Amanda, MacKenzie, & Saydie
Our Story: A Caregiver’s Journey Through TBI
Everything in my world changed on August 13, 2016. What started as a normal spring day—playing hooky from work, my son’s baseball game, excitement over new baby goats—ended in tragedy. Our daughters, Saydie and MacKenzie, were headed down the road to the family farm when we got the knock on the door that no parent ever wants to get: there had been an accident.
When we arrived, the scene was chaotic—lights flashing, people moving, voices shouting. I remember standing still, frozen in time, as everything around me blurred. Saydie was sitting in shock; MacKenzie was being put on a stretcher and her left arm fell limp; she was being airlifted to the hospital. I prayed the only words that came to me: “Lord, if you take her, take her—but if you give her back to me, give her all back to me.”
MacKenzie suffered a severe traumatic brain injury, fractured C2, lumbar fractures, face and skull fractures. The doctors weren’t sure she’d survive the surgery. When I first saw her, her face was swollen beyond recognition. Yet somehow, against the odds, she made it through surgery. They removed part of her skull to relieve pressure on her brain. Then we waited—for days—for her to wake up.
When she finally did, she couldn’t speak due to being on a ventilator, couldn’t move the left side of her body, and couldn’t see because her eyes were swollen shut. As a mother, watching your child in pain and being helpless to fix it is a kind of heartbreak I can’t describe. But slowly, through faith, therapy, and sheer determination, MacKenzie began to heal.
The months that followed were filled with therapy sessions, hospital stays, and long drives. Our family tried to hold together while everything around us felt broken. Saydie, who survived the crash physically unharmed, carried invisible wounds. Survivor’s guilt, anxiety, and trauma became her quiet companions. Saydie’s strength, though often unseen, was just as remarkable. Healing for her looked different, but it was just as real and just as necessary.
While I was at the hospital focused on MacKenzie’s physical healing, my husband was home with Saydie’s emotional pain while he was still trying to keep our family functioning. Our oldest daughter Kathryn spent many days and nights at the hospital with me and was my rock during these uncertain days.
MacKenzie’s recovery was long and uneven. She relearned how to walk, returned to school, and even made it back to the basketball court—her passion and motivation through it all. Though her college years brought more surgeries and setbacks, she kept pushing forward. Her resilience became my teacher.
This year will mark 10 years since the accident. In some ways it feels that long and others just yesterday. I am still triggered by different events and reliving the day is very stressful. PTSD is real and if you know you know. Saydie continues in counseling and has her own story to share. MacKenzie has graduated from college, married, and recently become a mother. She has built her care team through a lot of tears and navigating uncertainty in the adult world of TBI. I provide support from a distance, often attending doctors appointments, FaceTime calls for support and to help navigate the complexities of life with a TBI.
As a caregiver and mother, I’ve learned that healing isn’t a straight line. It’s filled with setbacks, small victories, and constant lessons in grace. Brain injuries don’t just change the person who experiences them—they change the whole family.
Trauma has a way of magnifying everything in a family: the love, the fear, and the fractures that were already there. My husband and I spent years learning how to reconnect after living in survival mode for so long. There were times I wasn't sure how we’d make it. But through counseling, grace, and a shared commitment to start again, we found our way back to each other. Today, our marriage is stronger, softer, and more intentional than it has ever been. We can’t change what happened, but we’ve learned to meet each other with more grace, more patience, and a deep understanding that healing doesn’t just belong to one person—it belongs to everyone who was changed by the trauma We’re stronger now, with a love forged in fire—one that carries the scars but also the strength of everything we’ve survived together.
Through sharing our story, I hope other caregivers know they’re not alone. Healing isn’t about perfection; it’s about showing up for each other, even when it’s hard. Our journey has taught me that love, faith, and community can light the darkest moments—and that resilience is built one small step at a time.