Ten years is a long time. Many things can happen in that amount of time. The landscape of a city can change radically. Sports teams can move and become beloved in their new locale. Governments can change and alter the course of our world. Pizza Hut can find a new place to put cheese on a pizza. But one thing in my life that has not changed in 10 years is that my brother is still chugging along with the rest of us.

You see, today marks the 10 year anniversary of the accident that almost snuffed out his life prematurely. 10 years ago my brother went through a horrific car accident that many people do not survive, and somehow he managed to make it through to today. And today, on that anniversary, I am unbelievably grateful to still have him with us, and in my life.

To give you a little background on him, Chuck is a card, a goof, a great guy and somewhat of a legend, at least to me and those who have heard me regale tales of his exploits. He is the kind of guy who would give you the shirt off his back to help someone out, without question. As an example, without thought or concern, he helped me buy my first car, never asking once or worrying when I would pay him back. He is always friendly, and a quick wit, and always ready to tell you exactly what is on his mind, which could be either hilarious or mortifying, depending upon your sensitivities. But he is unconcerned with how people look at him. He knows who he is, and you either like him or do not. Most of the time, people love him. Those that do not, well, they just do not get him and I genuinely feel sorry for them.

I have told his exploits far and wide, usually with the listener staring in disbelief at some of the adventures he has had. I feel that his life could be a movie, and one day I will make it, just to be able to have the title card at the front that reads….

“I SWEAR what you are about to see depicted is based on actual events that really did happen to one man.”

Of course, knowing the whole story as I do, I am sure most people would never believe it. One day I will share more of his story. But for now, I would rather sit back and share the events of that time, and share my gratitude of having my brother, and his unique self, with us today.

At the time, my brother was 22, and like all of us at that age, he ran roughshod over the world. He had a great job doing something he enjoyed, always had a pretty girl on his arm, his own wheels and money in his pocket. Not too bad for a kid learning to make his way in the world. And like all of us at that age, he felt no pain or exhaustion. Almost nothing could, or did, slow him down. But even the most stern of constitutions requires rest and rejuvenation from time to time, and his did as well. But like most youth who feel they know more than those who come before him, he did tend to ignore these needs from time to time. The end result was a man who would crash hard and sleep heavy, only to leap up and start all over again. Occasionally a word would be spoken to slow down, but never was it heeded. There was life to be led.

It is believed that it is this mentality of run until you drop potentially caused the accident. Perhaps it was a tired brain and slower motor skills that impaired reaction time. Or possibly just a tired driver on the road that nodded off at the wrong time. I know many people who have said they were so tired they caught themselves nodding off behind the wheel, only to blast the stereo and open all the windows to help keep them awake and focused. I myself, when working a third trick job, can think of times making the drive to work in the dead of night where once I arrived at work, could not remember one moment of the previous drive. Not that I was sleeping, but merely on autopilot, my brain as inactive as possible to conserve energy.

Whether it was exhaustion, lack of focus or some other unknown factor that caused the accident, it nonetheless happened. And it happened during a busy time of the day on a two lane stretch of road in the middle of Pennsylvania. A stretch of road that is notorious for accidents. It is an over trafficked section that sees thousands of cars each day, and many accidents a year, a portion of them fatal. At almost anytime of the year, you can unfortunately drive this stretch and see, somewhere along its route, a marker, reminder or a fading memorial to someone who lost their life on this road. It has been a major problem for a long time, and a freeway extension, meant to alleviate traffic, has been dragging through the construction phase for years, with no end in sight. It was on this road, on a curve close to home, where everything happened.

I remember clearly that I had been at work that Monday, toiling away at my stupid post college job of schlepping overpriced toys. I had plans for the evening, and had skipped breakfast and lunch in anticipation of a great dinner out. I received a phone call later in the afternoon from my mother, who sounded like a mess. She said I had to leave work and drive her home right away. This was not a request; she was telling me what had to happen. She never elaborated why, all she said was what I needed to do, and one of her co-workers would be by to pick me up shortly. I did find it odd, but never thought it was anything major. My mom sometimes gets debilitating migraine headaches, the kind where if you are a block away and step on a twig, she can feel it in her head. From the way she sounded, I figured it was one of these, and that is why I needed to go. I told my boss I needed to leave early, which was fine, and called and postponed my plans for later. At that point, I figured dinner would just be delayed until I could make it home and back.

When her co-worker arrived, that’s when I found out just how long it would be delayed. She filled me in on what scant details she knew. My brother had crossed the center line and plowed head on into an SUV. The accident was so severe, he was being life flighted to an emergency center in Johnstown, about an hour and a half from my parents house. The police on the scene had called my father, who by then was home from work, and let him know. And he in turn called my mom, who then became upset in only a way a mother whose child is hurt can be. I started the long, arduous task of trying to process exactly what I had been told, which would continue for over a month. To say it was shocking was an understatement. Dumbfounding would have been an understatement. I have trouble thinking of the proper adjective, even now, to describe how I felt. One thing I was able to think about, and needed at that point, was information and fast. My first hope for that was from my mother.

When we arrived at my mother’s office, she was a predictable mess, and barely able to walk to the car. As we started driving, she told me what she knew, which was what her co-worker had told me. My dad did not go into details about it, knowing full well how hard she would take it. Smart cookie my dad is. We headed off for home, taking the heavily trafficked route, and knowing almost immediately we should have taken the back roads home. The traffic was crawling, bumper to bumper. I had a sinking suspicion I knew why. The normally 30 minute drive ended up dragging on for almost an hour and a half; giving both of us way too much time to think and reflect on what happened. It is never good to be in your head for that long, especially when you are obsessing about something bad and have very little information about it. As we were almost to the turn for home, we came upon the scene. The cars were long gone, as was most evidence of automotive devastation and the rescue workers who had been there just hours before. But there, covering most of the road was a gigantic dark spot, where obviously engine fluids had leaked. I felt sick to my stomach, my mother seemed numb.

