Authors: Scott Bolzan

My Life, Deleted (28 page)

Sunday, our last full day in town, came too quickly. Taylor and Joan did some last-minute errands, then mom gave daughter a cooking lessonâcutting up chicken breasts, sautÃ©ing them with spices for dinner, then freezing some for later useâwhile I stayed at the hotel to watch football and prepare myself for the final good-bye that evening. Only I couldn't keep my mind on the game, as I struggled to come up with something profound to tell Taylor.

When I got to her apartment around 4:00
P.M.
, Joan and Taylor were laughing with Anthony and her new roommates in the kitchen. In just two days I'd seen Taylor go from the little girl sleeping in the car to the grown woman I'd been watching develop over the past two years, who in her new surroundings wore a look of confidence and security.

Seeing that, I felt that now was the perfect time to go, leaving Taylor with people to support her through the rest of the evening in case she had a hard time. I asked Joan to come with me into Taylor's room, where she reluctantly agreed, then went to fetch our daughter.

“Taylor, come here a second,” I said, bringing her into the bedroom with us. “We're going to go now, so you can spend time getting to know your roommates.”

When her eyes welled up with tears, my heart sank.

I thought we were doing the right thing, but maybe it's too soon. Is she going to be okay?

Panicking a little, I wondered if we should have stayed longer, as we'd originally planned. All I wanted to do was ease her pain. “Come downstairs with us so we can say good-bye,” I said.

The air was heavy in the elevator as the three of us headed down to the parking lot. It was a long, silent ride, and I could feel my heart breaking as it never had before. Even in the cool breeze outside, I felt hot and my stomach turned with every step that we walked toward the car when Joan suddenly burst out with, “I forgot my purse upstairs.” Taylor laughed through her tears at the typical Joan behavior, which she'd been exhibiting all weekend.

While Joan went upstairs, Taylor and I held hands and walked toward the car, where I was finally ready to say my piece. “You're ready for this,” I told her. “Mom and I are so proud of you and the woman that you've become and the woman that you are about to be. I'm so proud that we're able to provide you with the schooling of your dreams. You deserve this happiness.”

Taylor cried the entire time I was talking, not saying a word, but she didn't have to. I knew what she feeling: this was what she wanted, and she would make the most of her education, but parting was still difficult. I reminded her that we were only an hour's flight away and that we could talk and text whenever she wanted to. We got out of the car when we saw Joan approaching, who, after giving Taylor a big hug, burst into tears. “I'm going to miss you so much. Be safe,” Joan choked out, which made me break down crying too. I'd stayed strong for both of them for this long, but I couldn't do it anymore.

After Joan let go, I squeezed Taylor so tight I thought she was going to pass out, but I couldn't help myself.

Like my memory, she is going to be difficult to live without. How am I going to do this?

“Be safe and have fun,” I said. “We'll always be here for you. Never forget that we love you and will drop everything if you needÂ us.”

Joan and I watched her walk away, wiping away tears. I tried to think of something to say to make Joan feel better, but I knew that was impossible, so I just sat there, wanting to go back upstairs and spend one last night with our daughter, which I knew wouldn't be good for any of us.

We drove away with a box of Kleenex at our side, and after talking several more times with Taylor that evening, we managed to calm her down by assuring her the pain of leaving home would get better with time.

After a restless few hours of tossing and turning, I sneaked into the living room around 4:00
A.M.
and closed the bedroom door to watch TV, leaving Joan sound asleep. I got dressed, and around 4:45 I went downstairs to get some coffee in the lobby, where I watched the news, got a refill, and took it outside for a walk down Flower Street.

There were office buildings behind and in front of me, but the sidewalks and streets were empty and quiet. The sky was just starting to get light, and soon the slightest hint of orange started creeping up from behind the silhouette of the buildings. It was a little chilly in my short-sleeved shirt with the breeze of dawn breaking, but the coffee helped to warm me up. I turned a corner, and the road sloped down, opening up a panoramic view of the valley with a mountain range in the distance. As the expansive orange-yellow orb started to rise over the peaks, I felt its warmth take the edge off the chill.

I often went for a drive in the early mornings in Arizona to watch the sun rise over the mountains because I enjoyed the stillness of this time of day more than any other. But this sunrise was different, and it was special. It was the dawn of a new day, not only a new beginning for Taylor but also for Joan and me, who would finally be alone together in the house. For the first time since we'd begun saying good-bye to Taylor, I felt an inner peace. My life seemed fuller than it had been at any time since the accident, so much so that I no longer considered it “deleted.” Now, if Grant could only pull himself out of his dark depths and stay in recovery, all would be right with the world.

As people began wandering out of the buildings and a few cars drove by, I decided to start walking back before my peaceful feeling was ruined. I strolled at an easy pace back to the hotel, where I found Joan tucked in bed, still asleep.

Later that morning, while we were in a business meeting about a potential speaking engagement, Joan got a call from Grant. She stepped out to take the call, and after the meeting she told me matter-of-factly that Grant had been hospitalized and released, with a prescription for antidepressants. He no longer wanted to use drugs or felt suicidal and was on his way to speak to his counselor.

