It’s been 3 months, today. April 29, 2013 is a day I could
never forget.
You are never prepared for that type of phone call. You can’t ever be. Bad timing, but perfect, because I got the call the second I left work and pulled out on the busy street only to have to pull right back over to keep from wrecking. All I knew was that my brother had accidentally shot himself with his pistol. In the face. And that he was “okay.” But what does that even mean?! Apparently Thomas talked to Dad on the phone when he got to the ER and told him what happened. I had to get to the hospital. Everything else I had to do that day was soon forgotten. I ran through the puddles in the ER parking lot, shaking and trembling. My aunt, grandmother, and cousin were the only ones there, except Dad in the room with Thomas. I had to find the bathroom, but couldn’t manage to take the time to do that, so I turned to go back to the waiting room, and Mom comes running in, passing right by everyone in the process. I followed them into a room where the officers and detective were talking to Dad. I didn’t know whether to sit or stand. I don’t remember much, but I do know and will always remember the female officer grabbing my mama’s hands in hers and making her look her in the eyes.
She said, “Mrs. Meadows, he is going to be fine. He was talking. He was asking us to pray for him. The Lord was with him before this just like he is with him now and will continue to be. The Lord has him, Mrs. Meadows, he is going to be fine.”
Those same three officers gathered with us in that room and asked if they could pray with and for us. And I’m not just talking some dinner time prayer—I mean they PRAYED, stopped everything, circled up and held our hands, and focused our attention back on truth.
They said, “this is just what we do. We are praying officers.”
Just another one of His blessings to us in the midst of the chaos. Meanwhile, back in the waiting area, we had a whole separate room that was soon flooded with friends and family. The hospital decided that the weather was too bad for them to life flight Thomas to Savannah, so they were preparing him for an ambulance transport instead. I wanted to go back and see him before they left, even though he was sedated. Mom told me he could possibly hear us, so not to say anything that would upset him. I’m telling you, you can’t prepare for something like that. There my brother was, lying helpless and unable to see or talk to me, and all I wanted to do was crawl onto that stretcher, bloody and all, and wrap my arms around him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. But I couldn’t. In case he could hear me, I told him I was there. And that I love him. I don’t remember what I said, but as the EMTs were preparing him for transport, I started to pray, and to speak peace over the situation and his spirit. That’s all I knew to do. I walked out the door where he couldn’t hear me and fell into my cousin and uncle’s arms. I lost it. The weeping that had been held back since the phone call rushed forth with a vengeance. That was my brother in there with bullet wounds in his face and head. Will I get to talk to him again? Will I see him smile, hear him laugh? He can pester me all he wants, I don’t care, I just need my brother to come back to me. Is he afraid and scared? Does he know what’s going on?
All I kept saying is, “I just don’t want him to be scared, oh please, Lord, just don’t let him be afraid. Minister to his spirit, even now.”
Two close friends drove us in our car to Memorial Hospital in Savannah shortly after the ambulance left. That drive seemed to take eternity, and it was hard enough, but I can’t imagine what it would have been like if Dad had not heard Thomas talk. That gave us hope, because he sounded normal. But what was going on internally in his body, we had no clue. Thanks to technology, word spread like wildfire and prayers were going out everywhere, even in other countries. Once at the hospital, it was a hectic rush to try to find out any information we could on my brother…if he had arrived, where he was, if the transport went smoothly, and if he was stable. We just needed SOMEONE to tell us he was stable. Please. Because he was a gunshot victim, even though there was no crime involved, it’s policy that he have a code name, so that was rather annoying just trying to figure out “who” he was. More family and friends started to arrive to give us support and to be our hands and feet and everything else while we were temporarily shut down. Finally, we did get news that he was stable and the first evaluation looked really good. But they still needed to run all of the scans to determine what needed to be done internally. Needing to step away for a minute, I took Joshua over to the side and we sat down in front of the doors to the NICU. I wanted to see how he was holding up.
My heart ripped open when he asked me, “Who’s going to take me hunting now?”
