And the Story Begins Here….

It was the weekend of February 10th, 2008—our daughter Jenae was turning 17, and our oldest son Ryan was home from Denver. That Sunday morning, our whole family went to church together. Ryan was home from Colorado. I remember sitting there feeling so grateful, so full of joy, just having all my children under one roof again. After service, we planned to drive to Evansville to celebrate Jenae’s birthday.

That weekend started out wonderfully, but it quickly turned into one we will never forget. After church, unexpected conflict and heartache arose, and what had begun as a joyful family day ended in tension and worry. We were heading to Evansville to celebrate Jenae’s birthday after church, but after the events of that morning, I gave Travis the choice to either come with us or stay behind and let things calm down.

He chose to stay, hoping to ease the situation. Unfortunately, later that day, things spiraled into more chaos and emotional turmoil. Out of fear and concern, he decided it was best to remain home until Tuesday. None of us could have imagined how that weekend—filled with stress, confusion, and moments no parent ever wants their child to face—would forever change the course of our lives.

The Call That Changed Everything

 I was at work that Tuesday morning, February 12, 2008, the weather was cold, snowy, and beginning to turn to freezing rain—one of those gray Indiana days where the roads glisten and you can feel the chill deep in your bones. Around 11:30 a.m., Travis called to say he was heading back to school. I begged him to wait, but he said, “Mom, I’ll be okay. I’m 22 years old, and this paper has to be turned in today.”

Thirty minutes later, the phone rang again. It was Mike, his dad. He was on his way to the Farm Show in Louisville with a group of men. His voice was shaking as he said, “Kimberly, Travis has been in a wreck—and it doesn’t look good.”

Sheriff Steve Cox arranged for state police to pick Mike up in Ferdinand and take him to Jasper, where Steve would drive him on to Evansville. Sheriff Jerry Harbstriet came to Odon to get me at the medical clinic where I worked. He drove me first to Daviess Community Hospital, and then on to Deaconess Hospital in Evansville. The family had all gathered together and headed to Evansville to be all together.

The drive was unbearable. Fear, disbelief, and helplessness consumed me. How could this be happening? I kept thinking—what kind of injuries did he have, whatever it is, we’ll fix it. But this wasn’t something that could be easily fixed.

Travis had lost control on the freezing roads, spun, hit a truck, then spun again into a ditch. Rumors spread quickly about which Burkhart boy had been in the accident. Soon everyone knew—it was Travis. Many of the first responders and hospital workers were dear friends and coworkers of mine, and none of them thought he would survive. My lifelong friend Tammy, one of the paramedics on scene, stayed by his side with another paramedic, Sarah, the entire time. They kept talking to him, telling him how mad his mom would be if anything happened to him. I do believe those familiar voices helped keep him connected here—but Travis had already faced something far greater. At the scene, he died and came face-to-face with Jesus. Jesus hugged him and told him how much He loved him. Travis told Him the same. Then Jesus gave him a choice: he could go with Him to Heaven, or he could stay. Jesus told him his body would be broken, but he would be with his family. Travis told Jesus he couldn’t leave his mom—she would be too heartbroken. And so, he made the choice to come back… broken.

A Mother’s Hope

By the time I reached the local hospital, Travis was already in transport to Evansville. Evan was there waiting for me. The helicopter couldn’t fly due to weather, so they went by ground ambulance. Sheriff Cox met Mike in Jasper, and together they made it to Deaconess. Ryan had gone back to Colorado. We had to call him to come back home right away.

The first time we saw Travis, he was being wheeled off the elevator. He looked perfect—like he could just open his eyes and talk to us. At 6’2” and 212 pounds, he was strong and athletic, in the best shape of his life. He had been working out 5-6 days a week. Looking back now, I know God was preparing him for the fight ahead.

The neurosurgeon brought us into a small room and told us Travis had suffered a severe closed head injury and a fractured C-2 vertebra. He told us that Travis would not survive the night—and if he did, he wouldn’t be worth a s*** and likely would spend the rest of his life in a nursing home.

I began to cry, but the doctor snapped, telling me to “suck it up, he wasn’t going to deal with this crap.”  That was the beginning of many difficult encounters with him. Still, we refused to believe what we were told. We knew Travis would live, and he would come home.

