Just Breathe…

I look out the window to see two police officers walking toward our front door. I grab my husband out of the shower. We don’t know the exact words they are about to say, but we know we are most likely entering every parent’s worst nightmare.

Our son. Wreck. Hospital. Respirator. No other information.

I thank God he’s alive. I pray He will keep him alive. I pray He will give us the strength to accept whatever happens.

My husband calls the church. I call my mother and our other son.

Breathe, my baby boy, just keep breathing. You can do it. Please keep breathing…

My husband and I hold each other. We pray. We cry.

We drive at first in silence. We are both thinking what we are afraid to speak. My husband finally says, “I hope we don’t have to make any tough decisions.” We don’t want to relive his parent’s nightmare. Their oldest son died in a motorcycle accident. Now our son, his namesake, hangs in the balance. We cry and cling to one another on the way.

I am sobbing and gasping for air. My husband says the line I usually say to him, “just breathe, baby. Just breathe.” We are completely numb but somehow we manage to walk from the parking lot to the hospital.

We go to the ER and are sent to ICU. They can’t tell us anything.

We pace. We pray. We cry. We cling. We don’t know what to do.

Our son and his girlfriend arrive soon. We hold one another through tears and questions.

We are told it’s a miracle he’s alive. They tell us he has some brain bleeds, swelling, and damage. The extent is unclear at this time. We are told the next 24 hours are critical. Things can go either way.

We are taken to our son. We talk to him. We tell him we love him. We hold his hands. Each time we try to pull away he tightens his grip on us. We take turns with him to allow his closest friends in. We hope they can draw a response. It works. His friend who is a medic knows how to prod him. Our son smirks and opens his eyes briefly. His friend jabs him with a personal joke. He slowly forms a circle with his thumb and forefinger extending the bird to his friend. The respiratory nurse says it’s the best sign she’s seen all day. We rejoice in his humor.

In no time the waiting room is overflowing with friends; his, ours, and our other sons’. We are fully supported in love. The phone calls and texts are continuous. We are too distraught to respond.

He comes and goes. I see the fear and confusion in his eyes as he looks from one of us to the other. He tries to speak but is unable to form the words he wants. He gives a peace out and pound sign to his friends.

We experience many more miracles in the next several days. He starts talking and remembering some things.  He walks out of ICU. The nurses fluff his pillow and applaud. They never see people “walk” out of ICU and take great joy in this moment. Though some memory is sketchy, he knows his name, birthday, and city but thinks it’s eight years prior. In a few days, he gets the date. Different areas of memory return, others remain questionable. Five days after admittance, he walks out of the hospital. We have a long way to go, but we are willing to do what we need to restore his health. We thank God for this blessing of life.

Please believe in miracles; they happen every day. Sometimes miracles are subtle and we don’t see them for what they are. Other times they truly come in the form of God’s grace, seat belts, air bags, and roll bars.

I ask you please hold our son and our family in prayer, love, light, and healing energy. We are thankful for our many blessings. For now we will take life a minute at a time. ..we will just breathe…

”Miracles happen every day. Not just in remote country villages or at holy sites halfway across the globe, but here, in our own lives.” – Deepak Chopra

38 thoughts on “Just Breathe…

  1. Pingback: Where We Are Right Now… « Poetry of the Water Witch's Daughter

  2. Oh Suzicate. I didn’t know. My Facebook has been spotty. I am so sorry for all your family has been through. I rejoice with you through the miracle and will continue to pray for his full recovery. Thank you Lord!

  3. OMG, This is NOW! I had to remember to breathe as I was reading, hoping you were reporting something from years ago. Yes, float in that river of love. I add my tears to it, a mixture of grief that you had to endure this and joy that you did, that it isn’t his time yet. Hugs and prayers for all.

  4. Suzicate, I am so sorry. Worst nightmare, absolutely. I will send healing energy to your darling boy and all the strength that I can muster. His healing WILL continue. Blessings to your family.

  5. reading this gave me chills. like being there with you. i think i stopped breathing half way through. you are right, miracles do happen every day. so glad you experienced one of the best. love you!

  6. Suzicate, my heart was in my throat as I read this. When my son was 18, I got a call when I was in the shower one morning. A friend of John’s was calling to say that he had been in an accident on his motorcycle and that an ambulance had taken him away unconscious. John was ultimately fine, but the next couple of hours were the worst I had ever experienced in my life. I’m glad both of our boys made it. Thank God!

  7. “Please believe in miracles; they happen every day. Sometimes miracles are subtle and we don’t see them for what they are.”

    Yes, I do believe in miracles because of what I just went through with my mother. They DO happen.

    Just know I have been, and will continue to share MUCH healing energy with your son, you, and your family.

    Love you, dear friend.

    (((( You ))))

  8. Suzicate, I thought for a minute you were writing this in retrospect. Sending you and yours strength. I hope for a complete and healthy recovery for your son. Sending lots of xoxo

  9. I couldn’t even finish reading, I had to scroll down to the comments to see if this was a work of fiction. After reading a few comments to see it was real I went back up to finish reading! I am sorry to hear that this happened, but I am so happy to hear he is out of the hospital and on his way to recovered health.

    Hugs to you and your family. Prayers too!

  10. Om my goodness. Every parent’s worst nightmare. We had such a call, our daughter had come off her bicycle – head over the handlebars and landed on the road. The next few hours were a nightmare. Thankfully she recovered fully and that is what I am praying for for your son. Please know that you are in my thoughts Suzicate, look after yourself too in this very stressful time. Remember what they say on the airplane, Look after yourself so that you may look after others. Hugs.

  11. Ah, Suzi – wrap the love you have and the energy that others are sending you and direct it towards your son. Love IS the healing energy of the Universe. Take some of that love for yourself so that you can stay strong for your family. I will send energy of love and healing as well.

  12. I had hoped this was a piece of fiction or a distant memory when I began reading. It didn’t take me long to realize this is your current nightmare – I would agree that it is a parent’s worst fear. I’m so sorry. Your family will be in my prayers tonight. I believe in miracles, and hope your son continues to be one.

  13. Oh Suzi … what a stressful time for you (I was wondering where you have been). It is amazing how fast our lives can change and be tossed into turmoil. Your words gave me that heart sinking feeling that comes with it.

    YES, miracles happen all the time and believing that keeps me breathing. Praying for your son’s complete recovery.

  14. Oh Suzi, a parent’s worst nightmare for certain! May God give all of you the strength that is needed for his full recovery and joy in life continued.

  15. I’ve been offline a day or so, so I’m just now getting to your post. Suzi, I’m so very sorry you and Dirt Man had to go through this awful experience, but I’m ecstatic that your son is responding and continues to improve. Please know you’re all in my thoughts and prayers. Yes, I DO believe in miracles! I know you do, too. Hold the faith, my friend.

  16. Suzi, my thoughts and prayers go out to you and your family. I hope you all take time to breathe and be together during your son’s recovery. Out of tragedy comes hope and promise. I hope one day you will all look back on this as a distant nightmare. Best wishes.

  17. I thought you were going to say something else, at first. My heart is with you. I think he is going to be fine. He has already come so far. Stay strong.

    And breathe.

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