God Restores–The Mystery Plate

On June 28, 2008 her son, Jared,  was seriously injured in an automobile accident; he lay in a coma for almost a month; other complications manifest themselves.  On July 4, 2008 she was summoned to the hospital to face yet another heart wrenching decision.

Jared could have surgery to remove  hemorrhage damage, which would leave him in a vegetative state for the rest of his life; let things go, he would most likely die in 30-60 days.

What would I like to do? I will wait on God to restore him!

Traci Marr: TBI is not ON my plate, it is a new way of life.

The story of her fight is an incredible  accounting  of a Mother’s determination, and a woman’s  faith;  facing towering mounds of  bureaucratic  red tape, ignoring walls of medical skepticism, she has sought out alternative treatment, which combined with accepted medical practices have produced  miracles. (Today he is able to walk unassisted!!)

Traci has agreed to allow me to use parts of her story.  I hope you will be as inspired as I am by what is happening.    I am labeling her blogs as GOD RESTORES.

This blog addresses an issue that we all need to see from a personal point of view.  It invites us to look at  OUR reactions to the new life TBI persons and their families live.

Are we excluding them from life out of  misplaced feelings of concern?

Both Debbie Brewer, another Mother of a TBI person, and Traci say: “Yes!”

“We want to be a part of your life.   We want you to be a part of ours.”

Debbie C Brewer:"Bravo!!"

( Debbie C. Brewer) I’m giving you a standing ovation right now!!! Woo Hoo!! **Whistling**

God created me VERY social (also kind of shy and selective, go figure) and the being left out because I have “too much on my plate” has been the hardest thing to get used to.

The best is “I didn’t call because I figured your phone was ringing off the hook.” Well, everyone must be figuring that because it was a very quiet day and I would have desperately loved to talk.

Please post this to a blog! I am convinced now more than ever that God set us up as siblings and placed us on opposite sides of the country (I guess to balance things out!).

Love you Westie!! Thank you for this comforting, connecting God-hug!

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We have all heard the expressions, “he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth’, “this is the hand you’ve been dealt” “Just wipe the slate clean and start over”, “you sure wear a lot of hats” “you carry the world on your shoulders” And the famous “you have to much on your plate”.

Today I have been pondering the mysterious plate. When did each of us receive this plate?

We all, at some point in life, have been told we have “to much on our plate”; we ALL have a plate.

Do we receive it at birth? As a teen? When we hit 21?

Well, I have surmised we each receive our mystery plate at birth.

Where we keep this plate is beyond me; our hands are full with the cards we have been dealt, our mouth is full with the silver spoon (or our foot), the many hats that cover our head;  we carry the “weight of the world on our shoulders”.

All I know is,  some how we carry it with us,  we add to it;  sometimes portions are put on our plate that we did not ask for– lets say divorce of our parents; the death of a family member, or abuse. Someone comes along and drops a portion into our plate.

A spouse and children do not count as a spot on our plate; they are part of the life we live, BUT they can add to spaces on our plate, if we let them, with worry, stress, anger, resentment, pride, jealousy, greed, drug addiction, alcoholism– just to name a few.

If some one we love has problems we can choose to take on their problems, thus adding a portion to our plate.

Then there is work, financial worry, retirement, the broke down car…every thing you can think of, one can add to this plate and often does .

Here is the thing I am not so sure about.  We all get the same kind of plate, but I think when I say plate, 99% of us think of a round object; well, forever, plates were round.

Some may get a silver sturdy plate, some a plate made of china,  corelle or  paper (yea! the paper platers don’t get much of a chance, those things don’t hold up well at all!)

Bear with me I am really going some where with this plate…

What brought this thought to my mind today was, last night was the final straw in 2 years worth of statements, as I found out about different things happening to friends or family who once would have called me right away to ask for prayer or talk ; no longer do I hear it “thru the grapevine”.

I used to be the go to girl, people would call me all the time for advice, for prayer, to talk to about their problems; I enjoyed helping others clean off spots on their plate; I have noticed that people don’t do that any more.