I do not remember much about the last part of the drive to the house. I felt too much in a daze. Up until that point, it all seemed too surreal, perhaps like a story or a news report. You knew it was real, but had no tangible connection to the events, so everything before coming upon the scene took on a bit of detachment. Seeing the curve, and the stain, brought everything into stark focus. This was real, this was happening, this was bad. Kind of like getting punched in the face while being in a daydream. Or in this case, a nightmare.

We stopped at home only for a moment. Pretty much just long enough to feed the dog, drop off a few things, make a few quick calls, collect my dad and head for the hospital. I called my girlfriend, with whom I had dinner plans, and let her know. She immediately offered to come with, and I declined, saying there was no need at the moment. I did not know what to expect once we got there, and I did not want someone else there at that time, especially if things got worse. Now, I cannot remember if it was during this time, sometime earlier, or perhaps the next day, but someone thought to call my brother’s girlfriend, who was home in Florida for the summer. She immediately got a flight to come back, and for the next few months lived with us. She was a good person, who did genuinely care about my brother. The problem was she was a very type A person and wanted things done her own way, sometimes in ways that were contrary to what my parents wanted. This did create a bit of friction as time went on, especially since my parents did not care for some interloper telling them how to care for their child, his girlfriend or not. Sometimes the moments were tense, sometimes they were high comedy, but in the end, it was one more person working hard to help my brother. Even though many things from that time remain vividly in my mind, I just cannot remember when she first appeared after this day.

After these things were done, my dad grabbed the wheel and started us on our way to the unknown and frightening. No way was he letting my mom drive, especially since she was in no condition to safely take the wheel, and no way was he letting me drive. Not now, this was his time to be the patriarch and guide us there safely, and I am glad he did. Now, it is during times like these where you know things in your world are off by what happens around you. My dad is a slow driver. Not grandma with a beehive behind the wheel slow, but a Mr. 55 stays alive slow. I know he had a youth once, but I do not think I ever once saw him go over the speed limit before. This day, he had no problems whatsoever stretching the five mile over the limit rule. He needed to be there as bad as the rest of us, maybe more so. My dad and my brother are a lot alike; I can see a lot of each in the other. They sometimes cannot see it, but I can, and my mother can as well. My dad is somewhat old school, not one to really share feelings and talk about things. A bit stoic in that aspect, so I doubt he would ever talk in depth about the impact my brother’s accident had on him. But I could tell, at least in that moment by his driving, the impact was deep and profound.

It was during the drive as well that I finally smoked in front of my parents. I had been hiding it, keeping it from them and thinking I was all smooth. Even though they had been around for a few years longer than I and had figured it out long before then. And even though I was an adult, and could make my own decisions, I just did not want to do it in front of them. Now, on this day, I did not care. And for once, my mother did not care about me or my father smoking. We even smoked in her car on the way something my mother had forbade anyone from doing in her car ever. I could tell how hard it was hitting her, if something like that, which she detested so much, had zero impact on her. What was not helping any of us was a lack of information on his condition and injuries. So once again, we were all in the car, with too much time on our hands and too much time in our own heads with little information. And all we could do was bide our time until we arrived.

Evening was beginning to transition into night when we arrived. We found our way to the intensive care unit, and were told that my brother was currently in surgery. It was at this time we got a good picture of what he, and the doctors, were up against in the battle to save his life. He had extensive bruising and some abrasions all over his body as well as massive swelling. There was also some internal bruising, but the extent was unknown. There was a large puncture wound below his bottom lip, where his bottom teeth burst through on impact during the collision. His left elbow was a mess, ground down and damaged in the collision. His right femur was broken. Both of the bones in his lower left leg were broken and his left femur was shattered and needed to be completely reconstructed. That is the one that gave me pause. The bone was shattered. The femur is the strongest bone in your body; it takes a hard impact just to break it. The amount of force needed to shatter the bone is almost unfathomable. It helped bring into chilling perspective just what had happened on that road. The staff there gave us a bag that contained his personal items. Shorts, underwear, wallet, stuff in his pockets and socks were contained within. They said the jersey he was wearing was ruined, since they had to cut it off of him, and they threw it away. But as I looked into the bag, I wondered aloud where his shoes were? I would find out eventually, but not this night. We retired to the waiting room, dazed and stunned, to see just what would come next and wait to find out how the surgery would go, hoping and praying for the best in the face of the worst.

Waiting for anything is always the worst. You just never know when or if what you want will occur. Especially in a situation like this, there are just so many variables occurring at one time. You want to do something to help, but you cannot. The feeling of helplessness and impotence are at times overwhelming, and can drive a person to the brink of madness. You have no direction, no information, and no clue as to when it will end and what the result will be. That feeling engulfed us as we sat and contemplated what was happening somewhere in the hospital to Chuck. We spent the time trying hard to distract ourselves, and each other, from the grim thoughts that he might not make it through the surgery. We talked of what could be happening, joked about some of Chuck’s past misadventures and injuries and worked hard to reassure each other, and once again ourselves, that he was a strong, tough kid who would fight hard and had more than one guardian angel looking over him. Occasionally we would leaf through one of the magazines available, and far too often, my dad and I would adjourn for a cigarette.