We were on the highway driving back to Arizona when Grant called again, and after listening to Joan's side of their twenty-five-minute conversation, I could tell that she was cautiously optimistic, if not happy, about the situation, which she confirmed when she filled me in. Essentially, she said, this was the call we'd been hoping for, and that made me happy too.

“I want help,” he told her, saying he was willing to go back into the rehab program he'd recently quit. “I want to be part of the family again. I'm going to die if I continue using drugs, and I don't want to die. I want to live, and I want to live without drugs.”

Now that Grant had joined Taylor, Joan, and me in pursuing the lives each of us wanted to lead, it really had turned out to be a new day, not just for me but for my rejuvenated marriage and my family as a whole. And as we continued back to Gilbert that afternoon, all I could see ahead was a long stretch of open road, with endless opportunities for us all.

Acknowledgments

This book was written with the help of many family and friends, most who have known me for many years and were truly there for me at a time when I did not know who I was.

I would like to give a special thanks to my parents, Louis and Alice Bolzan, who have provided me with so many memories of who I was when I was a young man and for instilling in me the values and integrity that have allowed me to carry on. To Joan's parents, Harvey and Fran Clack, for their endless support, prayers, and love. To our loving children, Grant and Taylor, your love and limitless caring has made me realize why I need to move forward being the father that I once was and how to become an even better father now. Thank you to Kevin, Jaime, Noah, Aden, and Luke Southard for our times together and sharing in the birth of Luke that allowed me to laugh and feel close to family again. To my cousin Brad Budner, who took the time to uncover and allowed me to relearn some of our family history and treasured memories.

To Mattie Cummins, who gave me the opportunity to believe I could not only move forward but I could be there to help others. To my teammates from Northern Illinois University, Brendan Dolan and Darren Stahulak, who have re-created so many of the new memories of my college football days and for giving me an insight into what it must have been like being a student athlete. To Phil and Linda Herra, who took time out to show us around NIU and provided countless stories to piece my life together. To Scott Kellar, Terry Clemans, and Vince Scott for their emails in time of need, that when I was struggling to figure out who I was as a man provided me stories of when I was a captain for our team. You will never know how much that meant to me. To Coach Bill Mallory, I would like to thank you for your personal calls and in the four years you coached me not only to become a champion and NFL player but teaching me how to be a better man.

To my dear friend Mark Hyman who has been there for me, who gave me so much emotional support and allowed me to share my darkest days and always gave me words of encouragement.

We would like to extend a heartfelt thank you for all of the above people who were such support for Joan as well and for that we are eternally grateful. Next, both of us would like to give huge thanks and hugs (from Joan) for the devoted support from our loving friends: To Joan's best friend Karen Peterson, who provided us with key brain injury research and allowed Joan to vent, cry, laugh, gave her nonstop help, and for that we are forever appreciative. To Randy, Johnna, and Justin Leach, who were there for us and gave us authentic emotional and spiritual support and many needed laughs. To Robyn Rieger for your touching inspiration and compassionate encouragement. To Diane Wallace for sharing her photography talents and caring friendship with us. To Dr. Rich and Kathy Silver, who compassionately welcomed us into their lives and provided medical support and so many good new memories. To Dr. Theresa Lanier, Sheryl Acevedo, and the staff at Arizona Vista Family Medicine, who provided a lifeline for us emotionally and medically with every step of this journey.

In advance, to Suzanne Wickham, whose dedicated promotion will allow us to share our story with the world. To Nancy Hancock, our amazing editor, who has guided us through this journey with such professionalism and kindness and skillfully took our words deeper so we could share it on a personal level with every reader. To Christina Bailly and the entire staff of HarperCollins, who embraced our story with open arms and utter support beyond our wildest dreams.

Finally, thank you to all the people who reached out with support, prayers, and kind words. Please forgive us if we
forgot
to mention you by name, but your encouragement and thoughtfulness will remain forever in our hearts.

A portion of the authors' earned royalties
from sales of this book will be donated to the
Brain Injury Association of Arizona and the Phoenix
Children's Hospital: Neuro-NICU Department.

About the Authors

Scott and Joan Bolzan
married in 1984 and have two grown children. Scott is a former NFL football player and pilot, and he is currently the founder and CEO of Legendary Jets in Tempe, Arizona. Joan is a registered nurse and marketing executive. Since Scott's traumatic brain injury in 2008, the Bolzans have become soughtafter motivational speakers, sharing their story and life lessons with audiences nationwide. Visit them online at www.thebolzans.com.

Caitlin Rother
has authored or co-authored seven books, including
Dead Reckoning, Where Hope Begins,
and
Poisoned Love.
She lives in San Diego, California. Visit her online at www.caitlinrother.com.

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Credits

Front cover design: Gia Giasullo

Cover photograph: Mire Images Photography

MY LIFE, DELETED:
A Memoir.
Copyright Â© 2011 by Scott Bolzan and Joan Bolzan. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

FIRST EDITION

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN
978-0-06-202547-0

11Â Â 12Â Â 13Â Â 14Â Â 15Â Â Â Â
RRD(H)
Â Â Â Â 10Â Â 9Â Â 8Â Â 7Â Â 6Â Â 5Â Â 4Â Â 3Â Â 2Â Â 1

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