You are never prepared for that type of phone call. You can’t ever be. Bad timing, but perfect, because I got the call the second I left work and pulled out on the busy street only to have to pull right back over to keep from wrecking. All I knew was that my brother had accidentally shot himself with his pistol. In the face. And that he was “okay.” But what does that even mean?! Apparently Thomas talked to Dad on the phone when he got to the ER and told him what happened. I had to get to the hospital. Everything else I had to do that day was soon forgotten. I ran through the puddles in the ER parking lot, shaking and trembling. My aunt, grandmother, and cousin were the only ones there, except Dad in the room with Thomas. I had to find the bathroom, but couldn’t manage to take the time to do that, so I turned to go back to the waiting room, and Mom comes running in, passing right by everyone in the process. I followed them into a room where the officers and detective were talking to Dad. I didn’t know whether to sit or stand. I don’t remember much, but I do know and will always remember the female officer grabbing my mama’s hands in hers and making her look her in the eyes.
She said, “Mrs. Meadows, he is going to be fine. He was talking. He was asking us to pray for him. The Lord was with him before this just like he is with him now and will continue to be. The Lord has him, Mrs. Meadows, he is going to be fine.”
Those same three officers gathered with us in that room and asked if they could pray with and for us. And I’m not just talking some dinner time prayer—I mean they PRAYED, stopped everything, circled up and held our hands, and focused our attention back on truth.
They said, “this is just what we do. We are praying officers.”
Just another one of His blessings to us in the midst of the chaos. Meanwhile, back in the waiting area, we had a whole separate room that was soon flooded with friends and family. The hospital decided that the weather was too bad for them to life flight Thomas to Savannah, so they were preparing him for an ambulance transport instead. I wanted to go back and see him before they left, even though he was sedated. Mom told me he could possibly hear us, so not to say anything that would upset him. I’m telling you, you can’t prepare for something like that. There my brother was, lying helpless and unable to see or talk to me, and all I wanted to do was crawl onto that stretcher, bloody and all, and wrap my arms around him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. But I couldn’t. In case he could hear me, I told him I was there. And that I love him. I don’t remember what I said, but as the EMTs were preparing him for transport, I started to pray, and to speak peace over the situation and his spirit. That’s all I knew to do. I walked out the door where he couldn’t hear me and fell into my cousin and uncle’s arms. I lost it. The weeping that had been held back since the phone call rushed forth with a vengeance. That was my brother in there with bullet wounds in his face and head. Will I get to talk to him again? Will I see him smile, hear him laugh? He can pester me all he wants, I don’t care, I just need my brother to come back to me. Is he afraid and scared? Does he know what’s going on?
All I kept saying is, “I just don’t want him to be scared, oh please, Lord, just don’t let him be afraid. Minister to his spirit, even now.”
Two close friends drove us in our car to Memorial Hospital in Savannah shortly after the ambulance left. That drive seemed to take eternity, and it was hard enough, but I can’t imagine what it would have been like if Dad had not heard Thomas talk. That gave us hope, because he sounded normal. But what was going on internally in his body, we had no clue. Thanks to technology, word spread like wildfire and prayers were going out everywhere, even in other countries. Once at the hospital, it was a hectic rush to try to find out any information we could on my brother…if he had arrived, where he was, if the transport went smoothly, and if he was stable. We just needed SOMEONE to tell us he was stable. Please. Because he was a gunshot victim, even though there was no crime involved, it’s policy that he have a code name, so that was rather annoying just trying to figure out “who” he was. More family and friends started to arrive to give us support and to be our hands and feet and everything else while we were temporarily shut down. Finally, we did get news that he was stable and the first evaluation looked really good. But they still needed to run all of the scans to determine what needed to be done internally. Needing to step away for a minute, I took Joshua over to the side and we sat down in front of the doors to the NICU. I wanted to see how he was holding up.
My heart ripped open when he asked me, “Who’s going to take me hunting now?”
“Buddy, Thomas is! He is going to be okay,” I was trying to
reassure him, but not fully knowing myself if that was true.
“But what if he isn’t….” he said. I just hugged him.
More time passed, and the doctor finally came through the
double doors. I was trying to read his face and demeanor.
“Everything looks really good….he was really lucky, he may not even need surgery.”
