through something like this:
Don’t give up.
The sun will rise tomorrow — whether you’re ready or not. So give yourself the chance to see it.

“That’s all, folks.” – Jamie