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Deep in the abandoned culvert the portal appeared. I was finally going home.
I had been written off as brain dead, my loved ones told to say their goodbyes and pull the plug. But it was my precious son, the one who knows me best who insisted otherwise. The only one who never gave up on me.
Audiobooks, films, music he played for me all like distant voices as I trudged my way through the culverts of the mind, keeping me aware enough to remain focused, mindful enough to keep hope alive.
And then it appeared, that sphere of light being the gateway back to everything I’ve ever known, the closer I got the more its energy reignited, firing back up the ol’ neurons that had been left for dead, signalling molecules reaching my memory and in so doing allowing me to recollect the accident responsible for the coma I was now emerging from.
Ninety-two days of submersion in the abyss between life and death. Blue skies, green grass, fresh air. A walk, run, swim. A stranger, a neighbour, a friend. Gifts taken for granted now returned.
And my son, my precious advocate, my best friend, my hero. The first to appear within that sphere of consciousness, reaching out to hold my hand, caress my face, utter the four words I have always held dearest. ‘Dad, I love you.’
Never before have I ever treasured such tears of joy.
Deep in the abandoned culvert the portal appeared and I was finally home.