Before I go on, please know I would never recommend smoking, unless you are smoking a ham or a turkey. It is a bad habit and one I have fought, and keep fighting, to break. But those moments, late into the night on the outdoor deck of the hospital with my dad are a few of the cherished memories I have of that time. My father and I are different people, and I have mentioned this point before. But on this night, brought together by a terrible accident, we had a few great moments out there. We talked as we rarely do, about important things, life and of things of a grander scale than just daily lives and sporting teams. While I would prefer to have such conversations under better terms, and I am sure he would as well, we did have a few good moments amidst the sadness of the day. At least until we felt we had left mom alone too long, and then would work our way back up to join her. But throughout the evening, and well into the night, we would find our way out there again, where the only company we would find would be a highly stressed nurse or doctor puffing away to alleviate some tension or the sound of crickets coming from a distance. We would talk and chain smoke (something I had never seen my father do before or since, thus revealing his personal turmoil) while trying to make sense of what had happened. We did manage to find, looking over the hospital complex, where the surgical theaters were located. We also deduced which one Chuck was in. Occasionally, we would see someone carrying out bags of medical waste and wondered both curiously and frightened, just what was going on in there.

Eventually, mercifully, almost impossibly, the waiting came to an end. Thinking about it now, it still seems like we were in there for days, waiting to find out about the surgery. As it turned out, it lasted to around 2am. None of us had slept yet, how could we with what was happening? The ICU nurse told us the main surgeon had gone home, exhausted from putting in a full day, and then performing 8 hours of surgery on my brother. She told us he would speak with us in a day or two to go over everything that happened, but wanted to impart that the surgery went well, and that Chuck had at this point about a 50/50 shot of pulling through, but the doctor felt good about his chances since Chuck has a strong heart and is young and healthy. While hearing the 50/50 part left chills, we were heartened by the other news. Taking pity on us, and knowing we would not be able to rest without seeing him, she let us look in on him for a few minutes, and then she insisted we go home, get some rest and come back again tomorrow during visiting hours. We thanked her, collected our stuff, and walked into the ICU, to see my brother.

Being the middle of the night, the place was really quiet. I was thankful for that, as I do not think a lot of commotion would have been good for me, or any of us. His room was not far from the main doors, three rooms in if I remember correctly. I never counted, and each time I walked to the room it seemed as though I was walking in a daze. The ICU tends to have that sort of effect on a person. We walked in silence, not wanting to speak our fears nor disturb the others striving to survive. Without fanfare, we came upon his room. We walked in, and there he was, lying on a bed covered in a silver reflective blanket. The nurse told us that was to help keep in his body heat, but it only added to the surreality of the situation. I stood there for a few minutes, my mind unable to grasp the images my eyes were sending it. I turned and walked out, without saying anything. I could not be there. I found the nearest bathroom I could find and let out a quiet sob. It was hard to bear, much harder than I ever imagined. My brother was my muscle. We always joked of such things. I had the brain and the wit; he had the muscle and the smart assed nature, thus making us a perfect team. And now, the muscle was lying on a bed, broken. I took a few minutes for myself in the bathroom, working to pull myself together. I needed to go back to his room and see him, not just for me, but also for him and for my parents. Splashing some water on my face, I turned and made my way back to the room.

With myself pulled together, if only slightly more than before, I took stock of everything. I believe they had him hooked up to every possible machine on the planet. I even think there was a smog testing machine in there, but I cannot be 100% sure on that one. Could just be a figment of my imagination. They were all beeping in a sort of rhythm together, showing us that they were keeping him safe, at least for the moment. They had a breathing tube in him, since he was not strong enough to breathe on his own yet. Heart monitors, EKG machine, and everywhere you looked numerous wires and tubes running in and out of him. He had an IV, a heart catheter to monitor what was going on with his ticker, other monitors that I am still not sure what they did, but they were all needed. And in the middle of all of this, was my brother, bruised, broken, and really swelled up, but still my brother.

One image that has stuck with me to this day, as vividly as if I saw it only moments ago, was of his chest. My brother and I were part time basketball fans. I say part time since neither of us had a true favorite team, mostly favorite players. And the one player we adored was Charles Barkley. We loved him in Philadelphia, and loved him in Phoenix. We both were hoping he’d win that finals, but Jordan and company had something to say about that. Regardless, he was a big fan; he had a Barkley Phoenix Suns jersey, and happened to be wearing it that day. That was the jersey they cut off of him to save his life. But the jersey was still with him, in a way. Across his chest was a massive bruise that looked exactly like the mesh pattern of the jersey. The force of the impact had bruised him through his jersey. It was startling; mind boggling, and kind of funny all at the same time.

After a few minutes, the nurse came back and told us it was time to go. So we bid adieu, thanked them for all they had done so far, wished Chuck luck and gave him love and headed home. The drive back seemed much shorter than the drive there, perhaps because we had some answers, perhaps because we were all physically exhausted and mentally drained, or perhaps because none of us noticed the distance because we were lost in thought. When we arrived home, we found ourselves ready to crash. My mom, noticing I had not eaten, told me to eat. Being foolish and stubborn, I said I was not eating until Chuck could, and promptly went to bed. We all grabbed only a few hours sleep. We wanted to be back in time for the first visiting hour’s window the next day.

Rising from semi slumber, I showered and grabbed a few things that might help pass the time, almost in a dream like state. It still did not seem real, and my lack of rest and food was not helping that sensation. Before we left, my mother had called work to let them know she would not be in for a while, unsure of exactly when she would be returning to her position. She also called my brother’s job to let them know what had happened. My dad called work and took the week off, and I followed suit. Like I was in the right mind to be stocking shelves anyway. I saw the local paper that morning and splashed across the front page was an article about Chuck’s accident, complete with a picture of his totaled car. Looking at it, I could not believe he was even alive to be life flighted to the hospital. So with that in mind, and after taking care of the dog who at this point was beginning to think we were crazy, we piled in the car again and headed back, a ritual we would perform everyday together for the next week.

