Even as I sit here with my daughter, Suzanne, I know that I cannot give up hope.  Right now, she's sleeping, but she's spending more hours awake.  She seems to be more aware of her surroundings, which is a huge answer to prayer.

Just the other day (yesterday, in fact), she blinked her eyes when the nurses spoke to her, and she followed very simple commands.  She still doesn't know who she is, or what happened to her, but when she saw me, her face lit up like a child's at Christmas, and it gave me a burst of hope, the real first hope I've had in months, since all of this took place.

I still remain hopeful about her future; however, I'm also guarded about it.  I know she faces an awful long road to recovery, and she will need months of intense, rigorous physical, occupational, and speech therapy.  If she comes through this without any brain damage whatsoever, if she comes back to where she was prior to her aneurysm, it'll be nothing short of a miracle.

I wish I could kiss her problems away; however, I know that's not possible.  I will just have to take it one day at a time, and thank God that after all this time, my baby girl is finally emerging from that long, dark tunnel she's been in for so long.

I see my daughter in the future, walking, talking, laughing, being the hapy, giggly teenager she was prior to becoming sick.  I see the light of hope in those big, grey eyes of hers, and when she smiles, her whole face lights up; it practically lights up the entire room.  Like it did yesterday, when she smiled at me.

Right now, though, we are going to take this journey towards recovery one day at a time.  There'll be bad days as well as good ones, but I'm willing to help my daughter in any way possible.  With God's help, we both can make it, whole and complete.  There is still room for miracles in Suzanne's life; I'm not ready to give up on her just yet!

~To be continued.~