Two years ago my 12 year old son was hit by a car while riding his bike. He was severely injured with head injuries and a burst fracture of C3 4 and 5. He was classified as a paraplegic and we were told that he may never move again. They inserted a plate in his neck to stabilize his spine and he spent several weeks in intensive care. During his recovery, when the feeling started coming back in his fingers and hands, he was in intense pain. He would say that his fingers were closed too tightly and he would ask us to pry his fingers open so he wouldn't hurt. We would stand by his bed and watch his lifeless hands and fingers and tell him that they were straight, but he would still insist that we had to do something. We thought that this was probably a result of the medication and trauma he had sustained. One particular night, he began insisting that someone was holding his hand too tight and it was hurting him. I knew that he could not see his hand because of the neck brace he was in. I told him that I was not holding his hand as I looked at his limp, white hand on the bed. He was in a great deal of pain as the nerve endings began to heal. There was a great deal of hypersensitivity. I prayed for relief for him. After a while he calmed down and very quietly said, "someone is holding my hand." This time when he spoke there was no pain, irritation, or frustration in his voice. I again replied that no one was holding his hand. He repeated again, "someone is holding my hand." As I looked down on the bed expecting to see his lifeless little hand motionless on the bed, I noticed that his fingers were slightly bent. There was no spasm. His fingers were gently curled as if he were grasping something. I was so overcome that this may truly be the beginning of movement that I was overwhelmed. I regained my composure and looked at his peaceful face. I simply asked, "who is holding your hand?" He replied, "your father." I began sobbing. I asked him to describe this person. He described my father who had been dead for 34 years, since I was 9 years old. I watched as he slipped into a peaceful sleep. His hand gently relaxed and I knew that my father had left. I believe God had sent my father to watch over my son and I. My son was truly a miracle. For a young man that was never supposed to move again, he walked out of the hospital 2 months after his accident with very little residual disability. He is today a normal 15 year old with a second change at life. I always wished my father could have seen my children and now I know he not only sees them, but plays an important role in their lives. God is good. Thank you God.

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