Five Years Later: What We Know Now

On January 18, 2026, it will have been five years since Mason’s ski accident, which resulted in paralysis from the waist down. At the time, he was 17 years old. Today, he is 22.

I still remember the phone call clearly. Donn and I were driving home from errands on MLK Day, in my VW Bug, when Mason’s friend called. She was panicked and struggling to speak. I asked her to slow down and breathe with me so she could tell me what had happened. I then spoke with the paramedics on scene, who shared that Mason’s vital signs were stable.

We drove to the hospital and waited, what felt like hours, for Mason to arrive by ambulance. We waited in the same room where, years earlier, I had waited to see my daughter after a suicide attempt following bullying when she was 16. Once Mason was stabilized, the medical team brought us into his room. I remember that the down from his new coat was scattered across the floor; it had been cut off of him. At the suggestion of a friend, we called a family friend who is also a surgeon. He arrived quickly and helped us better understand what was happening.

That night, Mason underwent a laminectomy to relieve pressure on his spinal cord. Before surgery, he could not feel his legs, and we hoped the procedure might change that.

The surgery itself went well, and Mason was admitted to the pediatric ICU, where he stayed for nine days. The staff and nurses were attentive and supportive throughout his time there, not only to Mason, but to all of us.

This was during the height of COVID, so Mason’s friends were not allowed to visit. Many of them gathered on the hospital rooftop, holding signs with messages of support.

We began searching for the best rehabilitation hospital available, and Craig Hospital in Englewood, Colorado, quickly stood out. They offered a teen program, and research consistently shows that recovery is stronger in community. We applied and waited for approval and travel arrangements.

Mason and I were approved to fly by medical jet to Craig Hospital. On January 27, we traveled to Craig Hospital. We now refer to it as the “Harvard of spinal cord injury rehabilitation.” There, Mason learned extensively about his body and gained access to resources that continue to support him in living a full and meaningful life.

Donn drove to Colorado separately. Neighbors we had only recently met offered to care for our aging Bichon-poodle, Ruby, for an extended period of time.

Looking back, it still feels unreal. For years, I would dream that none of this had happened, only to wake and see Mason’s wheelchair at the foot of his bed.

For the remainder of Mason’s medical journey, please see his CaringBridge site:
https://www.caringbridge.org/site/e5dad048-bfe2-3fd5-8136-048458879750

I want to shift now to what I have learned over the past five years as we have navigated this life-changing event.

While we were deeply involved in Mason’s care early on, it is important to say this clearly: Mason now lives independently. He is the architect of his own life. He has worked extraordinarily hard to build the business he runs today, to care for his body, and to continue shaping a future that reflects his values, determination, and agency.

As a mother, and as someone who identifies as a Compassionate Person (a concept drawn from Molly Davis Moon’s Becoming Boundaried work), there is little that is more painful than watching your child navigate a life-changing injury. We are deeply grateful that on the day of the accident Mason was wearing his helmet, it was visibly dented from the impact, and that he survived. Many do not.

Donn and I continue to feel fortunate that Mason naturally led his own healing from the very beginning. In many ways, he showed us how to move forward through his positive outlook and his ability to listen to his body and identify what he needed. It is important to name this clearly: the accident happened to Mason. His body has been permanently altered in ways we will never fully understand. No matter how much we love him or how present we are, he is the one responsible for telling his story and navigating his healing.

We have walked alongside him through each phase, including a later diagnosis of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome last year, but Mason is the person who carries responsibility for his own mental and physical health care.

If you or someone you know is on a similar journey, I hope what follows is helpful. Both Mason and I have connected with many families who are facing similar circumstances, and it is hard, no matter the details.

Every injury, every body, and every recovery is unique. Early on, the first research I found about Mason’s T12-level injury was a white paper indicating that approximately 70% of individuals with that level of injury walk post-injury. That statistic was confusing and difficult to reconcile with Mason’s lived experience. Mason held hope that he would walk independently and fully committed himself to physical therapy. By the second year, he made the thoughtful decision to release the goal of forcing “functional walking.” He does, however, continue to use his legs to load his wheelchair into his van and move them daily using a walker.

Early in the process, we asked for help from our community. When something like this happens, people want to support you. Let them. For many of us, especially proud Compassionate People, receiving help can be difficult. Allow others to offer meals, rides, or financial support if they choose. We established a GoFundMe account early on, which made it possible for Mason to continue receiving therapy and outpatient rehabilitation that insurance did not cover.

Community is everything. Finding supportive resources is essential. Shortly after Mason’s injury, I searched for guidance online and began following individuals who were further along in their own spinal cord injury journeys. Many of those people are now close friends of Mason’s. Having peers who truly understand the experience has been invaluable for him. Being able to connect with other parents and family members at Craig Hospital was also deeply healing for both Donn and me.

Both the Christopher Reeve Foundation and Craig Hospital offer peer mentoring programs, which can be an important source of connection and support. You will also find many vibrant support groups online and on Facebook.

I also recommend counseling or faith-based support for the entire family, if possible. We benefited greatly from therapy while at Craig Hospital, and it made a meaningful difference. Family members need a safe place to express grief, fear, and exhaustion so those emotions are not unintentionally placed on the person navigating the injury.

Let emotions come. Anger, frustration, grief, sadness, and more are natural in life and during such hard things. If we block their expression, they will show up later in our bodies and in our relationships with one another. Trauma can become trapped in the body and is often relived again and again when we don’t process through it (and sometimes even when we do).

I recommend choosing trauma-informed therapists who may have skills in addition to talk therapy, such as EMDR (eye movement desensitization and reprocessing) and other somatic approaches. While I am a trained counselor, I still need support. I realized that I cannot be the lead therapist for our family. A trained therapist can also help individuals recreate a sense of purpose and meaning, post-accident, that can provide hope and fuel for the future.

Utilize a strengths-based approach to navigate and delegate tasks. As a CliftonStrengths-based coach (and self-proclaimed nerd), our entire family had completed the assessment prior to Mason’s injury. Having a shared, neutral language, and a deeper understanding of how each of us shows up in life, helped us delegate responsibilities, express our needs, and name differences when conflict arose. We still talk about our strengths today.

Seek additional resources when they are needed. For a period of time, Mason received medical assistance and SSI. Initially, I reassured him that he would never need to pursue that path out of pride. Over time, it became clear that we could not do this alone and that accepting assistance provided real relief and stability.

Many foundations, such as High Fives, Northland Adaptive, Kelly Brush, and the Christopher Reeves Foundation have provided funding and equipment for Mason to travel and get outside with adaptive equipment. 

Trust your loved one to make decisions and have input into their care. We acted as Power of Attorney for Mason before he became an adult. However, we did not make decisions for him; we made decisions together.

When we trust our loved one to be the architect of their own life, we provide hope and encourage personal agency.

Finally, tending to ourselves and extending grace inward matters deeply. We truly are doing the best we can.

P.S. I highly recommend purchasing a Firefly attachment for a manual wheelchair (and Mason sells and promotes them). The Firefly has given him so much freedom and made challenging terrain like grass and cobblestone streets accessible. The Firefly also helps reduce wear and tear on the shoulders.'

Today, Mason is thriving, and you can follow him on all social media platforms.