Jacob – Part Three

“There’s been an accident. You need to come with us.”

One of those phrases a parent hopes to never hear. Thursday, May 23, 1996. The last day of school, and the end of ninth grade for Jacob. A friend had invited him to attend the eighth-grade class’s canoeing party on Caddo Lake. The ninth-grade students were given the day off before the closing ceremonies Friday. Jacob went to the party.

I drove Grace’s seventh-grade class to their party at Putt-Putt Golf in Longview. When we arrived back at the school, I was greeted at my car door with the unwelcome news and pulled toward another teacher’s mini-van. On the way to the hospital, the teacher filled me in. She told me as much as she knew, which wasn’t much. Through sobs she choked out her message. There had been some kind of accident. One student had drowned. Jacob was in the hospital, but she didn’t know his condition. George was waiting for me there.

My thoughts raced, and I tried to pray. For mercy, for help, for the family of the boy who drowned. For Jacob. I prayed in circles till I didn’t know what to pray. Then we rode in silence.

Jacob spent two weeks in ICU. He didn’t regain consciousness, though he did begin to breathe on his own. No one knew how long he had been under water. Probably at least ten minutes. It had been several minutes before anyone noticed the boys were missing. Then several more minutes of searching around the shore and nearby restaurant. Then blind diving in a muddy lake. Jacob was found on the bottom in fourteen feet of water. It took twenty minutes of CPR before he responded. Thirty minutes passed before they found the other boy.

From ICU Jacob was transferred to Baylor Institute of Rehabilitation into a coma treatment program. The doctors there are specialists in brain injury. After reviewing his charts and talking with us, their prognosis was grim.

If he lived, he would remain in a persistent vegetative state.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. It all seemed like a terrible dream, but I couldn’t wake up. I could hardly stand to look into George’s eyes. The anguish I saw there was unbearable.

Jacob’s main doctor and her medical team plunged into his treatment with all the resources available. They honestly held no hope for his recovery. They believed he was going to die. But they still did everything in their power to help him.

Our hearts were broken. I had never felt grief like this . . . an ache so deep that it hurt to breathe. My heart was a lump of raw pain. But over the horrible roar of the pain, a voice whispered hope. God could heal Jacob. If He so chose, He could heal him. I thought of Lazarus, who had been rotting in the tomb for four days when Jesus called him out. Lazarus came out whole. All it would take was one word. One word and Jacob would be well.

So we prayed. And we stayed beside him. We sang to him and read to him. We held his hand and talked to him.

And lots of other people prayed. Local churches prayed, and people we knew called people they knew, and more churches prayed. After the six-week program ended at Baylor, Jacob was still in a coma. But he had showed some evidence of awareness. Very small. A slight movement of the hand. An attempt to make a sound.

Jacob moved into a nursing home half a block from our house. He had a trache and a stomach feeding tube and required twenty-four hour nursing. So this seemed like the best option. The community rallied around him to such a great extent that we were amazed. Businesses donated equipment for therapy and furniture to make his room homey. People came and sat with him, keeping him company in shifts, helping us provide stimulation to encourage recovery. Teenagers stapled yellow ribbons all over town with the words “Pray for Jacob” printed on them. The support was overwhelming. And the prayers continued.

Slowly. Very slowly, Jacob began to wake up. He couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t speak. But he could look with his eyes. And we made a remarkable discovery.

A teacher wrote the names of objects found in the room on index cards. She held up a card for Jacob and said, “Look at this.” The card said Window. Jacob shifted his eyes and looked at the window. She held up a card that said Door. Jacob looked at the door. He could read.

The in-house therapists at the nursing home devoted hours daily to Jacob. They were determined he would walk. And he did. At first it took three people: one on each side, and one to lift and lower his legs, one at a time. Eventually, he begin moving his own legs. His movements were awkward and jerky. But he was walking. As he improved, one person could assist him alone. After eight months in the nursing home, we moved Jacob back to our house.

A year had passed, and Jacob still hadn’t eaten or spoken. He still couldn’t swallow. A new speech therapist began working with him, pressing on his teeth, using a toothette to massage the inside of his mouth. One afternoon Jacob spoke his first word. “Mom.”

He surprised all of us and himself when he said it, and when he tried to repeat it, he couldn’t. But speech was in there somewhere, and eventually it returned. First sounds. Then words. Then sentences.

Jacob emerged from coma with a beautiful faith. Before he could speak, he indicated “God” by pointing first to his heart and then to the sky. An intense expression in his eyes told us that God was someone Jacob knew well. I wondered what mercies had been poured into his soul during all those months of silence.

Doctors were dumbfounded. They said they didn’t know why Jacob woke up. The doctor at Baylor told us her faith had been renewed through him, and now when she speaks or counsels families, she tells them that doctors do not have the final word regarding recovery or demise. “It’s not in our hands,” she claims. Jacob’s healing was a gift. A miracle.

Today Jacob is twenty-two. He is still dependent and lives at home. But he’s a precious young man with a delightful sense of humor and an intelligent mind. His speech is a little slurred, so people sometimes don’t realize how insightful he can be. But if you listen, you marvel.

He’ll probably never be a rocket scientist or a successful business man. But Jacob touches people in a deep place. To watch him worship is to glimpse heaven. We have so much to be thankful for. So very much. Would I have chosen this? Never. But God’s wisdom is foolishness to man. And suffering serves a purpose nothing else can accomplish in life. Someday it will all make sense. In that day, there will be no more sorrow or cying or pain. And Jacob will be completely whole. Someday.