WHAT?! Excuse me?! Were we hearing correctly? He told us that the bullet made a clean path through his right cheek and out his left sideburn. There were no remnants to be found. There was some bruising to part of his brain from where the bullet bounced off his temporal bone, but it literally missed EVERYTHING vital. His eyes, ears, jaw, teeth, and brain. We couldn’t believe it. How?! I can’t tell you how much relief and happiness we were feeling in that moment. Tears, laughter, and hugs where spread around. We took up half of that lobby and circled up to give thanks to the Lord for an amazing and unbelievable report. But it wasn’t all a breeze from there, though….that night I didn’t sleep. The next 72 hours would still be critical as they were monitoring his brain and swelling. Thankfully, we were able to stay in a tiny room they had available for families in NICU. Amazingly, Thomas was able to come off the ventilator the day after the accident, and we couldn’t have been happier, and we know he was too, as I’m sure it was the most frustrating thing trying to communicate with a tube down his throat. I was thankful he didn’t have to write and spell on his leg anymore. As the week went on, they kept moving him “down” in rooms, in accordance with the seriousness of his condition. We continued to shed tears, to laugh, to give thanks, to talk things out, and to just listen. A lot of it is blurry to Thomas, but we did get to enjoy listening to him crack jokes and ramble on and on to us and the nurses throughout the week with the help of pain killers he was taking. I’m so glad we could laugh at that. He did have to undergo some sinus surgery, which was the worst part of the whole thing. It tore me up to see him in that much pain. Finally, after a long, emotional, and exhausting week living in the Savannah hospital, Thomas was released. And again, we were thankful.
“Everything looks really good….he was really lucky, he may not even need surgery.”
WHAT?! Excuse me?! Were we hearing correctly? He told us that the bullet made a clean path through his right cheek and out his left sideburn. There were no remnants to be found. There was some bruising to part of his brain from where the bullet bounced off his temporal bone, but it literally missed EVERYTHING vital. His eyes, ears, jaw, teeth, and brain. We couldn’t believe it. How?! I can’t tell you how much relief and happiness we were feeling in that moment. Tears, laughter, and hugs where spread around. We took up half of that lobby and circled up to give thanks to the Lord for an amazing and unbelievable report. But it wasn’t all a breeze from there, though….that night I didn’t sleep. The next 72 hours would still be critical as they were monitoring his brain and swelling. Thankfully, we were able to stay in a tiny room they had available for families in NICU. Amazingly, Thomas was able to come off the ventilator the day after the accident, and we couldn’t have been happier, and we know he was too, as I’m sure it was the most frustrating thing trying to communicate with a tube down his throat. I was thankful he didn’t have to write and spell on his leg anymore. As the week went on, they kept moving him “down” in rooms, in accordance with the seriousness of his condition. We continued to shed tears, to laugh, to give thanks, to talk things out, and to just listen. A lot of it is blurry to Thomas, but we did get to enjoy listening to him crack jokes and ramble on and on to us and the nurses throughout the week with the help of pain killers he was taking. I’m so glad we could laugh at that. He did have to undergo some sinus surgery, which was the worst part of the whole thing. It tore me up to see him in that much pain. Finally, after a long, emotional, and exhausting week living in the Savannah hospital, Thomas was released. And again, we were thankful.
I know that was long, but all of that being said, I need to
say a few more things:
One.
I know I kept saying it throughout the week, and I wrote a
later Facebook post about it and so did my mama, but I need to talk about it
again.
God is good.
But not because he spared my brother’s life. He’s good because….IT’S JUST WHO HE IS! And His ways are higher. If my brother’s time here on earth HAD ended, I think I would have struggled and battled with actually declaring that truth. But I know that I know that I know He is. No matter what. I don’t know why I had siblings that died before they could even take their first breath. I don’t know why I’ve had to watch my friends lose their brothers and sisters before their time. I don’t know why God spared my brother’s life, except that He chose to. All of our days are numbered, and Thomas’ had not come to their completion. A lot of people think the bullet went through his cheeks, or took a less serious path, so to speak, but when someone would walk into his hospital room and actually look at him lying there, completely unaltered (except for his sinuses), and actually see the bullet entry and exit wound on opposite sides of his head, they would often just cry, or become speechless, etc. He is just simply supposed to still be here. And I am so glad and happy and thankful. It’s crazy to think of the countless scenarios that could have taken place, but seriously, there was just blessing after blessing after blessing. Thomas was coherent and conscious up until sedation, and was not affected by the immense blood loss at the scene. The girl that was with Thomas at the time couldn’t be more sweet and precious, along with her family. She was not harmed, and neither was anyone else. The bullet made the “perfect” path, with the “right” velocity at the “best” distance. The doctors were wonderful, and his ENT surgeon is a believer and follower of our Lord. Every time we got a report or update, it was always positive. All of this is just because the Lord is sovereign and He knows and we just get to be humbled and stand or fall on our faces in awe of who He is.
