Our Internet correspondents thought we'd dropped off the face of the earth. Whenever we got home, we collapsed into bed, only to get up and move on to the next high-priority task after just a few precious hours of sleep. Beth was feeling totally overwhelmed, and I felt helpless in trying to support and encourage her-my own hands were full at the same time. I also worried that I was losing track of my other three children because there simply weren't enough hours in the day to attend to all my responsibilities.
In those final days at the hospital, Alex was learning to work with computers by himself, and not surprisingly he was very excited by the opportunity. He called the computer Alex2 and operated it with a switch on his face. He could also use facial muscles to pilot a motorized wheelchair around the hospital. Reports soon filtered back to us that he was wreaking vengeance on Jane the Pain and other personnel, running them down in the hallways.
His attitude continued to amaze everyone. He thought his MRI was fun. He even got the nurses to take him down to the X-ray lab and convinced the technicians to take X-rays of two of his stuffed animals. He showed a gung-ho attitude about the wheelchair and every other new challenge introduced into his world. He labored tirelessly to regain the ability to talk. Everyone who saw Alex strive and fight for every inch of ground was encouraged, including his parents.
During this time, however, Alex began to feel some pain for what he had lost. After prayer one night, he told us he wished he could ride his bike. As his limbs grew stiffer, his memory grew more supple, bringing back all the things he used to do-the trees he once climbed, the games he played, and the bike he rode. His previous, little-boy life gradually came back into focus, only to remind him of what was now beyond his grasp.
The centerpiece of the care regimen Beth and I needed to master was changing Alex's tracheotomy tube. It was a complex, frightening task at first, but we were soon doing it without a hitch.
Whenever we found ourselves at our wits' end, God was there waiting to show us a bigger picture, to reveal His plans to us. He humbled us many times, demonstrating how much He loved us, how much He had blessed us.
While Alex was seeing angels in the hospital, we were experiencing God's angels of a different kind. Eight men worked tirelessly to rebuild our roof better than it was when the tree smashed it. Other volunteers worked to repair problems we had discovered in our new home since the accident. A complete (and very expensive) water filtration system was installed. God's angel contractors logged countless hours of work for plumbing, vents, and other essential functions in the house.
A donor paid $1,500 for a special mattress that Alex needed. Then, when the owner of the mattress company read about it on our Web site, he called the donor, got his address, and mailed the check back. Someone else supplied us with new appliances.
+ + +We are weary, but we are fighting that others may see God (even though at times we hardly resemble disciples of Christ). ... God is our strength, butyou are His hands and feet.PrayforAlex.com post by KevinMalarkey onDecember 10, 2004+ + + I've only touched the very tip of the iceberg. God's supplying our needs became so commonplace that we were in danger of taking for granted all that He was doing through His people to meet our needs and show the love that could grow among His children. As the Bible says, "Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples" (John 13:35).
The day approached for Alex's return home. The house was ready, but were we? We certainly didn't feel like it. With baby Ryan in tow, Beth drove to the hospital for the final meeting with the staff on February14, 2005. I kept up via teleconference as I took care of Gracie and Aaron at home. At this point, there was nothing that worried me more than Beth's state of mind. She was exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally, and I worried that through my impatience and insensitivity, I might be contributing to her struggle rather than alleviating it.
Alex would be coming home by ambulance the next morning. He was so excited he could almost have floated home. Instead of waiting for family members to come visit him, he would be with us all the time. When I reminded Alex that he would see his dog, Sadie, for the first time in three months, a huge smile broke out across his face.
Everyone was ecstatic that Alex was coming home, but despite our preparation, we felt as if we weren't even close to ready for his arrival.
Beth Hears about Heaven As nurses came in and out of the room, Beth changed Alex's trach tube, with myriad details swirling in her already overburdened mind. Alex waited until Beth finished and then indicated that he wanted to be alone with Mommy and baby Ryan. The hospital staff respectfully left the room and shut the door. What is on Alex's mind? What is on Alex's mind? Beth wondered as she cuddled with him. Alex was at the stage when he could only form words with his mouth and make a faint whisper. Beth leaned in and listened. Alex mouthed, "I want to tell you about the accident." Beth wondered as she cuddled with him. Alex was at the stage when he could only form words with his mouth and make a faint whisper. Beth leaned in and listened. Alex mouthed, "I want to tell you about the accident."
"Okay, honey, what do you want to tell me?"
