People sometimes ask me what happened, and I never know how to answer in one sentence.

Years ago, while travelling on the Coquihalla Highway, everything changed. There was an accident, and our vehicle went off the side of the road and down a cliff. Before that moment, life felt ordinary in the way people take for granted—making plans, rushing places, assuming tomorrow would look like today. Then suddenly there was noise, confusion, fear, and after that, a version of life I never imagined for myself.

At first, I thought the accident had ended my story. I looked at my wheelchair and thought only about the things I had lost. I measured life in things I could no longer do. I thought adventure belonged to other people now.

But time has a strange way of proving people wrong.

I learned that surviving is not the same thing as living. So I started rebuilding. I became a teacher and found meaning in helping others learn while I was still learning myself. I stopped waiting for life to return to normal and started creating a new normal. I chased small adventures. I travelled. I tried things. I laughed more than I thought I would.

Then I found comic book lettering. Strange as it sounds, stories helped me understand my own. I spent hours moving words, shaping dialogue, and helping pages come alive. Comic books taught me that heroes are not always the strongest person in the room. Sometimes heroes are ordinary people who keep showing up after the world has told them to stop.

The accident on the Coquihalla took away the life I expected. But it gave me something too: the understanding that strength is not about never falling—it is about building a life after the fall.

And honestly, if life is going to feel like a comic book anyway, I might as well make sure the lettering looks good.

coming soon