If you drive to Johnstown from Tyrone, where my parents live, you will pass by a small town called South Fork. It is one of the many small towns you can find throughout the state, each with a history and charm, or lack thereof, of their own. The only thing that is really distinguishing about this small coal mining town is that it is the birthplace and hometown of Charles Bronson. That’s right; Mr. Death Wish came from a tiny little town in Pennsylvania. I bring this up because each and every time we would pass this town, both coming and going to the hospital, my dad would a make sure to point this out. We already knew this piece of trivia; he was doing it mainly for the humor and to break things up. And you always could sense it coming as soon as you saw the exit signs.

He would say, “You see that town?”

“Yeah”

“That’s South Fork”

“Yeah”

“You know who’s from there, don’t you?”

“No, who?” Always said with a touch of naiveté to egg him on further.

“Charles Bronson, that’s who!”

Even now, thinking about it ten years later, it still cracks me up. On one drive back, I rode with Chuck’s girlfriend and we followed my parents. As we passed South Fork, I could see my dad gesturing with his hand toward the town, and I cracked wise about him telling my mom for the 1000th time that’s where Charles Bronson is from. I found out later he did that just for my benefit, to see if I noticed he said it again. I did notice indeed. Finding out later why he did it somehow made it even funnier to me.

After the comedy of South Fork, we arrived at the hospital not long afterward and back to the ICU in time for the first visiting hours of the day. The ICU at Conemaugh has very strict visiting room hours, as I am sure all ICUs do. Three one half hour increments spread out throughout the day were all you were permitted. And when that time was up, it was immediately back to the waiting room with you, no ifs ands or buts. We found out when we arrived that Chuck had made it successfully through the night, thus upping his odds significantly. This made us much happier, but he still had a long way to go, and was still in a coma. They also informed us he needed additional surgeries on his elbow to repair the damage there, and on his lower leg to install an external fixator to keep the bones braced while they heal. It seemed as though he had even further to go, but we felt good about the initial prognosis and how he was doing thus far.

Nothing terrible or exciting happened that first full day in the ICU. We visited him all three times, looking in to see him and look for any sign of movement. It seemed though that his brain shut his whole self down in order to protect and heal the body. Smart brain, if you ask me. After the third visit, we reluctantly left, buoyed that he seemed to be doing ok so far, but still worried beyond belief. I called my girlfriend that evening and told her the whole story, letting her know what was happening. She was very understanding and caring, probably why we are still friends today. And finally, I ate. I had not eaten for two days, and my brain and body were screaming for something, anything. I knew if I did not eat, I would be no good to anyone. I really did not want to eat until Chuck could eat without the aid of tubes and people, but I also knew that was absurd and ridiculous. I remember I had a Subway sandwich, and it tasted like Styrofoam with mayo.

After the first full night of sleep any of us had had since Sunday, we left again for our second full day in the ICU, which proved to be more eventful. After seeing Chuck for the first time, we finally got to meet with the surgeon who worked on him. He explained in great detail what had happened on Monday night in the operating room, and everything he and his team did for Chuck. Speaking with him and talking about everything helped greatly. It took away much of the lingering mysteries and questions we had. They spent a large amount of time reconstructing his left femur, putting in a rod to stabilize the leg and giving the bone something to heal around and take shape. They also inserted a rod into his lower leg and his right leg to stabilize those as well. All were secured with numerous screws to keep everything in place as it healed. They worked hard on his elbow, but he said that it may always have damage as how it was injured. And the doctor also said he would always have a scar below his bottom lip, but that was to be expected. The one really disturbing part was that he stated that during x-rays, they found a bruise on his brain. With his current condition of being in a coma, they did not know yet exactly how this would affect Chuck. It may keep him in the coma, it may show up as brain damage later if and when he comes out of it, it may end up being nothing. They just did not know yet, and only time would reveal how it would affect him. We joked with the doctor, asking him if he was sure it was a new bruise, since Chuck had a tendency to hit his head growing up.

I must point out one thing about my family before you read that last sentence again and begin to think we’re ghouls. We have an amazing ability to deal with painful situations like this through humor. In times of sadness and sorrow, we work hard to buoy ourselves and others by making jokes and laughing about good times. It is not meant to be mean, nor are we glossing over the gravity of the situation. In fact, we are acutely aware of the gravity of the situation. This is why we turn to humor as a defense mechanism and also as a way to alleviate the tension, pressure and stress. And most importantly, we use it so we think of the person at the center of the situation in fond and fun times.

As an example, a few years after this, my grandmother passed away. At her funeral, my father, brother and I were all outside the funeral parlor, laughing and joking about the good times we had with her. It was never mean spirited or cruel, just a way for us to keep her in mind during times when she was with us. We all knew how much she meant, and how much we would miss her, but we did not want to focus on her passing and being gone from our lives, but rather on the times we had with her. And at this time, in face of the potentially heartbreaking news of a brain injury, we did the same with Chuck. We recalled some of the many times he hurt himself as a kid, running around like a nut. Or of some of the crazier things he had done. Some might look at us and think we are horrible human beings for treating such a time with what appears to be a cavalier attitude. But it is not like that at all. We just prefer to find a different way to keep our loved one in our minds and keep our spirits up, instead of focusing on the negative and potentially devastating.

After discussing the ramifications of the injuries with the surgeon, we discussed the upcoming surgeries he would require. One would be the next day, and another the following week. They would have done them sooner, but the doctors wanted to make sure he was stable enough to go through surgery again. So far, he was fighting like a champion. We thanked him for all he had done, and would continue to do and for being there for Chuck, and went about the day of waiting in the ICU.

