Rock of Ages, cleft for me.
Let me hide myself in thee . . .

These are words from a song I sang many times while growing up. The words indicate that when one is troubled one can find strength and comfort by turning to that Rock of Ages. For some the Rock of Ages stands for God, for others, Jesus, and for others still perhaps the church itself. For those who have a deep belief in a deity that is personally interested in them and their welfare, they have this source to turn to when tragedy befalls them. Not all however, believe in a deity who watches over us and takes care of us, and as a result we don't have a Rock to cling to.

How do we cope when tragedy strikes? Where do we find the strength to cope, to endure, to move on? This was the situation I faced when early on the morning of October 18, 1992 there was a knock on the door and a friend of my son, Hondo, told us that there had been an accident about three miles from our house, and that he thought my younger son, Miko, had been injured in that accident. I dressed hurriedly, and called the hospital in Oakdale where it was verified that it was Miko, and that they were getting ready to Medi-flight him to Memorial Hospital in Modesto. Walter, my stepson, went to the scene of the accident to gather up Miko's personal effects from his car. Bob, my husband, drove us to the hospital. When we arrived we found that my older son, Hondo and Christy, his fiancee, were there as well as Miko's father. Hondo and Christy came upon the accident scene and hurried to the hospital. The police had notified Miko's dad. I could tell immediately that it was bad. Miko was being wheeled out of the emergency room on a gurney. He was unconscious. He had been intubated - that is put on a respirator. There were lacerations on his face, and his body was already beginning to swell, which is what happens when major trauma occurs.

Miko was put aboard the waiting helicopter and transported to Memorial Hospital where a trauma surgeon and team were waiting to try to save his life. I don't remember any of us really saying much to each other at that point, but our faces had looks of devastation and disbelief. I am sure we were all in shock, and shock was helping us. Also this wasn't the first time I had been to the emergency room with one of my boys. The first time was when Hondo was just a toddler. I had to take him to have his arm sewn up after a jar fell out of the refrigerator, broke, and cut his arm. Over the years there were other emergency room visits. Hondo broke his arm playing soccer, he suffered burns from the hot water in a car radiator when it was opened too fast; Miko was bitten by a neighbor's dog and later by a black widow spider and just a year before Miko had been in another accident - one in which the car was totaled, but he suffered only chest bruises and a black eye. All of these previous experiences helped build my strength, the strength one needs to face a life threatening situation.

Upon arriving at Memorial there were bureaucratic details to attend to - filling out forms, giving insurance information, talking to the Highway Patrol officers. Once that was done there was my other son to comfort and prepare for the possibility that Miko might not make it. There were telephone calls to make - to my mother, brother, Miko's girlfriend with whom he had just broken up a month earlier, and his closest friends. Then the vigil began. We sat in the lobby outside surgery and waited. Every few minutes the trauma case manager walked by on his way to get more blood. Soon others began to arrive, family, friends, former classmates, teachers, and coaches. By early morning there were close to 200 people crowding the lobby waiting, despairing, hoping, praying. At 9:30 on that Saturday morning, the trauma surgeon came out and spoke to the immediate family. He told us that he had removed Miko's spleen, that his liver was lacerated, that he had had to open his chest cavity and restart his heart several times, that he had fractures of his arm, leg, and pelvis, that he had head injuries the severity of which were unknown, and that he had lost and was continuing to lose blood at a rapid rate. He said he didn't think Miko was going to survive and he wanted to know if we wanted to see him to say goodbye. Of course everyone wanted to be there with Miko, but the doctor would only allow Miko's father, brother and me to go in.

Miko was moved from surgery to the Neuro-Trauma center. As the three of us stood outside waiting for admittance we held hands and we waited and waited. Finally the anesthesiologist came out. "It will take a miracle for him to survive" he told us. I didn't think that miracle was going to take place. I didn't really believe in miracles. Finally we were admitted. Miko was hooked up to all kinds of machines; tubes were attached to every orifice. A respirator was breathing for him. Paralysis had been induced by drugs, but he continued to fight on. We weren't surprised by this. Miko had always been a fighter as evidenced by the way he had fought for yardage on the football field. The few minutes we had been told that Miko had left began to stretch into more and more minutes and then into hours. Throughout that day Miko's friends lined up to visit him, to offer words of encouragement to him, to try to reach his subconscious. Even though Miko was unconscious, we were told that the last sense to go is that of hearing, and the medical personnel thought that it was important that Miko know the amount of support he had from his many friends.