If some one does by chance start to tell me about something that isn’t going right in their life, they will suddenly stop and say, ” Why am I telling you this, like you don’t have “enough on your plate already”!

Let me tell you a little about my birth plate.  It had dents, scratches and cracks from 46 years of crud that started VERY early in  life.

The beginning portions on my plate were placed there by others, over which I had no control.   I was much to young.

But as I grew older,  I added my own crud to the plate, anger, rage, low self-esteem, feeling unworthy, drinking, drugs, bad financial habits and poor choices in relationships, jobs that drove me crazy— the list goes on.

My plate WAS maxed.

I did begin to learn to remove many of those things on my plate when I gave my life to Christ in my late 20’s (I mean really gave it to him not just said the words). But as I said that plate was all kinds of jacked up!

On June 12, 2008 it shattered into a million pieces! 46 years of wear and tear and my plate could not hold up to what was going to be the beginning of a new life.

There was no putting that plate back together.

I was graciously handed a new life plate, a unique plate, not round or square, or triangular, a plate that was so completely different, this plate has no lip around it, made for gently sliding things off.

This plate did come with a few portions on it but it wasn’t full and it still isn’t.

See, this plate brings with it some real eye openers.

Like hey! there is no hate on this plate ,  I DON’T have to scoop it on!

There is no resentment, no anger, no crazy employers, no low self esteem, no feelings of unworthiness, (drugs, drinking and bad money habits were taken off my plate back in my early 20’s); there is a lot of room on this plate!

I as a 46 year old woman get to choose what I want on this plate.

Yes, this new life with TBI can give me reason to scoop my plate HIGH with all kinds of crud, if I want to; OR I can keep praising God for the wonderful gifts, the peace, the new found joy, the freedom from my old plate.

I know this is making no sense, it almost sounds as if I am rejoicing in TBI.

No, what I am rejoicing in is the fact that I HAVE ROOM on my plate.

Do you hear me friends and family?

Don’t leave me out of your lives because you think it will add more stress; don’t not tell me your sorrows because you think I have enough to cry over; don’t keep from me when you get hurt because you think your pain isn’t “as bad as mine”.

I want you to tell me about YOU!

I want to pray for YOU, WITH you I want to be a part of your life and help you.

God has gifted me with a plate so unique, I still do not know how or where I carry this plate; I still wear many hats; I often stick my foot in my mouth; my hands are  busy helping my son or being raised to the Son.

From age 46 to 48 I have learned there is a Well, called God;  I can easily slide stuff I don’t want off this plate into His hands.

There is room for you friends and family.

In some bizarre way, TBI has freed me of so many things; I now understand how absolutely unimportant they are;  I refuse to scoop them onto this new plate.

Every so often something would like to take up residence on this plate; I gently tip it sideways till whatever it is slips off.

I know what I want on my plate.

I see things through a different heart and different eyes now;  I am saving room for you….I won’t let you live on my plate or take on your worries and pain, forever;  but I will let you use a spot;  help you unload some of your stuff.   I will try to help ease your pain; give you good advice; pray with you; then I will gently tip it to the side to let it slide off into the hands of the Master Crafter.

Why the plate? Yesterday I found out my mother, YES MY OWN MOM, who lives barely 5 miles from me, fell at 3am in the morning, hitting her nightstand,  cutting her head open to the point she has 30 stitches and 2 very very black eyes.

No one bothered to call me!

When I called to find out why, the answer….the statement I have heard from friends or family when they haven’t told me something important yet painful… over and over for 2 years now.. Because I felt you had “enough on your  plate”.

TBI is not ON my plate, it is a new way of life.  A life we are facing head on and getting through.

So when you think, ” well lets not burden Tracy with our woes, remember this….my plate is only 2 years old there isn’t much on it. Come on over,  borrow a spot if yours has gotten to full.

Please keep my mother, Sandy, in your prayers.  She is insulin diabetic ( they don’t always heal quickly);  I am praying for a quick recovery for her.

And yes,  I gave her the 3rd degree about looking for signs of head injury.   The Doctor at the ER did not feel she needed a scan done.