The ICU waiting room is a strange place. You form camaraderie with the other people there. You see each other every day, as everyone always comes back around the same time to begin their own waiting. You become familiar with their faces, movements and activities for passing the time. After a while, you become familiar with their stories and lives. And you find yourself saying just a small extra prayer for them, and for their loved one. All of you know why the others are there. Everyone is sitting vigil over a loved one in serious condition, not knowing if this could be your last moments with them. You see the pain of potential loss on everyone else there, and know you are also looking at a reflection of yourself. Yet at the same time, everyone there works hard to stay upbeat, to keep their spirits up and to also help others keep their spirits up as well. In some ways, it’s like a communal support group, even though some waiting there will leave with their loved ones having passed on. It’s strange that you can bond with people under such circumstances, but you do. You feel for them and what they are going through, even as you go through the same thing. You hope for the best for them, and in turn they end up doing the same for you. It is an experience like none I have ever had. And while it was rewarding in its own way, I hope I never have that experience again.

The other thing that happened that day broke my heart, and keeps me wondering what ifs to this day. Another young man came into the ICU that day. He was the same age as Chuck, 22, and was involved in a car accident that was similar to Chuck’s in many ways. The one way it differed was that this young man was not wearing his seat belt, while Chuck did have the forethought to put his on. The young man was ejected from his car through the windshield, landing on the pavement in front of the vehicle. The rescue teams and surgeons worked tirelessly to save his live, but all of their skill and effort was for not. The young man was brain dead. The doctor working on him had to break the unbearable news to the family waiting in the ICU. He explained everything to them, and what would happen next, and talked with them about what they wanted to do. It just tore your heart out to see these people in their anguish, knowing they would not see their son or brother ever again. They knew he was gone, and opted to donate his organs in hopes of saving someone else.

I felt horrible for them, and at the same time kind of selfish. I was glad that Chuck had survived, and felt guilty that he did and their loved one did not. Chuck was not out of the woods yet, and had a very long way to go with many questions still up in the air about his condition. But at least he was alive, and I was grateful for that. But at the same time I felt guilty about being happy, since they lost everything. There were no more questions, or hopes for a better prognosis, for their son and brother. He was gone. It was such a heart wrenching experience, since only two days before we were so close to being in their exact shoes, and at that moment were merely a few steps away from being in their shoes. I wondered what if Chuck had been careless and forgotten to put on his seatbelt. Considering the severity of the accident, and the picture I saw of the car, none of us would probably have ever made it to the hospital, since he never would have either. I wondered what if their son had put on his seatbelt, would he have survived the accident. Sometimes I wonder what he might be today. And no matter if I am driving or riding with someone, to this day when I get into a car I put on my seatbelt. And each time I do, I think of Chuck and know this is one of the reasons he is with us today. For if he had not buckled up, I may be writing something very different today.

We left the hospital still hoping for the best, keeping ourselves grounded in reality with the possibilities for the worst, and thinking of the poor family who lost their son. Tomorrow they would do some more surgery on Chuck, and hopefully it would go well.

The next day we did not go right away to the hospital, as there was no point with him being in surgery. Instead, I went out with Chuck’s girlfriend on a hunt to find the car. I knew the guy who towed it from the scene. He was a friend of Chuck’s from high school who had his own towing business, so I had a good idea where the car could be located. With this in mind, we set out to search and recover anything of his in the car.

I also found out some more information on the scene of the accident. The other car was not as bad off as Chuck’s, but did take some punishment. Of course, when you put a Chevrolet Cavalier against a Jeep Grand Cherokee, the Cherokee will win every time, as it did this time. The people in that car were not too bad off, but did have some injuries. A woman passenger in the front had some minor cuts and bruises, and the male driver broke his leg. The most extensive was the older woman passenger in the backseat, who broke her hip, and they lost their dog. After the accident, someone tied the dog to a hay bale to keep it out of the way. When the helicopter got there, the dog got loose and ran away. I never did find out if they found the dog. Give me a break, though, I had my mind elsewhere that week.

Also, apparently Chuck was semi conscious after the accident, and kept trying to get out of the car. The rescue workers had to keep him calm and have him sit still until they could get him out. You see, the accident smashed the car in such a way that it was impossible for him to get out. The driver side door could not be opened, and the dash had compacted so that the space between the wheel and the seat was less than a foot. In this space, my 6’3” brother was jammed. The rescue teams had to use the Jaws of Life to tear the roof off to be able to properly extract him from the car without further injuring him. Amazement was my reaction to this knowledge, since I just had a hard time wrapping my head around what he went through and managed to survive. I had to see the car.

We drove to where I thought the car was, and turned into the area. Driving slowly back a stone lane, I could see the red exterior of his car, the familiar pattern of tail lights glinting in the sun. There it was his mangled car. We parked and slowly walked up to it, in utter amazement that this pile of twisted metal was once a car. The rear looked fine, as did most of the tires. But the left side and front were a complete disaster. The roof was sitting in the backseat, having been put there after they got Chuck out. The dash was all askew having been pushed backward toward the rear of the car. The steering wheel was partially bent from its impact into Chuck. The front and the engine compartment were crushed, the damage the most extensive there. The left front tire was destroyed as well. So much for that new set he just purchased not long before. On the driver’s seat were spots of dried blood, right between where his legs would have been. I surmised it came from the injury to his lip, but who knows. It was staggering to behold.