Beth's voice was even, but her spirit was startled. This was the last topic she expected Alex to talk about in the moments prior to going home. And it was the first time Alex had spoken to us about the day of the accident.
"Jesus came and got me from the car and kept me close to Him the whole time. I was above my body, watching everyone work on me. I was safe. Jesus kept talking to me, telling me I was going to be okay, so I was never afraid."
At this, a radiant smile bathed Alex's face. He had wanted so long to share his experience and was now gaining the ability to form the words with his mouth, even if he couldn't get much sound out of his lips.
"What else did you see?"
"I saw Daddy taken out of the car. The angels set him down in the ditch."
Beth understood what Alex meant by "taken out." He was saying that his daddy was never thrown from the car, nor had he wandered out in a daze. Angels had literally carried his body to a safe place.
"Then I saw Daddy yelling my name: 'Alex! Alex! Alex!' Daddy didn't know where I was, and he was worried about me."
"Did that make you sad, honey?"
"No. I wasn't sad. I was with Jesus. Then lots more firemen came. One fireman brought Daddy his phone, and I saw him make a call."
Beth's mind raced back to the moment of that call. Humanly speaking, Alex had no way of knowing about it.
"Another fireman put something in my mouth to help me breathe. A nurse helped me in the car. The firemen took me out of the car and put me on a flat board. They cut my shirt off. It was my plaid shirt. They took off my shoes, too. Daddy went over to the helicopter to talk with the man in the blue suit."
"Alex, do you mean an orange suit? I think that's what he may have been wearing."
"No, Mommy. It was a blue suit!"
This would have been the man from MedFlight, the air medical transport group that had provided the helicopter. Later Beth asked me about the uniform, because when Dave had spoken to her at the hospital, she was sure he was in an orange suit. But I told her that Alex was right on the money-it was indeed blue.
"I saw the helicopter man bend over me and pray for me. Then they also put Daddy on a flat board before they put him in the ambulance. They cut off his clothes, too."
All of this was true, and he had no way to know any of it. He had been unconscious from soon after the accident, and by the time the medical personnel were tending to me, he was already in the helicopter, heading to Children's Hospital.
"Honey, tell me where you went," Beth continued.
"Mommy, I was with Jesus, but my body, down under me, was not breathing. But Jesus said, 'You shouldn't worry. You are going to breathe again.'"
"Did He say when?"
"No, He didn't."
"What about angels?"
"They were there too."
"Do you remember anything else, honey?"
"My Barneys were everywhere!"
Beth laughed. We had almost forgotten about the old cloths he carried around instead of a security blanket. Just as he said, the Barneys had been spread across the scene.
"And I remember the room where they worked on me when I got to the hospital. There were many people. Maybe ... twenty people? They were all helping to work on me. They all said how bad I was hurt. They were very sad."
"Did that make you afraid?"
"No. I was never afraid as long as Jesus was with me. Jesus told me I should tell you all about it. "
"Thanks, honey. I'm really glad you did."
Beth took a moment to reflect on this amazing conversation and what had led up to it. With too much to do at home, she had not intended to come to the meeting today. She was already at the end of her rope in every conceivable way, and with Alex coming home, life was not going to grow simpler. The plan was for her to stay home and for me to come to the meeting, but we changed our minds at the last minute ... or, rather, God changed the plan. Jesus had wanted Beth there. Jesus had a message for her through her son Alex. Okay, Lord Okay, Lord, she thought. You have my attention. I'm listening. You have my attention. I'm listening.
She had begun that morning feeling overwhelmed, wondering how she could keep going. Now it was revealed so clearly through the mouthed words of a child that God was still in control. His grace was sufficient. Alex had never been afraid because he had been sitting with Jesus. Shouldn't she be resting in Jesus too? The message couldn't be more direct. In the quietness of that room, Beth gave silent thanks to God. And as in this moment with Alex, we have found over and over that when we are desperate for God, He is everywhere to be found.
Later that day, I arrived at the hospital room to remove Alex's last few possessions. As I did, a little voice-a beautiful, magical, wonderful little voice-from the bed fell on my ears.
"Dad."
Joy surged through my heart as I whirled around to look into Alex's ecstatic, smiling face. He had struggled so hard to say my name a few days earlier, and now he said it with perfect clarity hours before we were set to leave the hospital. Tears of happiness ran freely down my face. Just as Alex found his voice, I lost mine. But that didn't stop me from making a series of incoherent phone calls, trying to tell everyone what had just happened.
