Three years. That’s how long this injury has reshaped not just my life, but the lives of our children in ways I never imagined and still struggle to accept. They watched a brain injury steal their father and their childhood in the course of an evening three years ago that has been unpacked each day since.

I see it in their eyes — the confusion, the sadness, the careful way they now navigate interactions with me. The dad they once had — the one who remembered every promise, played endless games, carried them on his shoulders, and led with steady confidence — has been replaced by someone who can’t remember what we did yesterday or how to do the most basic things of cooking or simply listening at times for them.