From the moment our lives begin, so does our journey. It’s not always linear, and it can shift in an instant. My belief is that we all have a story to tell; some are long, while some are short. But this is a story where the chapters don’t follow sequentially. Its path was suddenly interrupted, arriving at an unexpected crossroad. And from there, a new story began. The protagonist hasn’t changed, but the journey she’s now on feels as unfamiliar to her as it does to those around her. This is the story of Kevin and Aisha.

 

Recently I had the privilege of sitting down with Kevin, a devoted father and caregiver to his daughter Aisha. He brings her to SCI-AB’s Neuro Rehab Centre regularly, and it’s clear how much love, time, and energy he pours into her and her care. Kevin's story is a powerful reminder of the vital, yet often invisible role caregivers play in our healthcare system. (I do want to acknowledge that Aisha has a dedicated team of people who support her, but for the purpose of this story, I will refer to her dad only).

 

Aisha was in the prime of her life, a bright, driven university student on route to a summer job in Victoria, when she was struck by a drunk driver. Her injuries were catastrophic. Kevin, and his wife Cathy, received that dreaded call and within three hour, were on a plane and by her her side.

 

Aisha was in the ICU in the Victoria General Hospital for six weeks, and then transferred to Foothills Hospital, where she stayed for 300 days undergoing treatment for a traumatic brain injury (TBI). Initially, it was unclear if Aisha would survive, but her strength and determination endured, as did the unwavering support from her immediate family. And then COVID happened.

 

Upon realizing their new reality, Kevin knew immediately that he’d quit his job to care for Aisha. “There was no doubt,” he says, “this was just what we do as parents; show up when our children need us most.” Some call him lucky to be able to be there for his daughter, but he sees it differently: “It’s not luck. It’s love.”

 

Aisha’s family includes her mother and father, and a younger sister. The impact on each of their lives has been profound. Their routines, their sleep, what they ate, when they ate, their incomes, even their retirement plans; everything changed. Kevin and Cathy built a temporary bedroom in the dining room and began the slow process of adapting to a chapter none of them had imagined. This wasn’t the story they thought they’d be living' the one with conventional milestones, celebrations, and predictable turns. Instead, it became something entirely different. Through it all though, Kevin has remained fiercely committed to Aisha’s recovery.

 

Early on, they were told by doctors not to expect much, by way of recovery, as TBIs can be unpredictable. But Kevin chose hope, because at the very least, it offers strength in uncertainty, light in darkness, and the belief that things can get better, even when the path forward is unclear. And over time, small but meaningful breakthroughs emerged: a blink to say yes, two blinks to say no, mouthing words, a gentle hug with both arms. Most recently, Aisha has begun using her voice again; just a vibration of the vocal cords, but enough to open the door to speech therapy. She has improved in miraculous ways that keep on coming. 

 

Kevin speaks with pride and deep respect for Aisha. “She’s so brave and resilient,” he says. “She tells us she loves us. She thanks everyone. She’s unbelievably positive.” As Aisha gains more independence, Kevin’s role is evolving too from therapist to guide, from caregiver to encourager.

 

The road hasn’t been easy. Navigating the system has felt like a DIY project, with little direction or support. But Kevin and Cathy persist. They are surrounded by an incredible group of family and friends and they’ve built a strong support network with the help of SCI-AB’s incredible staff, who Kevin describes as “amazing.” There is no denying that the family’s world has shrunk in many ways, but Kevin works tirelessly to finds ways to expand it through therapy, recreation, and shared experiences.

 

Their greatest hope for Aisha’s future? Independence, especially through communication. “She needs to be able to tell people what she thinks, what she feels, what she needs,” Kevin says. And until then, they will continue to be her world and her voice.

 

When I asked Kevin what keeps him going when times are tough, he told me that this is not about him. It’s about Aisha. She has lost so much. Her hopes and dreams have been dashed. She spends most of her time with her parents when she should be out there socializing with her peers. He carries the weight of what’s been taken from her - youth, freedom, possibility. So instead, he focuses on her, channeling his energy into being present, into showing up, and into helping her reclaim whatever pieces of her life he can.

 

As to what advice he’d give to other parents facing a similar journey, Kevin offers this: Take it one step at a time. Don’t be afraid to try everything. And most of all, celebrate the small wins.

 

Written by Peta Glezerson

 

Photos above show Kevin and his wife Cathy, Aisha and her younger sister, Nicole.