God-Hugs: When Dolphins Danced

Debbie Cockrell Brewer

Debbie Cockrell Brewer has spent the past two years caring for her son who suffered traumatic brain injury as the result of a shooting accident. She has reached out and inspired many with her courage, faith, and determination, sharing her life through Carepages . She has agreed to let me post some of her observations which she calls God-Hugs.

Posted Jan 27, 2009 11:16pm

I had gotten in the habit after school started of walking on the beach just soaking in the glory of God. I have always felt so connected with God and eternal perspective watching the waves come ashore and shrink back out into the swell that returns to the vastness that touches foreign shores.

I always get glimpses of God and special little hugs from Him when I’m out there. After the beach renourishment project last fall huge conch shells were on the beach.

God would point out various life lessons in the surf or the people around. I had gotten out of the habit as the weather got colder. It’s been a month maybe since I’ve gone for a walk.

So, today as I felt better, I was determined to head to the beach for a walk, even though it was less than 50 degrees.

I tried to get in touch with a couple of friends to walk with me, but they were unavailable. So I headed to a beach that I would not have otherwise.

I am always amused by how God lines things up for us!

I walk off of the wood ramp and onto the sand to low tide.

The beach is flat with very few shells. I look down at the broken fragments, wishing that I could find one of those big conch shells again.

I sigh. “So, what are you going to surprise me with today?” I pray.

Then a motion just beyond the breaking surf catches my eye. I see a brown triangle arch in the water followed by a smaller triangle. It is turning like a grist mill wheel.

I think to myself, “What in the world is wrong with that pelican?”

The smaller triangle stretches out and reveals another triangle. It’s a dolphin tail!

I love dolphins! I’ve heard people say that they’ve seen them playing here, but I have never seen one in the eight years that we’ve been here!

I got to “swim” with the dolphins on a vacation once. It was magical and I came home thinking about how cool it would have been to be a marine biologist. The boys have gotten me dolphin momentos. I have dolphin earrings that Graham gave me.

Get it? This is a very personal, special hug…just for me!

As I start to laugh I notice a second dolphin! I watch the two of them play together and travel up the beach for a little bit. My heart is dancing!

I continued on my walk away from the dolphins and praise God and thank him for such an individualized gift.

When I turn around to head back to the van to go pick Weston up from school, I scan the breaker line, hoping to catch one more glimpse of the couple. I see a group of 5!!

Then I notice that people are pointing further up the beach!

There must have been 20 just in my immediate line of sight! Absolutely incredible!!

You know how after you’ve had that screaming match with your grandpa and he’s managed to calm you down, he’ll look at you, nudge you on the shoulder and say, “Feel better? Ok, let’s go get some ice cream.” And you just know that everything is going to be ok!

That’s what the dolphins were for me.

God Hugs: The Lesson of the Glory Hole

Weston invites us to the Celebration of Miracles,  December 27.

Debbie Cockrell Brewer

It is a time of reflection.  A remembering of some of the milestones that have taught us to expect set backs, as well as   victories; all a part of his miracle.

Weston’s Mother, Debbie, has become very astute;  able to see life’s lessons in everyday events.   One of my favorite observations is one she made while on an outing at Stone Mountain, Georgia.

I want to share how this relates, in this interchange.

DEBBIE: ” Yesterday, I watched the glass blowing demonstration with great interest. First, the artist sprinkled out pieces of orange glass, because the customer wanted an orange mug. He dipped out some molten glass from one furnace, rolled it into the sprinkles, then placed it into the “Glory Hole”, the hottest furnace at 2400 degrees. It only took a few seconds for everything to be heated and pliable.

We watched as he would manipulate the glass a bit then place it back into the “Glory Hole” so it would again become workable. Back and forth he walked to the workbench to round the mug, to the “Glory Hole”, to the middle of the room to spin the pole using the centrifugal force to elongate the mug, to the “Glory Hole”, to the workbench to round some more, to the “Glory Hole”, to another workbench to get ready for the handle, and so on and so on.

Each time the artist needed to mold the mug into something more recognizable, he had to put it to the fire…to the hottest fire. When the piece was finished and beautiful, he had to put it into another oven at “just” 900 degrees to sit for a day.