I took as many pictures as I could and we began the process of pulling out his stuff. Chuck was, and still is, pretty big on customizing his car. If you ask me, he set the tone for Pimp My Ride. So he had a few things of value in the car. We pulled out his tapes and CDs, any random change as well as important papers from the glove box. We found the tools he had and pulled them, also using them to salvage other items. The head deck and front tweeters were toast, so we left them. But we pulled out the back speakers, the subwoofers and the other stereo equipment he had that was still usable, which was a fair amount, considering the condition of the car. And in the backseat, I found his left shoe. I have no idea how it got there, but there it was. My guess was they took it off at the scene and just threw it in the back. But the right one was not with it, so I began to search around for it, and found it unfortunately. It was on the driver’s side floorboard, wedged between the accelerator and the brake pedal. The laces were cut, and the tongue splayed open. I reached for it and gave it a tug, but it never budged. Once again, the severity of the accident punched me right in the face. He could not move his foot. The pedals bent together during the collision, trapping his foot between them. He could have never gotten out of the car. They had to cut him out of his shoe. I threw the left one back into the car, right beside its mate. They belonged together, and they belonged in the car. We gathered the rest of the stuff and went home. My parents never went to see the car. They did not want to, just wanted to get his stuff from it. It is probably a good thing. I doubt they would have been able to handle it very well. I know I did not.

The week in the ICU ended much as it had began, us in a hopeful vigil, waiting for something good to happen. Unfortunately, other than a healing body, nothing did. Of course, nothing worse happened, so that was a small victory in and of itself.

As the week came to a close, we tried to get life back to some semblance of normalcy, if only to keep ourselves from going insane. The next week, both my father and I went back to work. We had to; neither of us could take the time off. It actually was good in some ways. It helped take our minds off of the waiting. In the evenings we would venture up to see Chuck, saving the better visits for the weekend. My mother and Chuck’s girlfriend would go to the hospital to wait and take care of Chuck anyway they could.

Even in the worst of situations, my mom had to be a mom, just one of the many things that make her special. When he was in the coma, she would talk to him, telling him how much she loved him and wanted him to wake up. She prayed for him, a lot. I believe she probably prayed for the rest of us too, to help us make it through everything. She would ask questions, seeing if there was anything more we could do. One day, she noticed his feet were drying out. The next day, she brought in lotion and rubbed them, so the skin would not damage. I am not quite sure how she found the strength to make it through but she did, and she brought all of us with her. Her strength, love and caring from that time, and how it continues unabated today, still amazes me.

My mom had a mountain of sick and vacation days saved up at work, and she was ready and able to use each and every one of them. She did not know if they would last as long as she needed, but she would go and be there with Chuck until they ran out. Her office was completely understanding, and more than happy to do whatever she needed to allow her the time to be with Chuck. You see, they both worked at Penn State, in the hospitality services department. Everyone in my mom’s office knew Chuck and he knew them as well. They were all struck hard by his accident as well. And while my mom had the accrued time to take off and keep her job and income, Chuck did not. Knowing his plight, everyone in their department, and even from other parts of the university, did one of the most heart felt things I have ever seen. People from all over began donating vacation days to Chuck and my mom, so Chuck could still keep his income and his job, and to my mom so she could focus on helping him get well again. It was one of those unbelievably selfless things you see from time to time that reminds you there are still good people left in the world.

As the second week progressed, Chuck was moved out of the ICU and into a regular room. His overall condition was improving to the point where he did not need the constant attention of the ICU, but he was still in the coma. He was also able to breathe on his own, but still needed oxygen. A small victory, but at least it was a sign he was improving. And by this time, the massive overall swelling had long since subsided, but his physical condition was also deteriorating. While his body was healing itself, it was also wasting away. He was getting nutrients intravenously, but there is nothing that can really stop a broken body from atrophying. Ask anyone who broke an arm how weak it is once they take the cast off. Well, Chuck was like that all over. It looked like he was wasting away. It made everything that much harder. Chuck is a big guy, and somehow his size makes him, at least to me, seem larger than life. But seeing him there, losing weight from doing nothing and becoming skinny and gaunt, made him seem so small and very fragile.

However, there were also some pluses to be had this week. By this time, with a thick sense of hope, we took every odd movement from Chuck as a positive sign. We would see his eyes moving under his eyelids, or fingers twitch or move. Sometimes, the occasional sound or moan would eek out. While they may have been nothing in reality, to us they were everything. Any sign that the Chuck we knew was still in there, all the better. While we always wanted and hoped for even more, for the time, we would take whatever we get. When you are drowning, any life preserver will suffice. And as the week came to a close, we clung hard to that life preserver.

During the third week, we got much more than a life preserver, we finally got a life boat. It was this week when we saw the first real signs of Chuck. The first real signs of Chuck swimming back to the surface. And there were tons of them. At first, it was small things. He would mumble, and a few words would spill out. Sometimes they would come in sentences, as though he was having a conversation with someone, or perhaps with one of us. He would at times open his eyes and look around, focusing on things and people, but not quite registering, just yet, what they were. He moved around a lot. He moved his hands, his arms, his legs, and his body. Not to the point of getting out of bed, mind you, but enough to show us he had the ability to move, and at least on a subconscious level some amount of control of his body. It did look, at least to us, that some of the early movements appeared as though he was trying to open a car door. It made us wonder if part of his mind was still running the accident in his mind, or if he even thought he was still in that day.

Thanks to Chuck in this state, we were all also treated to a genuinely funny and touching moment. One day we were all visiting him, and everyone was in the room. There was also a nurse in there as well, talking with us and answering questions on his condition. During this time, he began speaking again. He said nothing that made any sense, just speaking out loud, perhaps having a conversation with someone in his mind. Now, the funny part was that what he was saying was some raunchy cursing. And when I mean raunchy, I mean the kind of blue streak that would make a sailor blush, and I know this since my dad was a sailor and he was slightly embarrassed. But no one said anything, mainly because we were just happy to be seeing some positive signs. So we continued on, with Chuck cursing in the background. Now, my mother does not care for really foul language. Occasionally she will swear, but her extent of swearing is limited to the occasional damn or hell. So hearing Chuck, even in an unconscious state, cursing to beat the band did not thrill her. Finally, after having heard enough, she looked at him and said Chuck to knock it off, there was mixed company in the room. What happened next made us laugh and know he was going to be fine. He immediately stopped swearing and mumbled sorry mom. Then he was quiet for a while and then went back to resting. After that, we laughed together and all breathed a little easier. We knew Chuck was in there, and that he was on his way back.

