my mother cont'd

the first picture taken of my mother and i was taken shortly after i was born, right before she was wheeled into the operating room for major surgery. in that photo, my mother had a beautiful head of thick brown, shiny hair. the next photo to be taken of me and my mother is months later. she is wearing a scarf to cover her shaven head.

i don't know why this image has been in my mind so much these past few days. it is one of those things that as my mind wanders, my thoughts drift to my sweet momma, laying in a hospital bed hundreds of miles away, keeps coming forth into my thoughts.

i'll start at the beginning.

33 years ago, almost exactly, my mother was pregnant with little old me. she was fixing dinner for my two older sisters and just didn't feel right. she went to lay down on the couch because she felt really bad. as the story goes, she was taken to the hospital where they discovered that she was suffering from a brain aneurysm. the doctors weren't certain what the extent of the damage was on her or me, but they knew they needed to operate immediately. they also knew that they couldn't perform brain surgery on a pregnant woman. i was birthed in a hurry, in an effort to save her life. once stable from childbirth, she was taken into surgery to remove the aneurysm. months passed, several surgeries took place and somehow months later, this stubborn and very determined woman returned home to her family. and while her body was very altered physically, she persevered and defied the odds. with much therapy, she walked with the assistance of a cane, in spite of her physical paralysis in her left arm and leg. and aside from some minor short-term memory issues, she regained full mental health.

this is the first miracle that i witnessed in my life.

faith for me has always hinged on that miracle. from the first day of my existence, God proved to be faithful. he saved me, he saved my mother. he made the impossible possible.

on thanksgiving night, my mother, visiting her sister in richmond, decided to take a walk. walking and praying are one of my mothers favorite things. she walks each morning and talks to her friend, Jesus. he is her lifeline. and so as i picture her walking that early evening, i know she was not alone, but rather deep in conversation with her father above. suddenly she was struck by a vehicle, knocking her to the ground. she was taken by ambulance to the hospital. the details of that ride, those first moments at the hospital, the initial prognosis, i do not know. i just know that things were pretty grim. her brain was bleeding, her body badly bruised- you see she sustained major impact on her usable body parts. the doctors anticipated having to go in surgically to relieve the pressure on her brain from where the blood was pooling.

in the middle of the night, my sister stacy arrived at her bedside. my mom was in a rough state and things did not look good. we would wait until morning for the next ct scan to see how the bleeding was going. but from my sisters description, things didn't sound very optimistic and it appeared that my mom's memory was altered.

hours passes as my sister and her husband prayed with her, stroked her pale cheeks and massaged her legs. morning came and the doctors came by to do their rounds. another ct scan was given. and while the scan didn't look good, her body, her physical progress spoke hope to them. you see, while the scan didn't show much change from the night before and suggested that surgery might still be necessary, her speech, her increased memory, her coloring, her vitals all indicated that she was making tremendous progress. one doctor even commented that the scan and the patient didn't match. he was amazed at her progress. there isn't much explanation, unless you believe in miracles.

and so today, 24 hours post accident, i stand in that miracle. she is alive. she is showing some progress. the road ahead looks like it will be long, but i know that she, my sisters, and i won't have to walk it alone. i know that the same God that brought her out from under the cloud of a brain aneurysm will walk with us through this too.