I encouraged Miko's friends to write an anecdote or a story about a time they had spent with him. We collected these in a notebook which we could then read to him. Hondo also used a tape recorder for the same purpose, and we would play the tape to Miko. Late Saturday night a CAT scan was taken to try to determine brain function. I think a fear we all have is that we will become a "vegetable". I don't like that description anymore, but it is one with which we are all familiar. We were relieved when we learned that the scan showed that there was brain activity; however, we were warned that it was impossible to determine how far back Miko would come if he did survive.

We didn't stray far from the Neuro-trauma unit those first two or three days. The waiting room was constantly full. We catnapped on the floor, even though this was against the rules. It was during one of these catnaps late the second night that I heard my brother remark: "I can't believe how strong Sharon is." This was a remark I was to hear many times during the next seven months. Many of you told me how strong you thought I was, and I think that just your telling me that also added to my strength.

From what other wellsprings did I receive the strength I needed, to not only endure the next seven months until Miko finally died, but also to be there for Miko, for my family, for Miko's friends, and for myself?

For many people in our culture the Bible and faith are sources they turn to for strength. My brother and his family are such people. I would like to read part of a letter which my brother Steve wrote to Miko shortly after the accident in which he speaks of this:

I read someone's analysis as to what occurred, during the early hours that my nephew lay hospitalized and literally fighting for his survival.. .Behind the doors medical personnel were frantically working. . .Finally a nurse.. .communicated that Miko's condition was extremely serious.. . A few moments later the doctor positioned himself to communicate the conditions. This exhausted man stated that all there was to be done was done. I felt at that moment he placed Miko's fate in the hands of God.. I remember starting to feel anger. I felt helpless. The only factor remaining was faith. Before the doctor came out to give his report I found the chapel. I did not want to test God, but I opened the Bible and simply read the page that appeared. There was a slim chance; I knew that faith was the key. It was hard to admit my doubt, because of all I've read and studied. I knew my faith must be strong - 'simply believe'.

For me, however, it was not the Bible, but other books that I turned to for strength. The one that at first provided me with the stamina I needed to meet the challenges of each day was The Power of Myth by Joseph Campbell, particularly the section that dealt with the Hero's Journey. This especially spoke to me because I had shared it with Miko about a year earlier when he was dealing with some troubles of his own. The idea that the hero or heroine is someone who must endure trials and tribulations in order to attain self-knowledge and to grow and progress was an idea that Miko and I talked about, and it seemed to me that Miko was now facing the toughest challenge of all. To me it seemed like he was on a hero's journey, or a medicine walk, as the Native American tradition would call it.

During those first few weeks and months I would talk to Miko of this journey, this medicine walk. I re-read to him the chapter about the Hero's journey. For those of you who weren't here then, let me tell you that Miko never regained full consciousness. We learned that there are eight levels of consciousness, with 8 being full consciousness and 0 being unconsciousness. A few weeks after the accident Miko opened his eyes again. He would have waking and sleeping periods, but he never again appeared to recognize anything or anyone. He was probably between a 1 and a 2 on the consciousness scale.

However, we continued to try to reach him and I felt that if he could indeed hear us then perhaps sharing these ideas with him might help him in some way. Whether or not they gave him strength and courage I do not know. I do know however, that they gave me added strength and courage. I think that often what we do to help our kids may help them, but probably helps us more.

Another book that I had read not long before the accident was a children's book called Race for the Sun. It is the story of a young Native American boy who has grown up away from his people. When his Grandfather, who is dying, comes to live with them he finds his life beset by problems. Miko had been beset with some problems too, before the accident. His brand new car stereo which he had just bought was stolen when he attended a concert in Oakland. I shared these lines from the book with Miko after his stereo was stolen.

Grandpa smiled. "That's what life is all about - problems. Hassles, you call them. The trick is to keep working through the problems, never giving up." He sat up slowly. "There's a pattern to living, Sitsuie. Things work out the way they're supposed to. A change of plans in going to my home is just a surprise in the pattern. Everything will work out right. The trick is to keep working through the problems, never giving up."

