Today is my youngest son’s 37th birthday. A couple of years ago he went into a coma after an old friend gave him a “kill shot” with the intent to rob him. We didn’t know if he’d survive a week, let alone recover. He has since married and moved on, still suffering from short-term memory and other symptoms of a traumatic brain injury. But he’s keeping on keeping on! Here are poems we wrote about his bad trip. I CAN’T SLEEP By David Allen I can’t sleep while my son sleeps this troubled sleep. A seizure slapped his skull with a wash of blood that squeezed his brain and forced the sleep with eyes rolled up and shaking limbs. A tube plunged down his throat helps him breathe, while one in his skull drains the invading blood. And we caress him and hold his hands and give assurances of undying love, as he sleeps the drug-induced sleep from which we were told might never end. I can’t sleep while my son sleeps what well might be the final dream about what may or may not come next. I WAS ASLEEP By Matthew Allen I was asleep for two weeks. Then I woke up relearning how to speak, walking on legs that were already weak. I asked if the hemorrhage was from the tweak. Yup The tweak exploded a vein in my brain causing a blood clot, killin’ parts of the gray matter that controlled movement on my left side, my speech, and short term memory. It was a little like blowin’ a head gasket or having a water pipe burst and flood the basement. I’ll tell you about it, but, don’t ask me too much. I don’t know why my “friends ” gave me what the cops called a “kill shot” to knock me out and steal stuff from my Dad’s house. The docs are telling me my memory May not ever be the same, But I know one thing --I’m still fightin’ and will get better While those “friends” rot in prison.
Matt and his wife Heather
Type Dancing 