Wish there was more that we could do to help Jason overcome the effects of the accident that left him a shell of his former self ... it would make our lives a whole lot easier ...

Our oldest son, Jason Micah, was a bright, healthy boy until four months ago, when he and some friends got together to play some football.  All was going well until one of his friends tackled him and he landed wrong.  He suffered a devastating head injury as a result.  He was in a coma for two of those months, unseeing, unfeeling, unaware of what was going on around him.  It was devastating seeing him in the Neuro Intensive Care Unit (NeuICU), looking for all the world like death ...

We tried everything to try to bring him out of his coma: talking to him.  Singing to him.  Trying to stimulate his senses with light, smell, sound, touch.  Rubbing his extremities.  Patting his face.  Tickling him.  Yet there was no response: he just lay there, still as a stone, the ventilator doing its job by acting like his lungs, as it breathed for him (at the time, Jason couldn't breathe on his own).

We spent hours, even days, at our stricken loved one's bedside.  We whispered numerous anguish-filled prayers to Heaven, but for a while, we felt that our cries fell on Deaf Ears: it was as if God wasn't listening to us, because we saw little (if any) change in Jason's condition.

It was extremely maddening, not to mention, frustrating.

We were warned by his doctors that if Jason did wake up again from his coma, he'd be left severely brain damaged or disabled, something he might never recover from.  That's just how bad his head injury was.  Whoever thought that an innocent tackle could leave our son a shell of his former self?  We couldn't believe what the doctors told us, over and over again ...

We refused to give up hope, however.  We aren't the kind of people who would give up that easily.  We had to do everything humanly possible to help our son "come back" from his comatose state and give him his old life back.

When Jason finally came back home two months ago, he came home in a wheelchair, scars crisscrossing his head like battle wounds, a look of uninterest on his thin, pale face (he'd lost a ton of weight; he was nothing more than skin and bones).  It was a shock to all of us, especially to his younger brother, Darrin, who was his closest buddy and best friend.

We knew that Jason had a very long road of therapy and continuing medical care ahead of him.  We knew beforehand that it wasn't going to be easy: it was almost like bringing a seventeen-year-old infant home.  Jason couldn't do anything.  He needed tons of help in all areas of his life.

For the past two months, we have been breaking our backs, even our necks, trying to teach Jason about who he was, who we were, where he was, even how to feed himself, dress himself, etc.  We've made a little progress, but the long road ahead continues.  There is no telling if Jason will ever fully recover from his football accident; he could remain like this for the rest of his life, but then again, he could surprise us.

Time will only tell.  All we can do is pray, hope, and wait for a miracle.

*To be continued.*