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Brain Go BOOM! Author/Survivor: John Cooper Chapter 25: Church W hen I awoke from the coma, praying to Jesus on the cross was one of the first things I did. I prayed to Him first, in thanks for sparing me my life. And secondly, to give me the strength and ability to overcome what was ahead of me. I prayed several times a day, especially late at night when I was alone. During the horrific vasospasms, I remember saying, “Jesus, why have you forsaken me?” This, I believe, goes back to my childhood and the movie I watched every year before Easter where Jesus was nailed to the crucifix. (Again, I must reiterate that it is not my intention to compare myself or my pain to Jesus.) The pain was that real for me. I prayed vigilantly every day. I prayed in fear and I prayed in anger. I prayed every night in the ICU at Hospital J and at Peat Rehab while staring up at the ceiling and trying to count the holes in the tiled ceiling panels, which was enough to make anyone go mad, yet alone a brain injured person. I made the pact that so many often do: “If you get me out of here, Jesus, I will go to church every Sunday.” I prayed and I prayed and I prayed. I was now home and it was time for me to hold up my end of the bargain. I was confident that church would be a safe haven, even better than the Mart. My gracious neighbor offered to drive M and I to mass with her family. Overly self-conscious about my appearance with the big white helmet, I attempted to compensate by being sharply dressed. I chose to sit in the last, small pew in the back of the church with my daughter, as it only held three people and offered a miniature closed environment—an easy escape route as certain noises and situations made me anxious. If need be, I could exit expeditiously. The first mass I attended, I looked up at Jesus on the massive cross and tears filled my eyes and quickly rolled down my cheeks. It was an extraordinarily spiritual and powerful moment. It felt like there was no one else there except for my daughter, Jesus on the cross and me. I had seen Jesus on the cross thousands of times before but it had never impacted me the way it did that day. I was stumped, but at peace. As mass went on, RED LIGHTS started staring Page 64 of 167
Brain Go BOOM! Author/Survivor: John Cooper at me and, before long, it was time for communion. M had not received her first communion yet, but I had always taken her up in front of me to have her blessed by the priest. As I walked down the aisle to receive communion, BOOM!, there were RED LIGHTS, RED LIGHTS and even more RED LIGHTS; in front of me, behind me and all to the left and right of me. M was seeing, feeling and living my pain and humiliation; what did I do to deserve theses looks? I felt like saying to anyone that looked at me the way they did, “Shame on you, shame on all you bastards.” I didn’t stop or turn around, but tried to smile and look straight forward as we continued our journey down the aisle to receive communion. As M and I walked back to our small church pew in the back of the church, more RED LIGHTS stared and gawked upon my daughter and I. I wanted to yell, “Keep my daughter out of your ugly looks and thoughts. Go to Hell!“ We went to our pew and I said my final prayer while staring at Jesus on the cross. I wasn’t crying that time; I was shaking my big white helmet head back and forth in disbelief. I told M it was time to go and we left. We waited in the parking lot, on the other side of my neighbor’s minivan. I figured that it would provide a good height barrier from any additional RED LIGHTS coming out of mass. I did continue to attend church, but haven’t been back to that particular church since. Can you blame me? In time of needing support, I got RED LIGHTS and feelings of condemnation. I see things more vividly now. I pray at home every night with my daughters. We pray for everyone that is less fortunate and more fortunate than us. We even pray for those RED LIGHTS because they are less fortunate than us. I do pity those that think just because they show up on any given Sunday, put their money in those little white dated envelopes and think or try to act like they are good people, that they will automatically be granted a free pass into heaven to meet Jesus. I’m not sure, but I don’t believe it works that way. I feel sorry for them. Mind you, not everyone in that church was cruel, but there was a remarkable amount of them. In my eyes, anything more than one is unacceptable, excluding children. Page 65 of 167
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