It was three months to the day since I'd last heard him say a word to me from the backseat of our car.
Was it a going-away present or a homecoming gift?
All I could think was, Thank you, Lord! Thank you so much. Thank you, Lord! Thank you so much.
Home and Away The next morning I was back at the hospital. Since we had virtually lived at Children's for the past three months, the paraphernalia of life had grown to astounding proportions. Several vanloads were needed to make Alex's move from hospital to home-and that was just our stuff! The real challenge was transporting Alex by ambulance. Beth and the other three children waited at the house while Alex and I stood by at the hospital. It says in the Bible that God will be with us whenever we go through deep waters, supplying the grace we need. Perhaps that's why I didn't know that this was only the first of twelve ambulance trips that Alex and I would take in the next few months. Had I known it the day we brought him home that first time, my heart would have broken. In my mind, as I drove toward home with Alex's ambulance following, we were going home for good going home for good.
The prospect of ending the exhausting back-and-forth commute was an immense relief, but even so, it is difficult to convey to the uninitiated the physical, emotional, and relational strain of providing acute care 24-7. Unless you've been in the throes of it, imagining it won't provide the full picture. Like a pencil that has spent too much time in the sharpener, Beth and I were so low by this time that all we could manage was sheer survival. Just keeping the family functioning required more than we had to give, but we had to (and willingly did) give it. Consequently, Beth and I had nothing left for each other. I would never consider divorce, yet I have no difficulty understanding why marriages not based on the Rock but caught up in traumatic circumstances end up there.
We were highly anxious, to say the least, about being directly responsible for Alex's care in our home, with the "backup" miles away. We had so many questions. What would it be like caring for Alex under our own roof? Could we manage the task, even with the assistance of visiting nurses? What if a medical emergency arose? Then there were questions about Alex. Just how long was his youthful spirit going to hold up? He'd shown so much heart, such a positive attitude, and a fighting spirit, too. He simply had no surrendering within him. How many of us would have yielded to despair after waking up to paralysis and a breathing machine? But was there a limit? Could we, as his caregivers, follow his lead and keep from becoming discouraging influences ourselves? Sometimes it seemed as if he he was the one keeping was the one keeping our our spirits up. spirits up.
In the midst of our flesh's weakness, God had never been more present in our lives, and I did thank and praise Him. But there were so many more needs. I had to confess a great deal of fear and apprehension about the future. I wanted badly for this to work and to prove wrong all the people who said that we or Alex couldn't handle home care. Deep down, though, I wondered if we were doing the right thing.
Beth was struggling as much as I was. She really needed the Lord's strength and courage, and she needed her husband's undergirding support. She was worried about the nursing situation, which was complicated to set up and manage. Even though Beth and I are naturally independent, we had become dependent on skilled medical assistants. They had become our security blanket. There had been plenty of minor emergencies during the hospital stay. What would we do during a "minor" emergency if the trained nursing staff happened to be absent? With Alex on a ventilator, we were constantly mindful of the urgency of his next breath. A few moments of malfunction could mean his death. This thought alone took a constant toll on our emotions.
So this was a gargantuan step. How many times we had earnestly prayed for this day, this homecoming-but as they say, be careful what you pray for. What we gained by being together again as a family we lost in medical skill and immediate professional help.
I continued along the highway toward home with the ambulance carrying Alex a few hundred feet behind. The homecoming nursing arrangement still hadn't been finalized. Couldn't these people get their schedules straight? Like most people, even on a good, stress-free day, I have a low threshold for red tape and bureaucracy. This day, with Alex coming home, assuming the full responsibility for his care... Help me to chill out, Lord Help me to chill out, Lord.
I sighed and called another number-a friend who was a nurse. After confessing my doubts and growing anxiety, I asked, "Do you think I should turn this car around and lead the ambulance right back where we came from? Are we making a huge mistake? Maybe we're just not ready. Tell me what you really think."
She encouraged me to hang in there, and within a few minutes, I was finally heading up our lengthy driveway. Rounding the last corner, I saw Beth, holding baby Ryan, and Aaron and Gracie, jumping up and down, waving me in. Their glowing faces were just what my heart needed. In those few moments, the worst of the anxiety melted away. I had so much to be thankful for: my wife, my children, and Alex awake and home, mind and spirit intact. Yes, indeed, much to give thanks for.
