Without a Word_ How a Boy's Unspoken Love Changed Everything - Jill Kelly [2]
We’re very thankful Jim and Jill came into our lives. And through Without a Word, we know them in ways we never thought we would. Now you, too, share that privilege.
Forewords, like songs, are written in all kinds of shapes and sizes, and like a lot of songs, this one took on a life of its own. As a rule we have a few things to say, whether we sing them, write them, or speak them—but we’re going to wrap it up here. You see, through reading this book, we’ve come to discover that sometimes you can say more—you can even say it all, just as Hunter did���
Without a word.
Tim McGraw and Faith Hill
Love endures where joy and sorrow meet.
—ANONYMOUS
Preface
Dear Reader,
This book contains my very heart, pieces of precious memories engraved on my soul. Memory is a very curious thing, isn’t it? We remember what we wish we could forget and forget what we long to remember. And maybe, oddly, it’s a good thing.
Without a Word draws you into moments I remember—moments that crushed my heart, moments covered in muck and mire, moments I wish had never happened and those I’d love to relive again, moments that add up to a time filled with indescribable joy and unimaginable pain. While for the most part this is a chronological account of my family’s journey, Without a Word is more than that. There are journal entries and fragments of events and moments that changed my life, that changed our family—forever.
Maybe you’ll be changed, too.
Jill Kelly
Prologue
Beyond Words
December 16, 2003
It’s 4:00 in the morning, and in the predawn darkness I cling desperately to my son’s hand as the respirator helps keep him alive. Hunter is struggling heroically to breathe but just seems too weak to respond. The overwhelming sense of dread is so heavy as I wonder if this latest struggle could break his will to fight.
My prayers are desperate, clumsy, and persistent as I willingly place my precious son in God’s hands. There is nowhere else to turn, for I know the night-shift doctors and nurses have tried every intervention possible to help him breathe. As I quietly ponder the hope held in my heart, a sigh of relief escapes my lips as Hunter’s fragile body resists surrender.
Keep fighting, little buddy, please keep fighting.
“Please do something, Lord. I love him. I need him.”
Though we have walked down this scary path many times before, this night is different. It seems the only sounds in the hospital are coming from Hunter’s room. Why is it so quiet tonight? Where is the usual night-shift hustle and bustle? Why can’t I hear the routine beeps, drips, and alarms against the concerned conversations of the hospital staff? Everything around me is so still, far too still.
For some reason no one asks me about signing a DNR [Do Not Resuscitate] form. Maybe they finally got the message through the countless refusals we have given them. We will never sign those papers. Life is a precious gift, and as long as our little buddy has the will to fight for his, we will always do whatever it takes to help him.
Why are my mom and dad on vacation right now? My mother should be here; we need her. I feel so alone. As soon as she gets word that Hunter is in here, she’ll be on the next flight home.
I hope.
Thank God, Jim is home with our girls; they’re probably terrified. They love their brother so much. I wonder what they were thinking as policemen and emergency medical technicians whisked Mommy and Hunter off to the hospital. As the ambulance siren faded in the distance, I can only hope that Daddy’s presence will be a comfort to them. I wish I could help them understand, but I don’t even understand.
As I sit on Hunter’s hospital bed and run my fingers through his soft, wavy hair, I cringe at the thought that he might not come off the respirator this time. The obnoxious squeaking of a gurney breaks into my troubling thoughts. As I turn, the