I was already the single mother of two-and-a-half-year-old triplets at the time of the accident that left me a quadriplegic. After I was shot, I had all kinds of people approaching me asking me to give up my kids. People said, “You’re not going to make it.” Every time somebody tells me I can’t do something, it gets me riled up to show them what I can do.
At the beginning of my recovery, I could barely speak. The kids pulled me through—yelling at them strengthened my voice! If it hadn’t been for them, I wouldn’t have made it. If I fell out of bed, the kids would pick me up. When they were still very small, and I was using a housekeeper, she was late one day and I needed clothes washed for the kids. I told them what to do—how to put the money in the machine, how to fold the clothes. They did it! Blew me away. My children are the closest people in my life.
And to all the people who told me I couldn’t do it: you were wrong. It was an effort after the injury, yes, but it was my life. Nobody could change it. If it was going to work I would have to make it work. If I failed, my children and I would fail together, and if I succeeded we would succeed together.