You know how on TV shows when someone is unconscious everyone else asks, “Can he hear us?” The answer, I can tell you, is most definitely maybe.
I have some vivid memories of those 13 days of complete oblivion. Mostly of oblivion, but I do have nearly word-for-word recall of two friends, one standing on either side of me, one holding each hand, telling me where I was, telling me things were going to be fine, telling me that I was going to get better. And they have confirmed that this conversation actually happened.
However, I do not recall one moment of another friend praying a Native chant over me. I wish I did.
But I do have a brilliantly bright memory of the best moment of those 13 days. I opened my eyes and standing not two feet away was my son, staring down at me worriedly. I know I immediately broke into a big grin because I was so happy to see him. And he, a typical 13-year-old who-needs-a-mother type kid, burst into a huge grin right back.
I will never forget that grin, that smile, that brilliantly bright smile breaking across his face at me. It is one of those memories that parents wrap up and tuck into their hearts forever.