Like my mama said, “It’s just so simple yet so profound.”
Two.
The Body of Christ is essential, necessary, and absolutely beautiful.
The number of servant-hearted people who were there for us that week was amazing. Hands, feet, warm bodies and hearts came to sit, talk, listen, cry, bring us food, coffee, offer beds and showers and houses, cleaned our home, fixed and cleaned my brother’s truck from the accident, and most importantly, PRAYED and entered into the battle with us. The second night, the day after it happened, my body and emotions just collapsed. Something triggered it, and all of my emotion seemed to sit on my chest to the point of hyperventilation and some sort of panic attack. I’ve never experienced anything like it. My body and tears and breath were out of control. I couldn’t speak and had no idea who was even around me. I think it all just finally got to me, and anger that I didn’t know was there surfaced and exhaustion was taking it’s toll. Right or wrong, I realized I was feeling and taking on things for my brother that he would soon be facing. I hadn’t truly cried and felt, yet, until that moment. After about an hour of Daddy physically holding me up outside the hospital and trying to get me to speak, my body calmed. Three of my amazing friends who drove up that night came to sit on the floor with me in the empty lobby. They just held me. One on each arm and another at my shoulders behind me. That is what I needed. The Body, holding me, whispering life and truth into my ears and over my mind and body and spirit. They were just THERE, seeing me at my very, very worst and loving me selflessly through it. That is love. That is what I will never ever forget. People stopping their lives for a little while to encourage and support and to give of themselves.
Three.
Relationship matters. And I really love my brother.
I literally sat in a hospital and did nothing for a week. And although I was more than ready to leave, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. If I lost my job, or if my professors wouldn’t let me make up finals (which I really wasn’t concerned about happening) then oh well. It’s something I always remember my mom saying growing up when Thomas and I would fight….”you are really going to be sad if for some reason one day something happens to your brother/sister and he/she isn’t here anymore.” And yes, I always knew I would be and couldn’t imagine life without my brother, but I never thought I would come so close to that feeling so soon. Nothing else mattered in that moment of seeing my brother lying on the stretcher hooked to tubes and covered in his own blood. It’s real. It’s life. It’s not always sugar and roses. My heart swelled up with love that I didn’t know was so deep. (I can’t imagine how it’s going to be with my own kids someday….). Perspective shifts and priorities seem to fall back into alignment in an instant. Crazy how that works…..
I hated the circumstances, but I treasure the moments I got to
just sit there, holding my brother’s hand. I wanted to hear his heart, his
fears, his thoughts, and to just be there. I was honored to cut up his food, to
change his cold cloths, to swab his mouth, to clean his nose, and change his
bandage (which I felt I could do a lot more gently than some of those dang
nurses). But why does it take something like this crisis to make me WANT to do
these things? I want this to be my first reaction, my first thought, my normal,
everyday responses…..because you never know what the next second holds. I know
we always say that, but it’s true. We. Don’t. Know. And we can’t control it. So
what are my last words to the people I love when I hang up the phone? What’s
the condition of my heart towards them when I walk out the door? What have I
held back or let out that I regret when I lay my head down at night? Don’t
waste time. There isn’t much of it, really, in the scheme of things. It’s
short. It’s fragile. It’s precious. But there is still plenty to enjoy…plenty
of time to tell those people you love them, to speak life instead of death, to
really listen, to share your heart, to give a kiss or a hug or a smile, to
serve them just because you can, to forget about yourself for just a minute and
see what truly matters in life. Relationship. People. Love. Everything else can
wait. I’ll admit, I’m far from perfect and I find myself screwing up daily, but
it changed me. Being on the brink of my brother’s possible death drew me out of
a funk I felt I was stuck in, and pointed me back to the Sovereign One and to
His great love and power and involvement in every detail of our days.
