After the accident, people kept saying how “lucky” I was. Lucky to be alive. Lucky to have good doctors. Lucky to have support.
But to me, it didn’t feel like luck—not even close.
I hated the wheelchair. I hated the stares from strangers. I hated how quiet my house had become, every corner a reminder of everything I used to do and couldn’t anymore.
When someone first mentioned getting a service dog, I brushed it off. A dog? Really? What could a dog do that a dozen professionals hadn’t already tried?
Then I met Axel.
A big, steady German Shepherd with serious eyes and a vest that looked more like military gear than comfort. He didn’t bark. Didn’t slobber or demand anything from me. He just waited—calm and still—like he already understood I wasn’t ready yet.
Somehow, that quiet presence cracked something inside me.
Training wasn’t easy. I wanted to give up so many times. But Axel didn’t. Not once. He learned to fetch things I dropped, to guide my chair over tough terrain, to help me balance when I stood up.
But the real miracle? He showed me how to move forward—especially when I didn’t believe I could.
Last week, we went to the park together for the first time. The sun was warm, Axel beside me, and for the first time since the accident… I didn’t feel broken.
Then a kid ran up, pointed at Axel, and said something that knocked the wind out of me:
“Is that your hero?”
It hit hard. A hero? Me? The guy who still struggled with everyday things? I muttered something about how Axel helped me, but the boy had already run off. His mom smiled at me in that overly apologetic way people reserve for folks in wheelchairs.
Still, the word lingered: hero.
It didn’t seem to fit. Heroes were brave. They didn’t cry after therapy or lose hours staring into nothing, wondering if life would ever feel real again.
But the more I thought about it, the more it made me wonder:
Maybe being a hero isn’t about having no fear—maybe it’s about pushing forward through it.
Maybe heroes are made, not born.
And maybe Axel wasn’t just helping me get by. Maybe he was helping me come back to life.
A few days later, I went back to the park with Axel. But this time, I had a mission. If people saw me as a hero—even just a little—I wanted to rise to that. I grabbed my phone, queued up my favorite feel-good playlist, and wheeled toward the basketball court near the playground. Kids were always playing there, laughing, showing off their moves.
I used to be one of them.
Basketball was my thing.
Now, I mostly watched from a distance, pretending it didn’t ache.