That was the advice the grandfather shared with his grandson. I shared it with Miko, and when I was faced with this tragedy I shared it with myself. I still carry a copy of this paragraph in my wallet, and read it from time to time.

The problem that seemed uppermost to me during the first few weeks and months was how to raise Miko's level of consciousness. I read all I could find on coma, and with the help of many of Miko's friends and many of you in the Fellowship we started a coma arousal program with him. When it became apparent that the program was not going to work with him, and when it also became apparent that he could not breathe for any length of time without the respirator's assistance, and when the family finally was faced with the decision of turning off the respirator and letting Miko go, I turned to other books to give me direction, and to bolster my strength - books that dealt with death and dying, with losing a child, with grieving, and with the topic of survival after death. In the time since Miko's death I have read extensively on this subject.

One of the greatest sources of strength for me during this period and following was my family, my friends, the support from the community of Oakdale, and all of you in this Fellowship. Your individual support came in many forms - cards, money, visits, food, listening, helping with the coma arousal, pitching in to assume some of my DRE (Director of Religious Education) responsibilities, helping with the Memorial Service, and probably other ways I have not listed. Time doesn't permit to name you all, but each thing you did for me, for Miko, for my Mom, Evelyn, for my husband, Bob, and the rest of the family was a source of strength.

The source of strength which I have left to last to talk about, but the one which is the strongest and which sees us through in such times as I have talked about is inner strength. We each have within ourselves a well of strength to draw upon when the need arises. A few days after the accident Marcia Gilbert came to see me at the hospital. She said: "You know, we UU's don't have St. Christopher medals or crosses to wear to give us strength, but I would like to loan you this goddess necklace of mine. She is called "She who creates from her own source."
"Yes, " I thought. This goddess is appropriate, and she will remind me, that I have the ability to create from my own source too. I can create the strength I need for myself and to help Miko, my family, and Miko's friends."

E. A. Freeman, in the very first paragraphs of his book "The Catastrophe of Coma, a Way Back", assures the families of brain injured patients that inner strength is real. He says:

It is an old and true saying that "the way forward is the way through". I often tell relatives of the brain-injured that they will need patience, courage and endurance. Let me say that, in dealing with relatives of the brain- injured, it has been rare for anyone not to display that patience, courage and endurance. You may think that the people with whom I have dealt have been a selected group, abnormally strong mentally and physically, but this has not been so. They have been people of all ages and from all walks of life and they have all shown the same strength. Their financial background has ranged from wealthy to poor, but they have all shown great strength and courage. You may doubt that you have this inner strength. I can assure you that it is present, but it usually needs to be directed.

This inner strength I now equate with the divine. It doesn't come from the divine, but is the divine. Inner strength is the divine within us. It is part of us, we are part of it.

Over and over during the last seven months of Miko's life many people remarked on the strength I showed, and have continued to show. Many of you told me the same thing, but the thought I want to leave you with, is that I am not unique. Endurance in time of great stress is a quality that we all have. It comes from within and from without. I hope that you never have need to draw upon it, but be assured that if you are faced with tragedy or one of life's curve balls, you do have within you the strength to find the way through.

For me that Rock of Ages has now become the Spirit of Life. I would like to read excerpts from the hymn, and then I would like for us all to sing it together.

Spirit of life, come unto me.
Sing in my heart all the stirring of compassion.
Spirit of love, come unto me.
Beacon of light, guiding times of pain and sorrow.
Rain on my cheeks, tears soft and free,
Spirit of Love, shelter me; shelter me.
Spirit of truth, come unto me.
Reach to the depths finding courage for the journey.
Spirit of hope, come unto me.
Spirit of hope, comfort me, comfort me.

[Delivered October 22, 1995. Sharon Arpoika has been a member of the UUFSC since the late 1960's. She served two terms as president of the Board of Trustees and has been active for many years on the Religious Education committee. She was Director of Religious Education at UUFSC from 1992 - 1996. She is a professional librarian, currently (2005) the Head of Children's Services for the Stanislaus County Library.]