Anniversaries give us pause to celebrate but sometimes they are also painful.  Twenty-five years ago a phone call changed my life. May 16, 1988 was the worst day.  The events and experiences that transpired put my life on a course that I would never have imagined; and down a path that forged me into a better person.

That fateful phone call came on a Monday morning and I’d been in a business meeting at work in Denver.   The department secretary unexpectedly interrupted the strategy meeting and told me that I had an incoming call from my dad.  This was before cell phones or text messages.  Annoyed and a little embarrassed at being interrupted, I told Louine, that I’d call back at a break.  When she insisted that I take the call, I was surprised, and then I noticed her expression and her eyes.  She looked troubled.  Something was terribly wrong.

When I got to the phone, my father told me that there had been an accident and that my fiancée, Renée, was in intensive care.  He didn’t know details, only that Renée was in critical condition with a broken neck and might not survive.   My mind couldn’t fathom the words I was hearing. Then a floodgate of tears erupted and I told Dad that I’d be back in OrangeCounty in a few hours and I asked him to meet me at the airport.