Within three days, he had surgery for a trach, IVC filter, and feeding tube. He spent two weeks in ICU, surrounded by people who loved him. I talked to him constantly, rubbed his hands and feet, and told him about everyone who came to see him.

One night, I noticed him rolling his wrists—a movement he always did when weightlifting. The nurse said it was just spasms, but I knew it was more. We never stopped talking to him, telling him who had come to visit, what day it was, and how much we loved him.

After two weeks in ICU, he was transferred to Select Specialty Hospital to continue waking up. I prayed constantly for a sign from God that Travis would recover. I asked Him to show me something on Easter Sunday.

That evening, after Mike and Jenae had gone to the hallway, the day was ending and hope was fading for the answer to my prayer. I told Travis goodnight and said our prayer. As I turned to leave, I heard him whisper, “Mom… Mom… Mom.” I turned and saw his eyes open, looking right at me. It was the first word he’d spoken since the wreck. Tears of praise and thankfulness poured down my face. God’s timing was perfect.

The Long Road Home

After 8 weeks at Select Specialty Hospital, Travis was transferred to HealthSouth Rehab, where he began the long journey of recovery. He faced bacterial pneumonia, high fevers, confusion, dangerous choking episodes, fear, and countless setbacks—but he never stopped fighting.

After spending the last two months at Select Specialty Hospital, he then moved on to HealthSouth Rehab Hospital, where he spent 11 weeks. But shortly after arriving at the rehab, I noticed he did not look good—gray, with dark circles under his eyes. The nurse said he was fine. He wasn’t. I called 911 from his rehab room and had him taken to the ER. At the ER, the doctor on call found that he had pneumonia, and he was admitted. While in the hospital, he got out of bed to go to the bathroom; they said it was too dangerous for him to be up walking, after that, they made him stay in bed, and that’s when the tone set in on his body. There were many other challenges during that stay with his care, and he once again was fighting for his life. I strongly encourage anyone who has a loved one in the hospital to stay with them as much as possible. To advocate, and monitor their care.

 During those hospital stays, he lost 65 pounds and was thinner and weaker than he had ever been in his life. After two weeks, he was transferred back to HealthSouth to begin his rehab. While at HealthSouth, increased medication issues caused his swallowing to become weak. One morning, he almost choked to death in front of me. I yelled for help, but no one came to his aid. I had to reach down his throat myself and pull out the food that was stuck while the nurses, aides, and respiratory staff stood and watched. Those are images that are burned in my mind forever—and ones I never want anyone to experience.

Toward the end of his time at HealthSouth, they started letting us bring him home on a couple of weekends to give him time to adjust—and to give us time to adjust as well.

I remember his face when he saw the house for the first time. It was like, “Wow, I’m home.” But then, on his return to the rehab hospital, his feelings of joy became sadness. We were headed to Evansville, and tears would be streaming down his face. He was still unable to speak, but his sadness was so evident—he didn’t need words.

Then the day came to go home for good.

So, on July 26th, 2008, after **23 weeks and 3 days away from home—a total of 164 days—**Travis came home! When he saw the house that day, his face lit up with pure joy.

For many years, we had been in therapy in Evansville, Cincinnati, Bloomington, Washington, Chicago and Indianapolis. We are now 18 years into the toughest fight of Travis and our family’s lives. Travis continues to work out at Anytime Fitness with his buddy and trainer, Joe. We have faith and hope that he will have a good life and show encouragement to everyone he meets.

During the six months Travis was in the hospital, he always had me, Mike, a close family friend, or another family member with him—he was never alone. But that left my other two children at home. Evan and Jenae were in their junior and senior years of high school. They gave up so much so that Mike and I could be with Travis, and I couldn’t have asked for better kids. They were so unselfish. Local police officers, teachers, friends, and family made sure everything was taken care of at home and that Evan and Jenae were safe and fed. We don’t know what we would have done without everyone’s help. It took a huge worry off our shoulders—we had our hands full getting Travis better so we could finally be home together.

The Fight Continues

 Six years later, Travis began experiencing severe back pain—so intense that he could barely sleep or eat. Because he rarely complained, we knew something was terribly wrong. After two visits to our local doctor, we went to the ER in Bloomington, where tests revealed something shocking: a massive blood clot surrounding an IVC filter—a device we hadn’t even remembered being placed during those early surgeries.

