It was 9:30am when the phone rang. "Have you heard about my brother?" the cracking voice on the other end of the line said. I hadn't. "He was driving home on Stafford road Thursday and was hit head on by a drunk driver. He's in critical condition at the children's hospital right now. We almost lost him last night." Her voice tightens. "He has a lot of swelling in his brain. They haven't even done anything for his crushed legs or broken jaw yet because they have to get him stablized." Her breath catches in her throat. Oh honey, I tell her, I'm so so sorry.

"The driver of the other car was hardly hurt. He had twice the legal limit of alcohol in his blood at 8:00 on a Thursday night. Eight o'clock!" I could hear the anger rising in her voice. "This is so unfair. Matthew was just minding his own business, driving home, when wham this guy didn't even try to go around the curve. No skid marks. Nothing."

I sit there not knowing what to say. It'll be alright? No, I have no idea if it will be alright. Head injuries are hard to predict. Some people don't make it, some have profound deficiencies afterward, some have marked personality changes, some start out on what looks like death's door only to make a full recovery. He has youth on his side, which is good, but you can never tell.

"We left the girls with Matt and Marie when we heard the news. Told them to follow the directions on the formula can and just left. I guess they figured it out." She chuckles a little. "My mom hasn't left his side since she got there."

I know that this is her only sibling and that he is only 18--9 years her junior. I know that her family is very close. I know she is hurting. I wish I could reach through the phone and hold her for a moment. She needs to know she's not alone and that I'm here for her. How can I adequately convey that to her on the phone? But I can't leave and she is on her way to sleep briefly before going back to the hospital.

"He won't be able to go to school when it starts. I know you're still going there. We'll have to figure out how to let the school know." It's funny the things that come to mind when you're in a crisis like that. I remember the things that came to my mind when my mother was in the hospital before she died. Things that aren't really important but seem terribly important at the time. We have 2 weeks before school starts and 2 weeks beyond that to withdraw from all his classes and still receive full tuition reimbursement.

"What could he possibly have to be so drunk about 8:00 on a Thursday night?" Her voice starts to crack and I know she is crying. I'm crying, too. Matthew is a very quiet, very sweet boy who likes to play role-playing games and computer games. He babysits his nieces who adore him. It's all so tragic.

This family that I adore so much is devastated. Even if he survives, and I hope to God he does, time will always be measured in before and after The Accident, just as my family's time line assigns everything to either before or after Mom's Death. The days before The Accident seem surreal. And so distant. A lifetime ago.

Matthew is making progress, though. Today, the surgeons did a some repair work on his two crushed legs. They couldn't fully repair them because he couldn't tolerate being under for so long, but they have done the first step. And he isn't paralyzed nor is he in a coma. But he's intubated and so they have him heavily sedated to keep him more comfortable and allow his body to rest and heal. He makes some small responses to family and pain so they are encouraged that somewhere in that broken body, Matthew is still there.

I pray he is still there, too.

--L