Angilee Wallis

It was still possible that Terry could die also.

For several days the doctors tried in vain to stop his brain from swelling.

And day after day the only word was: “We don’t know what the extent of his injuries will be.”

But whatever kind of life Terry would have, as his mother-the one who gave him life-I would be there for him.

For weeks I slept on a couch in a waiting room. Jerry came often with the other kids. Together, we kept praying and reassuring Terry to hang in there.

After a few weeks, Sandy and I worked out a routine where we took turns being with Terry.

Although visiting hours were over at 8 p.m., the nurses let us stay much later.

After a couple of months, they also let us sleep in the nurses’ dorm next to the hospital.

Toward the end of October, the doctor told us that there was no longer any reason to keep Terry

in the hospital.

He was still in a coma, so he needed to be moved to a nursing home. I had not given up hope, but the

doctors could do no more for him.

Terry was placed in a nursing home two hours away from our house. At this point, people started losing hope. Some questioned if perhaps it would have been better for Terry to have died in the accident.

If he never came out of the coma, was my desire to keep him alive selfish? I did not want to let him go, and yet, what did Terry want?

I began asking God what He wanted. “Lord, I love Terry and I want You to heal him, but Your will be done,”

I started praying. “I trust in you, God.” In the midst of my pain, I began to feel some peace.

If Terry continued to live, it would be because God wanted Him to.