CHAPTER 1
The Fall

There are moments that pierce through the fabric of our existence, disrupting the natural flow of space and time. These moments hold such weight and shock that we can pinpoint the single second our lives forever change, whether it be a world event such as 9/11 or the announcement of a global pandemic, a serious accident, an abrupt end to a relationship, losing a job, or worse, a loved one, or receiving a life-altering diagnosis. In those moments of interruption, there is a clear division between before and after. The world seems to shift on its axis, leaving us grasping for stability-frozen. In the midst of this upheaval, it is easy to feel uprooted and powerless. It's easy to give up the power that is choosing optimism.

Everyone has experienced these moments, and it may feel as though your choice has been taken from you. But the truth is, you always have a choice. You choose how to keep living, how to respond, and how to navigate a new reality. You can't change what happened, but you have control over what you do next-how you choose to move forward and shape your own story.

For me, this moment came as summer turned into fall in 2017.

August 2017: Whispers Within

My husband, Jeff, and I had some trips planned for the fall, and our first was to Oregon for my longtime best friend Laura's wedding. I couldn't wait to go! She had talked about how beautiful it was in the Pacific Northwest, and we needed a vacation. This sounded perfect.

We decided to stay at the historic Columbia Gorge Hotel & Spa that overlooked the Hood River. It is breathtaking and consistently windy, attracting windsurfers from around the world.

The car ride to the hotel made me sick to my stomach. The road wasn't perfectly straight, and by that time any curve in the road led to me throwing up. Roundabouts were like roller coasters, so I always had a bag with me just in case. Whenever I would see a roundabout coming, I would brace myself, and Jeff would say, "Babe, just calm down. I think you are working yourself up over nothing." I'd give him a side eye. When someone doesn't know what getting motion sickness over the tiniest movement feels like, they don't know that you could vomit everywhere at any minute and there is no control or calming down. He deserved that side eye.

The hotel was captivating! I am a geek for beautifully restored buildings, and this was right up there with the best I had ever seen. It had the romance of the past and the stories each guest left behind. The Italian design influence and the dramatic landscape surrounding it made the place extremely inviting. I sighed. I was so happy not to be driving any longer and to be able to rest for just a few days in this haven of history.

When we got to the room, I looked out from our balcony at the water. The waves were high, crashing against each other, breaking apart only to build up again. It looked dangerous, and I couldn't take my eyes off them. I felt almost sad as I stared at the water. This is what it feels like in my head. Like turbulent waves crashing and releasing only to form again.

The trip started with a few days of activities leading up to the wedding: picnicking with the wedding party, visiting town, sipping Oregon wine at the vineyard, and taking in all the beautiful sights.

We had some free time on the third day and decided to take an adventurous hike. Jeff and I probably had a false sense of self at that time, because we told the concierge that we were very athletic and could handle a challenge. Now, what we really needed was a walk up a scenic hill, not the challenging and dense climb we were sent on. We have since learned to come to terms with our level of athleticism.

We knew just a few minutes into our intense hike that it was probably too much for us, but once we start something we press onward and upward. We had to continue up. If I tried to turn my head to look through the trees while we walked, I would get dizzy and feel that I couldn't focus. I stopped several times to close my eyes and correct myself, slowing our pace and likely annoying Jeff. The higher we went, the worse it became, but we kept pushing on. I assumed the dizziness was from my minor fear of heights.

About an hour into the climb, I told Jeff that I was hearing something in the trees, almost as if something were following us. He, of course, like many husbands, thought I was overreacting, and it was probably just in my head. Apparently, everything was in my head these days. Still, a buzz was pulsating through my body; there was something with us. I just knew it.

We got to the top of the mountain and took a lovely picture-a picture where I felt I was going to pass out, not from fatigue but from my head spinning. Was the mountain moving, or were those the waves in my head? I wondered.

I even asked Jeff whether he felt as if the ground were shifting slightly. He told me the height was probably getting to me, which it was.

I tried to peer over the ledge, just for the experience of viewing the world from that vantage point and immediately pulled back, sitting down to catch my breath. Something about this whole experience was disorienting-the dizziness, the feeling that something was there but unseen. It all made me feel as if I could topple right off the ledge into nothingness. Just falling, and falling, and falling. I was spooked.

We started making our way down the mountain that had taken us a few hours to climb, and every step felt like the slow and steady pace of a grandfather clock-complete with the ominous pendulum sound. We hoped the way down would be faster, but with the loose rocks and cliff's edge that wasn't in the cards.

We were more than halfway down when we saw a legit hiker (who looked a lot more experienced than us) with his golden retriever coming up the same path. The dog came to greet me, wagging its tail like the happy dog that I'm sure it was, and then suddenly stopped to look around. The dog made a little impatient sound and started to nudge me back behind him. I laughed a little and said, "Aren't you the cutest thing?"

The hiker and my husband were standing behind me and had started an easy conversation. This felt normal. I was petting a dog. Jeff was making a new friend. I thought to myself, See, this is fine, Shanna. Nothing is wrong.

Then Jeff and the hiker stopped talking mid-sentence.

I had thought the dog's nudging was cute. Well, the dog wasn't trying to be cute. He was trying to herd me away from the something I had feared was there all along.

Jeff very calmly said, "Shanna. Stop. Moving."

I stood straight up, still keeping a hand near the dog, looked back at him, and said, "What?" almost a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

He said, again very calmly and slowly, "There is a black bear in front of you."

I snapped my head forward to the path ahead and froze, sucking in one final breath of air before not breathing for what felt like minutes. Brown eyes stared curiously back at me from a fuzzy medium-sized black bear on all fours. Not a cub, but also not quite an adult.

I have heard in these moments you are supposed to stay as still as possible and try not to startle the bear, which is exactly what Jeff, the hiker, and the dog were doing expertly. Not me. That's exactly what I did not do.

My fight, flight, or freeze response jumbled, and I unfroze and immediately switched on flight mode. It took me four long strides and about two seconds to run back up the path and stand behind Jeff and the hiker with the dog at the helm. We all stood there looking like wax museum figures staring at the bear, and the bear continued to stare back at us. I stole a glimpse to each side, trying to find a way out. Jeff felt my movement and said, while keeping his eyes locked on the bear, "Just keep your eyes ahead."

Then the bear did a playful one-two pounce forward and ran back into the dense forest. The hiker then turned to us. "I would move on quickly, because that bear looked young, and I am assuming there is a mom close by."

He didn't have to tell me twice. Jeff and I ran down that trail all the way to the car, not giving notice to any of the scrapes we were getting along the path from our erratic downhill sprint. When we finally got to the car, we jumped in and locked the doors. My legs were shaking. I was out of breath, the pain in the back of my head was pulsating, and my body was buzzing.

Jeff and I looked at each other slowly as we panted for air and started laughing. I started to choke out the laughter as it mixed with crying happy tears. Jeff was doing the same. As he tipped his head back trying to control the hysteria, he barely got out the words, "Well, I guess when you ran back behind me you either wanted me to fight the bear, or you wanted it to have the best chance of eating me first."

We both started laughing so hard our stomachs were cramping and I told him that the kids needed me more if one of us had to live. Now, that is not true at all. In fact, he would probably be the better single parent, but the comment made us laugh all the same. Our laughing slowed down, and we let out a big sigh in unison.

"I cannot believe that happened," I said, incredulous at what I was about to say.

"I knew. I mean I knew, Jeff. I knew the entire time that something was there. My body felt...