I parked near the house and was quickly mobbed, but the main attraction soon commanded everyone's attention. As Alex, strapped to a gurney, was rolled down a ramp, tears ran down our faces. Somehow Alex's arrival punctuated the end of something and the start of something more. We hadn't anticipated our response to his arrival and couldn't stop crying. It's funny how such a moment can catch you off guard. The presence of paramedics, a respiratory therapist, and other medical personnel soon refocused our attention on the work of moving Alex and all the medical equipment into thehouse.
Home but Not Alone We had decorated the walls with brightly colored banners welcoming Alex. Beth had been putting in long hours getting the house ready, tidying the rooms for the constant flow of visitors, and making space for all the medical equipment that would need to be installed. Meanwhile, of course, she had three small children to watch-two of them quite active.
Meals came flooding in like manna from Heaven. The wonderful people of the church did what God's people seem to do with excellence: the ministry of the covered dish. They had an organized plan for making sure Beth could at least avoid laboring over a hot stove.
Two men showed up to assemble the swing set, which still sat in its boxes these many months since we'd bought the house. And that's the way tasks would be accomplished around the house for a long time. Whenever there was a job to do, two or more men would show up and get it done for us. Our pastor was a regular visitor, as were so many others who wanted to pray with us and offer love and encouragement. One thing we definitely didn't have to cope with was loneliness. We felt incredible support, locally and from distant parts.
Other medical professionals began arriving at regular intervals. There was an occupational therapist, a physical therapist, a speech therapist, a respiratory therapist, and a cadre of nurses working twelve-hour shifts in our home, generally six days each week. In addition, their supervisor dropped in occasionally to make sure everything was going smoothly and to make suggestions. All of these people loved Alex, and he returned their affection and responded to their instructions with superhuman effort. At least for the immediate future, we wouldn't be alone. But even with all this help, the hospital seemed light-years away.
The front porch became filled with strange boxes as the UPS truck dropped off new medical supplies virtually every day. The hospital had been our home for three months; now our home was becoming a hospital.
We could never have envisioned how many people would come and go each day. We all but needed to install a parking deck by the side of the house. Even when we were an ordinary family with four healthy children, our home had seemed quiet compared to the hustle and bustle that was now our daily environment. We were thankful for every visitor and every new medical device, however, because we knew these things made Alex's life better.
Our challenge was to somehow maintain an intimate family circle and be the parents that all four of our children needed. Just having one-on-one time with each child required tremendous awareness and creativity. Time for Beth and me as a married couple-well, that was something of a distant memory. Maybe someday there would be a time when we could take off, go somewhere, and attend to nothing in the world other than nurturing our love and commitment. It was hard to imagine when that day might be.
By the time Beth and I hit our bed on the night of Alex's homecoming, we were utterly spent. Alex was settled down, our children were in bed, the respirators and other machinery were humming, and a nurse was on duty. Tomorrow would be a little less frenzied, wouldn't it?
Home and Hearth The following day I rose from bed immediately feeling the pull of the computer. How had the homecoming gone? Our Internet friends would be eager to hear. Just as I was pressing the power button to log on, Alex's faint but somehow insistent voice broke the morning stillness.
"Daddy?"
Though Alex was "speaking" to us regularly, it wasn't always audible. He carefully mouthed every word he wanted to say, working his facial muscles as vigorously as he possibly could. Sometimes there was a little squeak of a voice, sometimes nothing.
I immediately gave him all my attention. He'd been so delighted to be home again, and what he wanted now was for me to start a fire in the hearth. For him, that was one of the exciting features of the new house, something you certainly couldn't get at a hospital. For months his spirit had been animated by the hope of seeing his dog again, enjoying a fire, and being with his siblings more often. I wheeled him into the family room, where he sat for several hours, just basking in the coziness of his own home. The moment was perfect, because the morning sun revealed five inches of snow on the ground. That put a big smile on Alex's face.
Now, as he sat in the family room and enjoyed the crackling fire, he could look through the window and see snow collecting on tree branches and birds at the feeder. These were things he loved, and there had been a time when we'd wondered if he would ever open his eyes again to such simple joys. Some would expect him to be looking out at the snow with bitterness, remembering how he had played in it the previous winter. But that simply wasn't Alex. He had never seemed so pleased.
Viktor Frankl, author of Man's Search for Meaning Man's Search for Meaning, was a survivor of the Nazi prison camps. He had observed the various ways in which men and women respond to suffering, and he wrote, "Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms-to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."
