Just Hold That Happy Thought Peter...

I brush his golden brown hair from his eye as he lays in the bed. A single tear drops upon his cheek, and I wipe it along with my own. I stare down at his innocent porcelain face, wondering how we could have gotten here. How did I allow my little Peter to end up in this bed, hooked up to all of these machines and wires within the most depressing four walls I've ever had the displeasure of encountering?

My once sweet, happy 8-year-old boy, lays unrecognizable to his own mother. No remnant of him seemingly left other than his body kept alive by a machine, and yet I can't let go. Doctors have given up hope, but I can't because I know he's still in there... and it's my fault he's here. It should have been me, but my punishment is at the cost my son's life. I knew I shouldn't have been driving in that weather, and yet I ignored everything in my gut because I had to be up early for work and Peter had school. I couldn't stay at my sister's because who would pay my bills? Yet, where is work now, right?

I had Peter when I was very young. His father was out of the picture the moment he learned of my pregnancy, and my parents disowned me just the same. I only reconnected with my sister a year ago, after our parents passed. I did not attend the funeral, and she needed the inheritance, of which she's kindly shared a bit, but not enough to allow me to quit my job. I shouldn't have forgiven her, but I was tired of being alone and without help. Perhaps, I should have left Peter with her when she offered, then the impact of my car and the deer that popped in the middle of a snowy road would have affected me alone and not my son. But, I've never been away from him, not even a single night. Peter is my everything. I dropped out of school to care for him, and I never regretted a moment. He's my joy, my life, my purpose and here he is, in this bed because of me. The person he trusted with his life. The mother who failed him. I was injured in the accident too, but Peter had apparently unbuckled his seatbelt without my noticing, and the rest was history. Finding him breathing was a miracle in of itself. I suffered from broken ribs, arm and leg as well as a concussion. Thankfully, an oncoming patrol car found us before we both died, though I wish I had most days.

I run my fingers through his soft hair. "Hey Peter, it's mom." They say that people in comas can hear us when we speak, and I haven't stopped for the past two months, regardless of what doctors or anyone says. My Peter is a fighter. He fought like hell when he was born prematurely, and doctors gave him no chance then, and I know he's fighting now.

I like to tell him happy stories, especially some from his younger days. Days, that at the time were so difficult, yet filled with stolen moments of joy. "I brought Mr. Turtle from home. I know how much you love him." I tuck the stuffed green toy underneath his tiny arm. God, he's lost so much weight. I go sit down next to him and take his hand in mine. "Sorry it took me so long to find him buddy. I know you were upset before we went to your aunt's house without him. But, I found him tucked in a corner in your closet. You hid him well in your last game." I swear he flinches for a moment, but I brush it off, as its known comatose patients will have body reactions outside of their control; or, at least, that's what the nurse told me last time I thought he'd moved.

"Remember the day we got him?" I chuckle. This story always makes Peter smile, and he loves telling it."Remember how we went to the fair, and when we got there, it started unexpectedly raining so they shut down most of the rides? Then it started storming, and they had to shut down the fair entirely? We were soaking wet, and you were so upset, you'd been looking forward to the fair for months, and the one day we went..." I had worked double shifts and saved money for months to take Peter to the fair. I had taken my first day off in years, and done everything to ensure Peter would have the best day, and of course everything went wrong. I felt like such a failure as a parent when I saw his face, but it's funny how little things can make kids so happy. I go on, "But then the nice man at one of the game booths saw how sad you were. He let you choose a toy, and you saw Mr. Turtle..." His hand flinches in mine. My eyes brighten. Could he be responding to the story, or is it just wishful thinking? I keep going anyways."You saw Mr. Turtle, and you loved him the second you laid eyes on him. When the nice man gave him to you, you were so happy. You hugged him and christened him Mr. Turtle. Suddenly, the fair shutting down didn't bother you anymore." I swear his hand squeezes mine, and is that a smile? His eyes are twitching, like they want to open. Is it finally working? "You skipped all the way to the car with Mr. Turtle in the pouring rain. You caught a nasty cold, but Mr. Turtle never left your side, like right now. He's been your best friend ever since." I see his eyes moving. He's moving. I'm not crazy. Peter is responding to the story.

"NURSE, NURSE!" I yell as Peter is surely coming to. The boy they had written off is coming to!

As the nurses rush in, I lean into Peter's ear and whisper...

"Just hold that happy thought Peter..."