Even though the exposure to the hottest fire was over for the mug, and the shaping and molding had been completed, it still had to endure more heat than it will the rest of its days to firm up and be useful. If just left to cool at the room temperature, it would have surely broken before ever seeing usefulness as the artist intended for it.”

We remember  this  analogy  is  focused on Weston when he faced a reality that could make or break his determination.

He had experience a usual Sunday  after returning to Myrtle Beach.  He had wheeled himself into his room; Debbie had gone in to administer meds before bed.

She relates:

“He asked to be left alone.

I went back to tell him that it was time for bed and he was over by his bed. He said, ‘I’ve been trying to get myself into the bed. I can’t even get my feet off of the pedals by myself. I can get them to raise up, but they won’t go forward. I just want to go to bed.’

I think what has happened here is that patience has been outpaced by desire.

This is one of the defining points where he will either wake defeated or determined to proceed forward to be able to once again do the things that he took for granted.

I think it’s an awesome place for him to be. This could truly be the spark that reignites that flame of desire that drove him early in the process.”

The searing heat of frustration and disappointment reminded us of the story of the glassblower and the glory hole.

I wrote her:

“My heart hurt as I pictured him by his bed tonight, trying so desperately to move those legs, but realizing that he can’t yet. You call this is ‘one of the defining points’.

I am reminded of the story I have heard so often of the time, at the ball game, when he stood in front of the basket, everybody thinking he was concentrating on the shot, only to learn that what he was really doing was reminding himself–through Christ I can do all things.

Tonight I hope he reminded himself of that same thing. Tonight Weston’s faith and spiritual qualities are being called to the fore, and I think they will sustain him, even as he experiences disappointment, progress, and triumph as he moves ahead.

We are facing the period of real growth, Weston’s faith and determination is now truly on the altar. Remember the glassblower at Stone Mountain?

The blob of molten glass on the tube in now Weston, the vessel is beginning to be shaped and when it is pulled from the glory hole the prospects are for a thing of everlastingly beautiful usefulness.”

That incident happened over a year ago.  We see progress;  Weston faces challenges but his attitude and faith remain strong.

We will celebrate a miracle December 27; we will rejoice in a  victory!

FAITH-HOPE-LOVE

A revision of an earlier article.   A professional editor critiqued my article.    Click “leave comment”.  What do you think?

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Hope accomplishes nothing on its own; it is a longing for reality not clear.  Our minds perceive the possibilities ; our hearts may develop a longing for the things wished for, but there still is  no positive action …just a desire.

So many times we tend to think of hope and faith as one. This is not the case. Hope can exist without faith. Faith can not exist without hope.  The Bible defines faith  as “the assured expectation of things hoped for; the evident demonstration of reality, though not beheld.”

Think about it:  hope is static, requiring no effort. Faith motivates us, moves us to take action, gives us reason to continue; we expect positive results.

The parts that faith and hope play is never more clear than when we are faced by  a  situation that could rip both these elements from us.

During the past two years my family had  the opportunity to experience first hand the dramatic powers of  hope, faith, and belief.  It is interesting that while belief at time divided us,  hope and faith united us in marvelous ways.

When I  received the news that Weston, my oldest grandson, was shot in the head I began to hope.  I hoped there was some error in the message,  he was not expected to survive.

I hoped that I would go to the desk at Palmetto Richland Hospital and learn it was all a mistake.

When the receptionist asked me to wait just a minute, whispered something to her assistant, came around the counter and asked  me to follow her, I still hoped.

As I studied the stricken faces of my family gathering in that conference room, my mind screamed “No!”  but still I hoped.

My family had faced challenges before and won; I never once doubted,  whatever had happened in this accidental  shooting, we would come through as a family.

At this moment I had no idea what we needed to do, but I knew we would follow the  revealed path.

Weston may not live through the night, but we would go on.

This faith…..an assured expectation of realities not beheld,  served my family  well in the days ahead.

Determining  before hand, the Standard by which we choose to make life decisions eliminates so much agonizing at a time when we can not think rationally.  There is no struggle to decide what is right or wrong. There is the Standard. .

