Issue No. 89

In September 2019, Loren Schauers, a 19-year-old forklift operator in Montana, experienced a life-altering accident that crushed the lower half of his body and took his right arm. To save his life, doctors performed a hemicorporectomy, amputating everything below his waist.

When I first read about Loren, I was struck by the brutality of his circumstances. I imagined myself in his position and thought, I’d rather die. The idea of living without my lower body or arms, or enduring similar life-altering injuries, felt unbearable. It wasn’t just the physical challenges—it was the psychological weight of becoming someone entirely new and being a burden to the people I love.

Loren chose to live. Despite the unimaginable loss, he pushed through surgery, adapted to his new reality, and chose life. But what fascinated me even more was his then-girlfriend, Sabia Reiche, who not only stayed by his side but later married him. I couldn’t understand it at first. If I were Loren, I thought, I’d have told her to leave. I’d see it as selfish to let someone stay and care for me in that state. I’d worry about them suffering on my behalf. Yet Sabia stayed, and their story made me reflect deeply on what love truly means.

At first, I judged Loren for letting her stay. How could he let someone sacrifice so much for him? But then I tried to see things from Sabia’s perspective. To her, Loren wasn’t just a man who’d lost half his body. He was still the person she loved—the same humor, kindness, and spirit that had drawn her to him before the accident. Her choice to stay wasn’t about pity or duty; it was about love. Real love, the kind that goes far beyond appearances, health, or convenience.

When I began to imagine myself as Sabia, something clicked. When you truly love someone, you stop seeing them as a separate individual. They become a part of you, as essential as your own limbs, your own heartbeat. Their pain becomes your pain, but not in a way that feels like a burden. It becomes something you willingly carry because the thought of abandoning them feels worse than staying.

We often throw around the word “love” casually, equating it to butterflies, grand gestures, or fleeting passion. But Loren and Sabia’s story asks a much harder question:

If your partner lost half their body, their sight, or their face, would you stay? It’s a question that strips love down to its rawest form. It’s easy to say you’d stay, but would you really? Most of us, if we’re honest, would hesitate. We’d imagine the sacrifices, the challenges, and the grief, and quietly tell ourselves no.

This question became a test for me—a way to know if I truly loved someone. I realized it’s the same standard I apply to my family. If my mother, father, sister, or grandmother fell ill or needed me, I wouldn’t leave. Love for family is unconditional like that. So why shouldn’t it be the same for the person I choose to spend my life with? Why should the idea of romantic love be any less selfless than the love I have for my family? Maybe that’s what Sabia thought of Loren—family.

As I reflected on this, I came to an answer for myself. I realized that love isn’t about the perfect conditions or the ideal version of someone. It’s about seeing them, fully and completely, and choosing to stay—even when it’s hard at first. You want to be better for them, you want to keep hoping, you want to keep living because you know that by giving up, you’re hurting them much deeper.

Loren and Sabia’s story taught me that love isn’t about what’s easy or convenient. It’s about showing up, even when life gets messy and painful. It’s about knowing that the person you love is more than their physical body, their health, or their circumstances. And when you reach that understanding, you know you truly love someone—not because it’s an obligation, but because you couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

Until next week,