What made the discovery even more difficult was learning that the doctors in Evansville had stopped treating the IVC filter within just a few weeks of inserting it in his body, protocol requires blood thinners to keep the filter clean, and they never scheduled any follow-up care. With everything we were going through at the time, it was something we simply weren’t aware of—and sadly, multiple specialists over the years never caught the dangerous decision that had been made. Over time, that untreated filter became a hidden danger. The clot extended from under his ribs in the vena cava vein, all the way down into both legs, cutting off circulation and threatening amputation.

The ER doctor wanted to send us home with Coumadin and said the clot could be managed with medication. We felt deep in our hearts if we took him home, he wouldn’t survive the diagnosis. We insisted he be transferred to Indianapolis Methodist Hospital. The doctor didn’t see the need for an ambulance and told us he didn’t care what we did, we should just drive him ourselves, so we drove Travis to Indianapolis ourselves—knowing deep down that time was critical and something just wasn’t right.

When we arrived at the ER at Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis, nurses were waiting outside of the hospital for us, medication in hand and ready. They asked what took us so long. The tests had revealed a massive blood clot surrounding his IVC filter—a clot that extended from under his ribs in the vena cava vein all the way down into both legs, cutting off circulation and threatening amputation.

After Methodist ran multiple tests, the doctors told us it was the largest blood clot they had ever seen. They performed an angioplasty to remove as much of it as possible—and once again, God spared his life.

Faith, Prayer, and the Miracle of Life

During Travis’s time in the hospitals—and even after we finally came home—many prayer groups gathered to lift him up. Friends, family, and complete strangers reached out to let us know they were praying for his healing. Some called, some sent cards, and others simply said his name in prayer.

There were moments during those darkest days when we would receive unexpected phone calls or messages from people—some we knew and some we had never met—telling us about dreams or visions they’d had of Travis. Each time, those words reminded us that God was still at work. We truly believe He used those people to reassure us that He was near and that we were never alone.

Churches across the area sent donations and put Travis on their prayer lists—some of them still pray for him to this day. The outpouring of love was incredible. Friends and neighbors brought food, offered money, and helped however they could. Even in our exhaustion and heartbreak, we could feel God’s presence working through every person who showed up for us.

A man named Dave from our area who lived in Newburgh came every Sunday while Travis was at Select Specialty Hospital and HealthSouth to give us a private church service and communion. His visits became a spiritual lifeline, reminding us that God’s love isn’t confined to a building—it’s wherever His people gather.

Another friend, Joe, would come down every week to play guitar and sing for Travis. He always sang Johnny Cash for Travis, one of his favorite singers.

A friend of mine, Michele, cared for Travis’s dog, Bruiser, while we were away and even brought him down to see Travis. Bruiser knew exactly who his owner was, even though Travis had only had him for two weeks before the wreck. Sadly, Bruiser died shortly after Travis came home—he had eaten insulation, and nothing could be done to save him.

After losing Bruiser, we eventually brought home Molly Grace, a beautiful black Lab who became Travis’s loyal companion for the next twelve years. She was truly his best friend. When we lost her in 2022, it was heartbreaking, but God had another blessing waiting. That blessing came in the form of Ruby Hope, a red fox Lab—a gift from a TikTok friend in Minnesota.

Travis told me once how he felt about the accident,  that “He was glad it happened to him.” I asked what he meant by that? He told me, “He could take it, he didn’t want to see his brothers or sister go through something this hard.”

Travis told me something I’ll never forget. “Mom,” he said, “Did you know I died that day?” He went on to describe meeting Jesus—how He was surrounded by rainbows of light, how He hugged him, told him He loved him, and gave him a choice: to stay or return. If he stayed his body would be broken. Travis said he told Jesus he couldn’t leave his mom, she would be heartbroken. And so, he made the choice, he came back….broken.

A Life of Purpose

Life has gone on. It hasn’t always been an easy journey, but it has been filled with faith, love, grace, lessons, and moments that have strengthened our faith. Through every trial, we’ve seen God’s hand at work—guiding, providing, and showing us how to use our pain for a greater purpose.