After that week, he started coming around more, and each time he was more conscious and aware of things. There was no magical moment like in the movies where he suddenly woke up from the coma. It was a gradual thing, and each day would provide a more lucid, and pain aware, Chuck. He learned fast how to use his call button for some morphine to help with his still healing body. But his mind seemed to be there. One thing that had not changed was his razor sharp tongue, which seemed to be channeling his pain in some ways. It was hard at times, but one thing we had to keep in mind was that as long as he was responding well, then he could say anything he wanted.

I believe that the entire ordeal was harder on him mentally than he ever let on. And I could never blame him for that. How do you deal with waking up in a hospital room hooked up to machines and having metal braces sticking out of your leg, surrounded by family and friends looking at you with tired yet hopeful faces, your body racked with pain and so weak you can barely lift your arms and so disoriented you do not even know what day it is. Those things alone would place a huge mental strain on anyone. Add on top of those things having to deal with what had happened, what was still to come to make a recovery and trying to cope with the fact that you do not remember anything from the last month. It is a lot for one person to handle, no matter how strong they are.

None of this was helped by the fact that by this point, he was physically weak. All the inactivity of being laid up while his body was mending had left him barely able to do anything. He was so gangly and weak, he kind of reminded me of a fawn. All shaky and unsure of his movements, unable to really stand on his own. Luckily for Chuck, or unluckily depending on how you look at it, help with this side affect of the healing process was not far away.

At this point of the recovery, we reached a moment that we feared at one point may never come. One that allowed us to breathe yet again another huge sigh of relief. Chuck was being released from the hospital and sent to a rehabilitation clinic. His injuries were mending to the point where he was ready to work on regaining strength as well as work on regaining his mobility and range of motion in his damaged limbs and his mental agility. The day was fantastic, and it allowed him to be so close to home, only a 20 minute drive from the house. It also allowed us to see him more often and know that an end, and his return home, was in sight.

And while the move to the facility was a joyous moment, it also marked a point for Chuck that required much work, much of it strenuous and discouraging. He had to do exercises to work on regaining strength, to work on rebuilding the range of motion in his elbow, and to basically learn to walk all over again. All of this done in a setting that was filled with people in similar situations to Chuck, and others with a variety of problems and issues that could drive a man mad. Chuck would tell us of some of them, his disdain for them barely concealed. He spoke of one gentleman that just screamed incessantly, over and over. One time he yelled at him to shut up. It only worked briefly, much to Chuck’s chagrin. He also did not think the staff was as caring as the staff at the hospital. They may not have been extra kind; they may have needed to be tougher on him to get him back into shape. Or maybe it was just Chuck’s perception of the place based on his exhaustion, both physical and mental, and his extreme desire to just go home.

I think all of these elements, combined with the mental strain of his hospital stay, plus the strain and toil of the rehabilitation did affect him deeply. He never let on, but you could see it. You could see it in his face whenever one of us would leave. You could see it there even more so later when we would leave the rehabilitation center for the night. You could see it in his eyes if one of us was unable to make it up every day. He needed us so badly there as his support structure, but was never able to vocalize it. But you could see it in what he said and how he would behave. I remember taking him outside once at the rehab center, him in a wheelchair and me pushing him along, two brothers out enjoying a sunny day. But he was miserable then, just so frustrated with his physical condition, how hard it was to get his strength back and relearn simple tasks he had done all his life and how much he hated being there in general. In his mind, he was young, strong and could do anything. But his physical condition, at the moment, told him a very different story. And it was a difficult story for him to follow, and he could not merge who he was in his mind with who he was, at least physically, at the moment. And because of all of this, all he wanted was to be back somewhere where things made sense. All he really wanted at this point was just to go home. He knew he still needed to be there, and telling him such did nothing. He just wanted to be away from everything and back to a comfort zone, back with family and back home. Even though he spent most of July in a coma, as August was winding down, he was fed up with hospitals, doctors, nurses, staff and anything else involving healing and rehabilitation. The whole experience took a massive toll on him mentally as much as it did physically, and is one of the reasons I believe he does not speak much of it today.

But rehab was not all bad. Not only was Chuck rebuilding his strength and relearning to move, but he was also regaining his sense of humor. He often cracked jokes and made us laugh regaling tales of the other patients at the facility. He also cracked wise with each of us, and often ribbed us, and us back with him. It became infectious. And one thing that did not seem affected by everything that had happened was his will and determination. His drive and desire to get himself better and back home pushed him to do things for himself and accelerate his progress. By now he had not shaved in many weeks, but he kept cracking that he liked his beard, and would only shave when he was able to do so himself. Sure it was kind of a joke, but he did mean that. He would shave when he was able to do it himself. And that was how he went about the days. After his first few experiences of someone helping him in the bathroom, he put his mind to making sure he was strong enough to do it himself. He hated the helplessness and humiliation of having to have someone help him. To him, this was not acceptable, nor would it do any longer.

