By Wayne Drehs
ESPN.com
[ print story ]
The ceiling fan just kept spinning. Round and round and round it went, not once giving any answers, not once offering any solace.
Carol Kurivial couldn't look away. As the blades rotated monotonously, all she could think about was that teenage boy, lying in intensive care some 60 miles away, fighting for his life.
She had never met him. Yet there she was, on the eve of her 20th wedding anniversary, in a quaint bed-and-breakfast with her husband, lying there horrified by a stranger's tragedy.
Fear. Anxiety. Chills. They all converged as she tried to fall asleep that night.
“I was in a complete panic,” Kurivial said. “I didn't know him from Adam, but I just kept watching that fan go around, overwhelmed by what had happened.”
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Kurivial could barely function. Maybe it was because she has three teenagers of her own. Maybe it was because she's always had a fear of amputation. Or maybe it was, as she says, because God was trying to send her a message. Whatever the reason, she couldn't shake the picture of what life was going to be like for Brad Hurtig. Her sleepless nights continued for months.
“I don't think I've ever mourned so much for someone I didn't even know,” Kurivial said. “I was constantly waking up, saying every prayer I could muster.
“I kept thinking, ‘His life will never be the same. How will he cope?' ”
At first, he didn't. Not because he didn't grasp the fact that he'd need $25,000 prosthetics to grab a pencil. But because he never imagined complete strangers losing sleep over his plight. Never thought he would stand in front of a group of people, tell his life story and, in doing so, change theirs. He never thought he'd become an inspiration.
He's the quiet, sports junkie from middle of nowhere, Ohio. Never heard of "The Sopranos." Doesn't know Chili's is a restaurant. His first flight, ironically, was the emergency helicopter ride that carried him from Bryan to Toledo.
Getting him to speak in front of an audience was like getting him to sit still on the bench. But now, the story of his tragedy, his comeback and the way he's touched others has made him an unlikely hero.
Only a week ago, he was even elected prom king.
“He doesn't think what he does is a big deal,” said David Robinson, one of Brad's high school football coaches. “But we do. We've tried to tell him his life is never going to be normal again. He's going to be the person people look to for answers, for inspiration. And I can't wait to watch.”
Not long ago, Brad gave a speech at a local junior high and touched a 13-year-old girl to the point that she sent a letter to her older sister who has diabetes. Stop complaining, she wrote, and start living. If Brad can live without arms, you can handle insulin shots.
Almost a year to the day of Brad's accident, Kurivial was going through a difficult time of her own. Her doctor was concerned about a lump in her breast. Her children were struggling with personal challenges. Life was overwhelming. But then, at a graduation party for a former student, the two finally met.
“I was shaking,” she said. “I didn't know what to do with myself. [The graduate's mother] said, ‘Just go ahead and hug him, Carol.' So that's what I did. On this day that I was so desperate, had so much despair, I became overwhelmed with excitement. He must have thought I was nuts.”
Though doctors failed to find cancer, Kurivial said she relied on Brad's courage as inspiration to pull her through the process. A few months later, she invited him to speak at a spiritual retreat. More than 100 people showed up. Too many to fit in the barn turned revival center.
Many walked in sad, she said. All left inspired.
“Here's this young, unassuming man and look what he's done to change the world,” Kurivial said. “I can't imagine how many people his life has affected. And it's just the beginning.”
Kurivial now calls those sleepless nights "spiritual fate." That God put Brad's burden on her heart so that it would help her and, more importantly, help others down the road.
The whole story still makes Brad blush. His coaches and teachers are pushing him to pursue a career in communication, but he isn't sure that's what he wants to do. He'd rather spend college developing the next generation of artificial limbs or becoming a mechanical engineer.
Still, talking to curious crowds and sharing his story may be inevitable. Especially since it means so much.
“I'm coming around better to it,” Brad said. “The coaches keep telling me, everyone keeps telling me I'm an inspiration. I see it now. I think it does impact people and affect their lives. But for me, it's a little strange. I'm just Brad. This is just my life.”
Wayne Drehs is a staff writer with ESPN.com. He can be reached at wayne.drehs@espn3.com.