Through Travis’s story, we’ve met people all over the world—many who now feel like family. Mike began sharing his story on TikTok, and an entire community rallied behind him, cheering him on, praying, and encouraging him daily. What began as our own story of survival has grown into a story of service. We felt called to help others walking similar roads, to offer the same kind of hope and support that had once been given to us.

We’ve cried countless tears and prayed more prayers than we can count. Still today, I often fall asleep praying and wake up the same way. But every day we are reminded that God is faithful. He is using Travis’s journey to touch lives, bring hope, and glorify His name.

With that calling, the Travis Burkhart Foundation was born. Our goal was simple: to be there for families in crisis—especially those facing medical emergencies and long hospital stays, just as we once did.

We’ve tried to be there for others walking this same difficult path—to give them hope, guidance, and faith. With the help of our community, the Travis Burkhart Foundation was born. What began as a way to say thank you has grown into a mission of helping others.

Over the years, the Foundation has continued to grow, reaching families across Indiana and throughout the United States. Each fundraiser, donation, and act of kindness helps us extend that same lifeline of love we were once given. As of November of 2025, the Foundation has:

• Helped 2,705 families facing medical challenges or extended hospital stays

• Gifted 35 iPads to individuals with developmental/communication challenges

• Financially assisted 60 wheelchair and mobility ramps for ease of home entry—allowing individuals to return or remain safely at home

• And gifted over $628,000 in financial assistance to those in need

Through it all, we’ve learned that the most meaningful work we can do is to love others—to show up, to give, and to remind them they’re not alone.

Faith, Strength, and Moving Forward

Life for Travis today is steady, full of small victories and daily reminders of how far he has come. He continues to work hard to regain balance, coordination, and strength—pushing forward with the same determination that carried him through those first difficult months.

Travis still faces challenges, but he also continues to inspire everyone who meets him. His story has reached far beyond our small community, touching hearts all over the country. He reminds others that even when life takes a turn we never expected, faith can carry us through.

He often talks about the things he misses—driving, being with his friends, and living life the way he once did—but he also talks about gratitude. Gratitude for the people who love him, for the prayers that have been lifted for him, and for the chance to still be here. Every day with Travis is a gift. His life reminds us that miracles don’t always look the way we expect—they often come in quiet moments of courage, hope, and love.

 Hebrews 11:1 “Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.”

From a Real Story to a Brave One

Out of everything we’ve walked through—the fear, the miracles, the tears, and the unshakable faith—something beautiful began to grow. It started small, as a mother’s way to help children/adults understand her son’s journey. But God had a bigger plan.

That simple idea became Travis the Brave Tractor—a children’s series inspired by real love, real struggle, and real faith. These stories carry pieces of our life woven into every line. They show what it means to be brave when life doesn’t go as planned, to find hope when things look broken, and to remember that being different doesn’t mean being less.

Through the eyes of a tractor named Travis, children—and adults—see that our value isn’t in what we can do, but in who we are. Every scratch, scar, and change in his story mirrors what so many people feel in their own hearts: that life can hurt, but healing is possible. That God can take the hardest seasons and use them to shine His light.

Each book is a glimpse into the heart of this journey—showing that kindness matters, that helping others brings joy, and that even when we’re scared, we can still choose courage. Most of all, they remind every reader, young or old, that it’s okay to be different. Because being different means you were made for something extraordinary.

From the fields of our family farm to the hearts of families around the world, these stories are a testament to love that endures, hope that never quits, and faith that keeps us steady—no matter how rough the road becomes.

Kim’s Reflection

When I look back on everything our family has been through—the sleepless nights, the hospital rooms, the thousands of miles, the millions of tears, the answered prayers, and the countless miracles—I see God’s fingerprints everywhere.

Writing these books wasn’t just about telling a story. It was about living one. Every word is a reflection of the boy who never stopped fighting, the family who never stopped believing, and the God who never stopped showing up.

Travis’s story became more than ours—it became a message for anyone who has ever felt broken, forgotten, or different. Through Travis the Brave Tractor, we’ve been able to share the truth that even in our hardest moments, God still writes beautiful stories.

If these books help one child see their own worth, help one parent feel hope again, or remind one heart that they’re not alone—then every tear, every prayer, and every page has been worth it.

Because at the heart of it all, this isn’t just a story about a tractor. It’s a story about faith, love, and the kind of bravery that changes everything.

Still Brave. Still Loved. Still Strong.