Samson’s Story
Samson was in a car accident on November 29, 2023. In that devastating moment, he suffered a brain injury that resulted in swelling and bleeding. The severity led to the removal of the left side of his skull in the hope of reducing the swelling. While I'm not a doctor and may not have all the correct medical terms, I share my version of what transpired during those harrowing moments—moments that forever altered and changed our family's life.
At 8:46 am, the sheriff's office called, informing me that my son was in a critical condition after a vehicular accident on his way to school, urging me to head to the hospital immediately. Upon arrival, amidst the chaos of multiple accidents and teenagers brought in via ambulance, they couldn't identify my son initially. He was registered as Doe, Leif. Eventually, I found myself in a private room with my husband, Tom, who had met me at the hospital.
Tom and I, hands clenched tightly, prepared for the news awaiting us. The nurse put her hand on my leg and uttered, "I am so sorry." Confusion filled my mind. "Why is she saying this? What are you so sorry for?" Tears had already streamed down my face during the ride to the hospital as I pleaded with God to spare my son's life. All I said during that 26-minute drive was, "He shall live and not die; he shall live and not die. Please, God, protect my baby. Keep him alive, I need him."
As she spoke, my heart sank. "Your son suffered a brain injury. He has severe swelling and brain bleeding. Shocked, I fell to the floor, body shaking and weeping. Desperate to see him, I asked, "Ok, well what does this mean? Can I see him? I need to see my son!" The nurse explained he was in surgery, the left side of his skull was being removed to allow his brain to expand. “We are doing everything we can. Our surgeon met the paramedics at the door with your son, she began working on him as soon as she could.”
I clutched my husband’s arm as I laid on my knees saying, "no, no, no, no, Samson, no, no, no, not my son, Tom I need him, no, no, no." Two nurses in the room kept saying, "I'm so sorry." Amidst my breakdown, I had a moment of clarity and asked, "What does this mean? I know you’re sorry, but I need to know what this means for my son." They shared more details about his condition, many of which I will be withholding, but stated he wasn’t breathing well on his own, and needed to be intubated.
"What will he be like when he wakes up? Will he be coherent or in a vegetative state?" I questioned between sobs. Their response was uncertain. "We don't know much yet; we need to see how he does with surgery. If successful, he will remain intubated for about 4 days and then stay in the ICU for several weeks."
“So, he can make it,” I thought to myself. “He can still make it! I can still walk out with my boy.”
Hope—this was what I needed. Hope for his future, hope for his life, hope for my son. With that answer, a glimmer of hope emerged, and I clung to it for all four days.
I will share more details on what transpired over those next 4 days in future posts. On December 2nd, 2023, I lost my son, Samson. We had thought we would be walking out in a month with him and ended up losing him. Now, I am left to relearn life without him—the ultimate pain, losing a child. Something no parent should ever have to endure or go through.
Now I grasp at every memory of him that enters my mind. I hold onto the sounds of his voice. I never thought that photos and videos would be the only things I have to remember him by. My boy, my baby boy that I got pregnant with at 16, the mini-me, the one with my humor and laughter, the child who always made everyone smile, was now gone. I had only known adult life with him. We grew up together. Now, I am supposed to carry on without him? I don't know how... I don't know how I am supposed to live more life than the amount of time and life I got with you.