All my life I have endeavored to live by Jehovah God’s standard.

Now the  only decision is: “Do I uphold His Standard, or do I choose to follow my own inclinations?”

In either case, I am willing to accept the consequences.

This is belief, it is separate from hope and faith, but closely intertwined.

My children have chosen a different standard. I have come to appreciate that their standard as Persons of  Faith is similar to mine; in life we share similar hopes, we each have an enduring faith, based on different belief systems. Yes, it does divide us ; but it need not tear us apart.

Belief is an interesting thing. Depending on what we define as  Truth,  we develop  a standard by which we live. We make decisions every day  based on that standard. Our lives become a testament to Standard’s value.

The real problem is that belief is such an emotional issue;  it determines what we believe  the eternal destiny of us and our loved ones will be.   There is the realization that when two hopes for our eternal futures collide,  one of two possibilities exist.

Either, one of the possibilities is wrong;  perhaps both are unreal.

Then what?

When we rationalize that it really does not matter, an all forgiving God is going to reward us  whatever we do, we are  back to the original argument.

We hope this is true, but can we really say we have faith that it is,  do we really believe it is?

There is no denying the fact.  Belief at times divides us.  We are united by faith and love.

Eyes men envy and women die for!

The story of Rom Houben  disturbs me.   In 1983, doctors believed he had sunk into a coma; his parents thought otherwise and continued seeking medical advice to bolster their belief  that he was in a vegetative state.

Twenty three years later, it is discovered that in all those years, he was seemingly asleep with closed eyes and no ability to function (like a coma); yet, his brain was  functional and aware;  his body, totally paralyzed, was unable to respond in any way!

Two years ago, when my grandson, Weston, suffered traumatic brain injury, I became heartbreakingly familiar with the  terms coma and vegetative state.   Mistakenly, I  understood them to be  interchangeable designations.  No so.

Raf Casert in a release for The Associated Press explains that a coma is a state of constant sleep from which the victim, though breathing, never awakens, he is one of the living dead.

A person in a vegetative state is completely unaware of his own existence, is unable to function in anyway, but has recognizable periods of sleep  and  wakefulness.

Understanding this difference explains why there was so much poking, prodding, pinching, even yelling, as Weston  hovered between life and death those first few days.  At times he was in a coma, at others he functioned in a vegetative state.

The coma was easier to accept.  It offered hope, he would awaken from a peaceful sleep, there seemed to be no pain, no uncertainty.

The vegetative state, on the other hand, ripped at  every fiber of my soul.  During periods of wakefulness, Weston would gently moan, crimp his face as if silently crying, occasionally a tear would well in his eye.

Medical personnel assured us these were reflect actions, probably nothing more.

“NO! NO!” I wanted to scream.    They are buoys  in this roaring stream of hopelessness.  I need to be able to cling to them; I need to believe they are anchors pulling both of us toward the shores of survival.

A patient in a vegetative state opens his eyes, but does not focus.  All persons I had ever seen in this condition had a very blank look,  never  a  depth or sparkle  as the eyes, well, stared.  This was never true of Weston.

He inherited his Dad’s eyes; long dark lashes,  clear pupils with iris of  a  rich chocolate brown, surrounding a pool of sparkling golden rayed light , suggesting a devilishly playful personality.  Eyes men envy, and women die for!

Weston would open his eyes and gaze toward the large bright window; there always seemed to be questioning, confused look, not a blank, lifeless stare.

As I watched during those wake periods, my prayerful statement was, “Jehovah, I can not believe there is not life there, that sparkle seems so full  of life, please show us how to break through.”

Less than two weeks later, there was screaming evidence that my prayer was heard.

The medical experts told us there was no hope, what you see is all you will ever get, he may someday recognize you, but he will never speak or function.

As if resurrected, Weston is very much a typical fourteen year old teenager.  He goes to school, he alternately loves and fights with his younger brother, Caleb; has no problem speaking.   He is confined to a wheelchair and has limited use of his left arm, but other than that—Hey!

