I won’t forget this day, the accident. It was the 4th of July 2006. It’s late, but nothing must interrupt the course of my supreme meditations. Writers are like spiders which produce great works by the meticulous spinning forth of their entrails. I must remember everything before it’s too late. The touch and voice of my son.
Who can cope with the loss of a child? I’m sure he was wearing his helmet when the quad crashed against the wall. I can remember perfectly the hospital. It seemed as if I was standing in front of an angel. I could feel his silence. Perhaps for a few hours he did find paradise, a world I could not comprehend.
I inquired to every doctor, to each nurse, what was to become of him and they all told me the same: you can only hope and pray. I loved him so much. I prayed so much. Prayers and more prayers. Countless voices raised in a multitude of accents creating a single invocation. We could only hope. But these prayers were not addressed to anyone in particular. What prayer would HE ever listen to, if not these prayers to a special angel? And then, I found Him among images of corporeal things. I felt sure He was observing me, I sensed His presence. I was not alone anymore.
Those days had been grey and cold , even if it was summer. I had been alone for so long or maybe I had gazed too long at Morgan’s eyes, hoping for a miracle. I believe in miracles. I also believe in the values of science. Whoever grows blind or looses faith has no desire to see and whoever’s voice is lost owns a secret we fear to tell. I had lost track of time. I followed the night shift and waited. Nothing ventured near this place; even people retreated in anguish and horror. I had lost all sense of existence instead, the hospital was all mine.
I believed in the immortality of life, but at the same time I couldn’t quit my longing for rebirth. Morgan’s rebirth. Five o’clock in the morning. I lay in utter darkness. The odour of sickness and death was everywhere. Somewhere a child was groaning.
Gradually, he came out of his coma and during his intensive care, the future, like a benediction, became clearer to me. The future was not unlike a turbulent pool. As it settles it permits us to discern objects lying on the bottom, less distorted than they were. I had just met a shade of myself which was a positive sign of approaching death. Then, regarding me, other paths appeared more promising. I knew I’d have his childhood with me for always again. He’d been fourteen the 14th of December. Now he looks forward to life, but I’m also able to look into the past. And into tomorrow, if not today, because the hands of every clock are turning again…
I can, if I chose to, remember the scenes, words, phrases from the doctors, someone embracing me, and strains of music, but men are suspicious of women that explore the depths… If I dare to follow these thoughts I do not know to what depths they might lead me. How long it was, or where it ended, I never knew. I never journeyed that far back. It was summer then and there I stood, wondering what the hell I was doing standing on U.C.I on a grey cold summers day. The smell of urine was everywhere. The smell of suffering, calling me, drawing me, begging me to go deeper into the dark. But today, the smell of pizza mixed with stale cologne snaps me back to reality… There was hope.
I prayed and waited. Heart stopping, breathless hours and days, while the tests were being done that would tell me the make or break truths. Finally the word came. The doctor said, “Your child is just fine”. I’ll never been able to find the words to say what that moment meant. It wasn’t just the relief and joy, it was a transcendent moment when I stood with my son, bathed in grace. For me, The Materno Hospital is more than a place. I remember when I looked deep in Dr Curro Rodriguez eyes and told him “This is my family and it’s Morgan’s family as well. That’s what I’ve found in this Hospital, a real family, eight nurses who lived with us, cooked, cleaned, admonished, worried and gave direction through all the days and nights”. And when Morgan could talk again, I remember the words they said to him: “Look at me. Listen to me. Be careful. Think about your mum, she loves you so much, don’t go on a motorbike anymore…” I’ve learned there are lives of laughter and service even in adversity. Thank you to this entire anonymous people because my writing, now, has a rhythm.
From the moment Morgan left rehab, I knew my life would have to change drastically. I made a promise. I want to give back now. Give love and laughter and listening, understanding and care to afflicted people I’ll meet in my life. When I’ll listen to them, “I’ll understand”, I’ll give a deeper meaning to the words. I’m walking the road with Morgan. Blessed today that he is still walking his life. It’s one of the ways I’ll show HIM my love and respect. It’s part of what Morgan is about as now, the essence of this child, the essence of my life, is love. And I’ll show it every way I can.
My life has changed so much in the past few years, I have learned appreciation. I’ve always taken so much for granted, especially my perfectly healthy, normally developing children. Through Morgan I’ve learned.
No one is untouchable, and things aren’t always perfect. Now, I look and think differently, every milestone reached has been a blessing and not an expectation. He has been my inspiration, he is my special Angel.