Alex was living proof of that. This is why I have often said that at a certain point, Alex became my mentor, my coach for the right attitude in life. If such a little guy can be so resilient through terrible circumstances, then I know that I can face nearly anything. What I have seen in my son is a living demonstration of childlike faith, demonstrating the truth of what the Scriptures say: Can anything ever separate us from Christ's love? Does it mean he no longer loves us if we have trouble or calamity, or are persecuted, or hungry, or destitute, or in danger, or threatened with death? ... No, despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours through Christ, who loved us. And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God's love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow-not even the powers of hell can separate us from God's love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below-indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.
(Romans 8:35, 37-39) A Startling Conversation During the quieter moments, Alex began to talk more frequently about the things that had occurred while he was away from us. For the first time, I began to suspect that my son had actually died at the accident scene. That possibility fit both the kind of injury he'd suffered as well as the kind of trip he professed to have had-a journey to Heaven itself. In addition, as the days went on, Alex was more insistent about his story. A fabricated account would have become inconsistent and eventually faded. Alex's narrative, though, was taking on more substance.
Early on, we didn't expect Alex to remember anything about the accident. But one of my greatest fears was that his memory would be gone altogether or, at best, be erratic. This fear surged almost as soon as Alex regained the ability to form sentences. As soon as he could get the words out, he asked me repeatedly, "Are you my dad?"
My facial expression didn't change, but when I heard those words, my heart instantly began to ache, as if I had been rejected in some fundamental way. It wasn't rational, I know, but when your boy wonders who you are, trust me, logic is no match for raw emotions.
Alex gradually became more adept at speaking, and conversations with him became very close to what we all consider ordinary. One of the earliest fluent conversations went like this: "Are you my dad?"
"Yes, Alex, I'm Daddy."
"Are you sure you're my dad?"
"Yes, Alex, it's me."
"Because my daddy was killed in a car accident," he said. "You look like him, but my daddy's in Heaven."
"Alex, I was in a car accident with you," I explained, puzzled by his statement. "I was thrown out of the car, but I did not die."
"I'm sorry about the accident, Daddy."
"Me too, Alex, but it will be okay, buddy. God will get us through this."
"Daddy, the accident was my fault."
"No, Alex. I pulled in front of a car..."
"But I saw the car and didn't tell you. I asked a question and made you turn around. You didn't see the car."
"Alex, I'm the one who has wanted to say I'm sorry. I've been waiting to ask your forgiveness for three months. I almost got you killed!"
"Really, Daddy? I thought it was my fault. The devil told me I was to blame."
My heart was unbearably full as I heard these words. Had he been carrying these recollections all this time? Had he been laboring under a delusion of guilt these many weeks?
"No, Alex. I'm the one who caused the accident. Don't believe a word of what the devil says. You did not cause this accident. I did. Alex, will you please forgive me?"
"Yes, Daddy. I love you."
"Thank you, Alex. I love you more than anything."
As Alex's powers of speech grew, we began to sense that something far more than a mere coma had taken place over the course of the last few months. Alex began to relate to us details of an extended visit to Heaven. So many supernatural things had already happened that miracles were no longer surprising to us. We were thankful and grateful for every divine intervention, but Alex had begun talking about things far beyond anything we had yet experienced.
As a licensed clinical counselor, I knew exactly what the doctors would say about all this. They would attribute it to dreaming and a child's imagination, perhaps even hallucinations due to brain trauma. We all know that many people wake up after near-death experiences and have compelling stories to tell. Frankly, early on I didn't know what to make of what Alex was telling us either. The more pragmatic, "educated" part of me thought, Maybe he Maybe he does does have brain damage; maybe he have brain damage; maybe he is is imagining things imagining things.
But we were three months into a supernatural adventure. We had never been more attuned to the work of the Lord or more conscious of spiritual warfare. Never had we depended so heavily on a God who intervenes in life. My trained skepticism had been tempered by the miracles I had witnessed. If Alex said he'd seen the devil, I was ready to listen with an open mind. Who knew what his experiences had been during this amazing ride? Ours had certainly been unbelievable enough. I realized the problem wasn't Alex; the problem was me and my inability to believe what I said I believed.
In bits and pieces, Alex's cohesive story of Heaven and angels began to emerge. I listened to these things with wonder. The picture came together slowly but fully and always consistently. "Alex," I asked, "what did it feel like to move back into your body after being out of it for a while? That must have felt very strange."