He has discovered that those beautiful eyes serve a  purpose beyond seeing.  Girls notice;  he still wants to appear unimpressed by the attention, but he can not hid the evidence.    His nostril twitches, he flushes, and can not hide a slight upward movement of a hidden devilishly playful grin.

What a blessing! What a miracle! The experts were wrong!  Weston recognizes us, he speaks to us, he functions.

We are confident,  one day he will walk

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I Am The Victim For A Moment

This has not been a good week for me emotionally.  Usually I am upbeat, Mr. Pollyana, looking for the positive.

What is wrong–no, what is different?  My feelings are hard to express. I am not angry at anyone, and as insane as it sounds, at anything! I am  confused by this strange emotion.

I  never met Jared Marr or his mother, Traci;  know them only through Facebook and her Carepages blog updates.   They are amazing people.   Jared was seriously injured two years ago in a  car crash.  He was not suppose to have survived.  He did and has made a miraculous recovery, much of which can be attributed to his Mother’s dogged determination that he receive the best care she can provide personally.

Traci’s battle has been waged pretty much on her own.   A single mother (and grandmother), she has found extraordinary rehab care for Jared despite insurance, medical  and governmental bureaucratic blocks at every turn.

During the past two weeks Jared has been begun to walk.  First with a walker, then with quad cane, and now he  takes independent steps!!

Imagine the flood of emotion at such a moment! This child, who was never suppose to function is moving forward under his own momentum ( all six feet plus of him) toward the Mother who has fought so hard to help him achieve this goal.

As I watched the video clips my heart pounds, a lump rises in my throat, tears well up.   I want to jump up, throw my arms heavenward  and shout, “YEESS !!  There is a God who cares, who answers prayers!”  For several minutes I sit,  my face buried in my hands; silently praying; thanking Jehovah for the blessings he has given.

Why, then, am I suddenly aware of this melancholy feeling?

We have just learned that Weston, my grandson, has  been diagnosed with severe scoliosis.    Weston suffered severe brain damage from a gunshot wound that destroyed a goodly part of the back portion of his brain.  Despite guarantees ( yes, I intentionally use that word) that there was absolutely no possibility of survival from such an injury, he is back in school working at a comparable pre-injury level.

He has no speech impairment; the only  evidence of his injury is the  wheelchair and limited use of his left arm.

His recovery has been nothing short of a miracle.   His being able to walk again seems a realizable goal;  why, suddenly, do I feel so overwhelmed?

The scoliosis is a setback.  It is not an insurmountable situation we are assured.  Weston will walk, that continues to be our goal.

The video of Jared’s triumph assures me that we will see the same for Weston, but it also causes the Granpa’s selfishness to push in.   “Why, isn’t this Weston?  He is just as deserving, he has worked just as hard………why, Jehovah, why must Weston suffer?”

I am shocked by the revelation of what I have just typed.   “Why must Weston SUFFER?”  I have never in my mind, or in my writing, associated Weston and the words suffer or victim.

Traci helped bring it all into focus when I read this entry in one of her  post tonight; she waiting in heavy  traffic resulting from an accident in which an elderly couple died:

“ its times like these that I ask the question why? and the why being why do some make it out just fine? some end up seriously hurt? some not make it?

There is no answer because its part of the cycle of life but it hurts no less.”

From the beginning Jared and Weston have faced challenges and conquered……they are the  victors!  It is I who have become the victim for a moment.

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Stop Snoring!! Idiot!!

I am not a good patient! Pity the poor nurse who tries to care for a grouchy old fool like me. When I am uncomfortable you will know it! My pillow needs fluffing, my leg hurts! Water, now! Do I have to take another pill, just took one a couple of hours ago. Was I asleep…”yes, until you woke me up to see if I was asleep!!!

For four months I spent the night in Weston’s room as he recuperated. This young man was an amazing patient!! He must have been every caregiver’s dream. Responding to treatment in ways that astonished his doctors, he never complained. A study in concentration, he progressed from unconsciousness to turning his head, and all the hundreds of acts that we all take for granted.

He must have been uncomfortable, he had to have felt pain, but it was never obvious. He softly asked for what ever aid he needed, smiled sweetly at the provider, said “thank you” then settled back into his world of dependence. Did anything bother him, we wondered.

