Only hours ago I was waving to my 14-year-old son, Wesley, as he drove off on his dirt bike. Now my husband and I waited to hear what a team of neurosurgeons had to say about his head injuries. In a dirt ditch near our home, Wesley had tried to avoid a crash with another rider. He flew 26 feet into the air and landed hard on the ground. His helmet flew off on impact. His brain was now dangerously swollen. Doctors had to remove the right side of Wesley’s skull to relieve the pressure. He’s just a boy, Lord, I thought. He has too much to do. I prayed until I couldn’t think straight.
“The operation is over,” the doctor said. “The healing process will be very long, and there’s no way to tell exactly what the damage to Wesley’s brain or body will be. But right now it looks like he’s going to make it.”
I gripped my husband’s hand. Over the next few weeks Wesley had several more operations to repair all the damage to his brain. I barely left the hospital. Wesley wasn’t out of the woods. I needed to be with him and I wasn’t the only one. One of Wesley’s close friends, James, called every day. James and Wesley had been buddies since they met in kindergarten. As soon as Wesley could have visitors, James came to his room.
“I’m not ready to see anyone,” Wesley said when I told him James was there. Wesley was frustrated and in pain. And the shunt that was supposed to keep fluid from building up on his brain wasn’t working.
“James says he needs to know you’re okay,” I told Wesley softly. “He keeps calling.”
Wesley finally agreed to a visit. James brought a ray of sunshine into the hospital with him. He even managed to make Wesley smile! In the hallway after the visit James gave me a hug.
“Everything is going to be all right,” he said. “Wesley is in good hands here. God was watching over him the day of the accident, and he’s still watching over Wesley now.”
He’ll be a great preacher someday, I thought. That’s what he planned to be when he grew up. Now I could see it was his true calling. James was a natural leader, whether it was among the kids at school or the youth group at church. He was a member of the National Honor Society and at the top of all his accelerated classes at school. But it was as a friend that James really excelled.
Wesley recovered enough to come home, but his struggle was far from over. He was behind in school, embarrassed about the scars from his surgeries and still traumatized from the accident. His body and mind were slowly healing. But I feared his spirit was permanently wounded.
James had always spent a lot of time at our house. Now he was here almost every day. One evening I overheard him helping Wesley with his homework. “You have to divide this number first,” he was saying. The boys were working on algebra. “It makes sense whenever the teacher explains it. I’ll remember exactly what she says so I can tell you.”
Sometimes Wesley got to dwelling on the accident, and a fear would come into his eyes. On those days he didn’t talk to anyone except James, who still wouldn’t take no for an answer. “You’re coming to church with me this Sunday,” James told Wesley one evening. “You’re going to get up in front and lead the whole congregation in a prayer.”
“I guess I should get back to my church youth group duties,” Wesley said, sounding like his old self.
Little by little Wesley’s zest for life was returning. His body grew stronger. He and James made plans for the future. Wesley wanted to work in a hospital. James was still set on being a preacher. Both boys were going to do a lot with their lives. I was sure of it. One day I passed by the living room where Wesley and James were trading riffs on their electric guitars. “Let me show you this new riff I figured out,” James said.
“Awesome!” said Wesley.
There’s nothing he can’t do, I thought one night while I was fixing dinner. James had worked miracles with Wesley. The phone rang. “Terrible news,” my neighbor said. Her voice was shaking. “Wesley’s friend James has been in a car accident. He was killed instantly.”
Wesley was in shock. We all were. He was only a boy, Lord, he had so much to do.
On top of my grief over James, I feared Wesley would become withdrawn. A few weeks after James’s death the church youth group was participating in a gathering of youth groups from all over the country. I couldn’t help but remember all the events James had dragged Wesley to after his accident.
Lord, I can’t reach him like James could, I thought as I sat in the living room the Friday before the big event. I heard Wesley coming down the hall. He was dressed in a nice shirt, like he was on his way out, and he had an overnight bag. “I’m going,” he said. “James would go. He never wasted a minute of life. That’s how I want to live.”
I thought back to my questions to God. In James’s short time on earth he had saved my son. Wesley’s life, from now on, would be a tribute to his friend and the lessons he’d taught him. James’s life may not have been long, but it was full. Full of ministering, love and life.