Now while Chuck was working hard to get himself well enough to come home, we were working hard to get the house ready for him. My mom, with all the extra time we had, decided that some home remodeling was in order. We redid my bedroom and Chuck’s bedroom as well; both had fresh coats of paint, new carpet and some new furniture for Chuck. But since he probably would not be able to traverse the steps for a while, we redid the den too. New paint, new carpet and some new furniture were added to make the room as comfortable as possible. The new couch was a sleeper, and to make it usable for the healing boy, an air mattress was purchased to go on top of the bed portion. And the hospital gave us some things to help him out as well, mostly little things, but one that I found hilarious was the portable toilet. They figured with stairs, he might not have the strength to make it up to the bathroom, and would need something close by. I knew Chuck would never use something like this. He would look at that and think it was demeaning. It is not designed to be such, and can be very helpful to those who do not have the strength to make it quickly to proper facilities. But to Chuck, who was still 22 and in his mind as strong and fit as an ox, an item of this nature said something about his current physical state that he would never admit to, nor did he ever. As I predicted, he never used it once. It sat in the laundry room and collected dust until he moved back to his bedroom. Sometimes, it was hard for him to climb the stairs, but never as hard as it would have been for him to use the portable toilet. Eventually, it made its way to the attic, where it sat in darkness and collected more dust and dirt until we threw it out just last year. It made me laugh to send it on its way, and was a poignant reminder of all he overcame.

After much work, the house was ready, we were ready and Chuck was beyond ready. After almost two months, Chuck finally completed the trip he began on June 30th, and came home. It took him far longer than anyone would have guessed, but he made it, and everyone was on cloud nine. We had a small party for him, just a few of his friend came over to hang out, and we got some beer, barbequed a bit and allowed Chuck to sit back on the deck and enjoy the day with friends, family some food and a tall cold one. That he was able to do that was a miracle in and of itself. And everyone there relished the moment, all knowing that while it was not entirely over, as Chuck still had some work ahead of him, everything was going to be ok.

There were still some hard times that followed. Sometimes he had trouble getting in and out of bed as his body was still weak and healing. Sometimes just making it up the stairs was the achievement of the day. Other times he would be absolutely stir crazy just sitting around with very little to do while the rest of us were out at work or on errands. But his strength and will pulled him through the tough times, and we did whatever we could to supplement his strength when he needed it.

He was never cited for the accident, nor did he lose his license. And to this day he does not remember anything that happened that day, or for the month afterward. His mind permanently blocked out the horror and pain of that time, to keep him from experiencing it again. He remembers very little from his hospital stay, mostly his memories of that time are of the end of his time at the hospital, of his time in rehabilitation and of coming home. He lost an entire month of time he cannot recall and another month working himself back to a semblance of health, and mercifully that was all he lost. By mid fall, he was back at work and amazing everyone there at his recovery. And by then he also had a new car and was tearing around, the independent spirit free to roam once again.

Today my brother is doing well, with just a few side affects remaining from the accident. He still has the rods and screws in his legs, and if he’s on his feet for a long time, his legs tire him. He does not have 100% movement in his left elbow, and never will. He has a great deal of movement there, just not quite full extension. It does not hinder him too much, and he never lets it affect whatever he is doing, at least not outwardly. If he is tired, he gets a bit forgetful or loses his train of thought, which is a reminder to all of us of that bruise on his brain. It is a reminder, also, that the bruise could have been much worse. And he still has a scar under his bottom lip from the puncture wound. But I’ll take him, scars and all.

He works for a center that helps troubled youths. The irony of such is not lost on me or him. There was a point where he could have ended up in a place like that, if not for some well ingrained common sense and the guidance and love of the great parents we were both blessed with. He does what he can, and tries to help the kids get their lives back in order. I’m sure he thinks there is more that he could do, and much more the facility could be doing, to help them. Probably, but I know just by him being there, they are being helped far more than they would ever realize.

He is finding his way in the world, just like the rest of us. Discovering what is important to him, and what matters most in life. He’s doing alright, which is enough for me. As long as he is doing and living, I am happy. While we do not get to spend as much time together as either of us would like, we try to maximize the opportunities we get. Those opportunities will grow soon, and I know we will take advantage of those even more so than now. If he were not here, I do not know how the last 10 years of my life would have unfolded. What I do know is they would be drastically different, and significantly emptier.

To this day, and for the remainder of my days, I will remain grateful to the many people who helped my brother that day, and the many days that followed. To the emergency crews who responded so quickly and worked so hard to save him on the scene, using all of their skills, talents and care. To the life flight crew who were able to get there so fast, and spirit him to critical care facilities with speed and efficiency. To all of the doctors, nurses and staff at Conemaugh hospital who worked so hard that first day in surgery, and in all the subsequent surgeries, and who provided such great care and treatment. To the specialists and staff at Healthsouth who worked hard to help him get his strength back and back on his feet. To the people at Penn State, who through the kindness of their hearts helped make sure my brother, and my mother, were able to take the time needed to heal while keeping their jobs waiting and keeping both of them in income. To the anonymous people who donated the blood that was used to keep him alive. And to the many family and friends of my brother, who sent so many well wishes, good vibes and prayers that it would have been impossible for him not to get better. To my friends, who helped keep me sane. And to my dad, who was such a rock, and my mom, who showed such love, strength and caring that I never thought was possible to come from just one person. I could never say thank you enough to any one of these people for keeping my brother with us.

And with that, I bid you adieu. I am sure there are parts of the story I missed, sometimes time will allow things to slip through the cracks. And I am willing to bet I remembered a few things out of order after that first week. Is it not odd that the most painful memories are also the clearest? But for the most part it is all there. And putting it down in black and white proved to be far more painful than I would have imagined. It amazed me to find that the feelings of the time, of everything we all went through, were so close to the surface. I found myself more than once while writing close to tears, thinking of the pain and anguish of not knowing what would happen, of seeing my brother bruised and broken, of seeing him sad and depressed. I was floored at how elated I found myself in thinking of his first signs of recovery, his first real conversations and of his finally coming home. Recalling everything that happened ten years ago felt at times like they happened ten minutes ago. I would like to tell you more, and one day I may. One day I will tell you more on the amazing life of my little brother. But in the meantime, I need to go and make a very important phone call. I cannot let such an occasion pass without a hearty congratulation.