Yes, one thing, I found out one night when he had had enough!! You see, I snore; apparently even when I think I am awake.

I lay there on that couch, one eye on his monitors, drowsily waiting for the next nurse’s check. I know I am awake!!!………..When suddenly I hear…

“Grandpa stop snoring!!”

I am jolted to full awareness by the strength of the command! This is sweet, gentle Weston?

“I am not snoring, Weston.”

“Yes you are!”

“I am fully awake, I can not be snoring!”

“You are.”

“I am not.”

For a couple of minutes we go at it like two kids. “Are too.” “Am not!” until finally I demand “Weston, I am fully awake, I can not be snoring. Now go to sleep, I don’t want to hear anymore about it!”

After awhile I hear from across the room what sounds like a tirade of one kid against another: “You jerk, you are snoring…………” Use your imagination, if you have teenagers who go at each other in anger.

I reacted just like another aggrieved kid. I shouted back!! I got mad!! Next morning, as if his poor Dad did not have enough on his mind, I demanded that he talk with Weston about respect for elders.

His Dad, Graham, listened politely to my silly ranting; he talked to Weston and Weston apologized.

In retrospect this is amazing. Weston’s short term memory was non existent we were told. Maybe this tirade was the trigger that helped his brain start to function in this regard. He remembered Graham’s instructions and my reaction.

How do I know? From that next night on he never reacted to my snoring in that way. If I was bothering him he figured out ways to request some action on my part.

“Grandpa, I want a drink of water.” or “Grandpa, my leg hurts, could you move it?” was the signal that my honker was at it again. My resourceful grandson, you are a champ!

I tried nose tabs, I tried pills . Nothing worked. I lay there, one eye on the monitors, thinking, awake I was sure; then I hear the request at 1 a.m. “Grandpa, could I have some water?”

I stumble up from the couch, put the straw into the water, put it to his lips; he sips a half sip and lies back.

I go back to bed arguing to myself, “Grandpa, you were snoring!-Was not!–Was too! Ah, shut up and go to sleep!”

Do Not Feel For Me

Her posting fascinated and moved me. She wrote:

Why had her statement made me so angry? It was meant to offer sympathy, a gesture of kindness, she thought; but I was seething. This is the second time this week I have been told, by word or insinuation, how misguided I am in considering my situation a blessing.

I was so angry; a rage, rather than hurt, welled in my heart. How dare this woman whom I had never seen walk up to me with her lovely accent and say to me, with a sad look in her eyes “I FEEL FOR YOU.”

When I demanded an explanation with my curt “Why?’ “She looked at my son, “ He is so young.” (Her attitude broadcast her message: “What a waste!.”)

“Are only older people supposed be disabled, I mocked her mentally!!

“DO NOT FEEL FOR ME . I am the most blessed woman I know. He was not supposed to live ,walk, talk or do anything, I have a living, breathing, walking, talking, miracle sitting in my car, do not pity (feel for) me.”

“Well, he must be needed in this world for something.” She gave me a small grin and off she went.

Why, God, why is this woman so blind?

My anger cooled and I knew: these women could not see God in this; My rage became pity–for them. If they knew God, they would not find pity in our situation; they would find blessing and joy in knowing that He is at work in my son’s life.

Reading this account of a dear friend’s experience, I can feel her anger; through her writings I have felt and shared her joy. What blessings these women miss as they look only at what they choose to see.

I think of my own feelings, in the past, as I associated with those experiencing limitations. As a manager I advocated and used the hire the handicapped philosophy, but in all honestly, I realize now, I was motivated by a feeling of pity; there was no appreciation of the miracle of accomplishment all these people exemplified.

Why do we readily feel their pain, but refuse to experience their joy? It is our loss.

These past two years have been good. My family was forced to face a situation of despair; we have witnessed miracle, after miracle. We have been forced to reevaluate what is valuable. Weston’s healing has opened our eyes and our hearts to many truths.
Compassion has taken on a whole new meaning!! Do not call our circumstance tragic, just challenging. Feel with us the joy of life, we are blessed.

My Prayer

December 27, 2007 is a day of infamy for my family. Weston Brewer, my grandson was accidentally shot through the head; our family experienced an incredible miracle in his recovery. This letter written about six months later expresses my joy and wonder:

Weston, today, you head HOME! What a long way you’ve come since January when we all headed to Atlanta with our hearts full of hope, but with you not really aware that you “were”.

Medically, we were told that you might begin to respond, that you might eventually recognize us, that you might even, one day, speak to us. Oh, how I wanted to believe that; that all might be true!! I said I believed in miracles, but my brain kept putting limits on how far you could come…..

In Columbia, late at night, you would open those deep brown eyes and look in my direction, I was told you were unaware, I remember praying “Jehovah, I can’t believe there’s not life there, the sparkle that shines through just has to mean we can break through the silence.”

What a thrill when you responded to my prattle about how your Mom and we said “I love you” with a hand squeeze and my suggestion that you could tell her the same with a measured 3 swallows, then 3 eye blinks–AN D YOU DID IT!

The staff smiled sweetly, but didn’t believe until the day they were by your bed, your Mom walked in and THEY saw you communicate!! Miracle became, not a word, but a reality to me that day!

He may eventually be able to speak, but it will be with difficulty, THEY said.

Coping with your perceived impaired speech was the subject of many a personal prayer. I would listen to others patients struggle to speak and my heart would grow numb.

I will never forget that moment, as I stood by your bed wiping your face with a clothe, and just because I could think of nothing else to say, said “ Wes, I’ll bet this is cold isn’t it?” My conversation must have sounded as stupid to you as it did to me, for you SHOUTED, “NO!!” Not a garbled, labored sound, but a clearly enunciated, aggravated Weston sounding word!! Now I knew, with no uncertainty, that miracles do happen!

And so it began! A six month journey where you have shown us how a 12-13 year old man (no, I won’t call you a boy!) with faith, determination, humility, can demonstrate that miracles do happen everyday; that pain and unfortunate circumstances do not have to make us bitter; that no matter what hand we are dealt in life we can triumph, when we believe.

I believe you will continue to heal. I believe that you will tell your remarkable story through many venues. My prayer is that it will always be in the humble spirit of the 13 year old man who believes that this is just the way things are suppose to be.

As the years pass YOU will come to acknowledge, more and more, that your miracle is the love and devotion of your Mom, Dad, and Caleb and all of us who love you, that your healing is God’s gift, not only to you, but to us all.

The Messenger

This story will elicit questioning smiles from some; for others it will be an affirmation of faith . Is there a correlation between this and later events ?

Critics will point to the events as coincidences that strengthen an incredible story of survival, faith and rehabilitation.

Years will pass, facts will blur, many will doubt. This is an eye witness’s account.

My wife and I were visiting our daughter and her family in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. We stopped at a fast food restaurant for lunch.

Weston and Caleb are rambunctious boys; we let them sit at a separate table. In typical fashion they talked, giggled, engaged in brotherly bantering as they ate. There was nothing unusual in the actions of these brothers, ages six and ten.

Debbie, called my attention to a young man a few tables over who seemed to be paying special attention to her sons. We established eye contact and smiled making him aware that we were observing.

After a while he arose to leave, approaching our table, he introduced himself as the youth minister of a local church. Asking Debbie if the boys were her children he explained why he had been staring.

“The Lord revealed to me that the oldest is going to be used in a very special way. I just wanted you to know.” He walked away. We would never see him again.

We talked about the conversation, wondered about the young man’s mental state and forgot the incident.

December 27, 2007 Weston suffered a gunshot through the head. He was twice diagnosed as having no chance of survival. When he beat those odds, his family was told that a perpetually vegetative state was the only possibility.

Today, less than two years later, he is a student, just one year behind his curriculum, he has never suffered a speech impediment. Only because of evaluation are we aware of a slight cognitive impairment.

Weston’s story has touched and inspired untold numbers as they followed his progress through his mother’s blog.

Is there a connection between these events,years apart? Some will say yes, others will doubt; but each is a fact and will be a part of the legend for future generations.