by Donna Poole
Ten years ago, my family watched the doors leading to the neurosurgery operating room swing shut behind me. Their long prayerful vigil began.
The day before, our five-year-old grandson, Reece, had been so worried about me that he’d sobbed all day. He’d still been crying that evening when we met for food and fellowship in a friend’s home.
Reece curled up next to me in a chair, and we talked quietly. I couldn’t promise him I’d be alright; no one had assured me of that. Brain surgery is serious business. But I did try to calm his fears. He didn’t want me to be alone during surgery.
“I won’t be alone, Reece. Jesus will stay with me every minute. He’ll take care of me. And he’ll be with you too. I’ll try to come home soon, and then you can come see me, okay?”
He nodded, but he still cried.
When it came time to leave, he hugged me as tightly as little boy five-year-old arms can hug and walked me to the door.
“Come back inside, Grandma Donna,” he said, tugging my hand.
“We have to go home now, Reece,” my husband John said.
“I just need her for a minute.”
We couldn’t resist him; those blond curls, those beautiful brown eyes, that tear streaked face.
Reece pulled me back to the chair we’d just left and climbed into it with me.
“I’m going to pray for you,” he said.
He prayed. He asked God to take care of me. He told me he loved me. And then he stopped crying.
I went into surgery for a brain aneurysm surrounded by so many prayers of family and friends. One friend had played a beautiful hymn on her flute the day before at church, “His Eye is on the Sparrow.” Civilla D. Martin wrote the hymn lyrics in 1905:
Why should I feel discouraged
Why should the shadows come
Why should my heart feel lonely
And long for heaven and home
When Jesus is my portion
A constant friend is He
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches over me
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me
I sing because I’m happy
I sing because I’m free
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me (He watches me)
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches
I know He watches
I know He watches me
When I had to let go of John’s hand, I didn’t go into surgery alone. That song, Reece’s pray, and the love and prayers of my family and friends went with me. And Jesus? He was already there.
I woke up from surgery minus one brain aneurysm and plus one piece of artificial dura and thirteen pieces of hardware: three clips, seven screws, and three burr hole covers. Recovery wasn’t easy and some things never returned to normal. I forgot how to jump and run and still can’t do those things, but many people lose the ability to walk during that surgery, so I’m not complaining. They sent me home with a souvenir—seizures. But the experience gave me too many gifts to list. I found a new joy in living, a new compassion for people who are suffering, and made many new brain aneurysm and brain AVM friends.
In some ways the surgery seems like yesterday; in other ways it seems a lifetime ago.
Saturday was a vivid reminder of how much has changed in the decade since surgery. That little grandson Reece, the one with the tear-streaked face, came Saturday with a chain saw to help his grandpa clean up from a devastating ice storm we’d had recently. He worked hard and smart, like the wonderful young man he is.
I watched him work, and I wondered, what had happened to the little boy I’d loved so much?
I blinked. That’s what happened. I blinked, and ten years flew by.
Some things haven’t changed a bit. Reece still has curls, though they are darker now. His compassion remains; if anything, it’s stronger. He still loves his grandma. When he came to help his grandpa, I didn’t remind him it was the ten-year anniversary of my brain surgery. I didn’t mention his tears on that long ago day. I just fed him spaghetti, listened to him talk, and kept my tears to myself.
Why my tears? I love the wonderful young man, but I miss the little boy.
But isn’t it true that inside every good man the best of the little boy he once was still lives? And if Reece is anything, he’s a good young man.
When it came time for Reece to leave. I thanked him and hugged him goodbye. I wasn’t just hugging the tall fifteen-year-old young man; I was also hugging the five-year-old boy who will forever live in his grandma’s heart.
I wish I’d pulled him back inside and prayed for him like he did for me ten years ago, but I didn’t. I’ll pray for him and all my grandchildren tonight before I sleep. It’s the best way I know to say how much I love them.
You messed with my mascara again!!! This reminds me of when my husband had an infection in his spine and had horrendous pain for two months until it was diagnosed correctly. A 9-year-old boy asked each week if his pain was better because he prayed for him each day. The faith of a child will carry us over those humps in the road. And it will be long-remembered.
This is a lovely post. Thank you for sharing your story with us.
Jennifer,
Thank you for reading it! We authors sit in our little corners and type and can only hope someone out there will take the time to read!
Blessings,
Donna
That’s so true! I think you are one of the people referenced in Wendy Widder’s new memoir? I’m the spiritual director referenced at the end. I, too, am working on a book at the moment…
What an incredibly beautiful memory. Thanks for sharing that sweet moment with us.
Cindie,
Thank you for making my memory sweeter by appreciating it. God bless you.
Donna
What a precious story Thank You
Jane,
Thank you for being an encourager!
Blessings,
Donna
Beautifully writing, Donna❤️ and I know exactly what you mean by blinking and everything changes i the blink of an eye!
My granddaughter was 10, almost 11 when i had my aneurysm, next month she will be twenty-one!!! She remembers me pre aneurysm but my teenage grandson does not. That saddens me, but by the grace of our loving God I am here to see them growing, all the while remembering the sweet little children that i rocked and held in my arms…just one blink ago.
Jean,
Yes, just a blink. I hope I didn’t miss your ten year anniversary on Facebook. If I did, let me say now I’m grateful God spared your life and let you and I become friends!
Blessings,
Donna
Our church choir just sang “ His Eye is on the Sparrow” on Sunday. Thank you for sharing such a blessing !
Pam,
Sending love and hugs west to you!
Donna
Thank you Donna! The older we get the more of those precious memories of the goodness of God and His blessings there are to remember. What precious memories we have of those Crocker dorm and Park Avenue Baptist days at Johnson City! Who would have guessed that God would have done so much for us in these 57 (yikes!9) years. Thanks for sharing. We love you and John!
I don’t know why it won’t let me post this! Thank you Donna! The older we get the more of those precious memories of the goodness of God and His blessings there are to remember. What precious memories we have of those Crocker dorm and Park Avenue Baptist days at Johnson City! Who would have guessed that God would have done so much for us in these 57 (yikes!9) years. Thanks for sharing. We love you and John!
Fred,
John often mentions those good old days with you and Paul T. in his sermon illustrations. Sometimes it seems like yesterday. We’ll have eternity!
God bless you and Rachel and your TRIBE!
Donna
beautiful bitter sweet parallels of our 5 yo neph who also is now a fine young man full of love and caregiving support of his dearly departed grandma and me. So full of love he was the first to speak up to unplug his poor momma suffering on life-support with 0 hope from doctors. Prayers continue for you and the “lil boys”. Dylan is also chainsawing trees that caused 5600$ in car damages! Thank you for sharing to remind us to reflect back and give thanks for these Blessings. God Bless! May our parallels be all good with good safe chain-sawings!
Ron,
God bless you. Thank you for your prayes. I’m so sorry about your car damage and so glad Dylan helped you!
Blessings!
Donna
TOO much! I wept with love for you! Psalm 34
Donna Gray,
I think of you and years roll away. See how I made that little poem there? I love you, my old friend.
Donna
Oh Donna, how I love this. My heart is full. Thank you for sharing this precious memory concerning your young grandson. You are a great blessing to me.
P.S. My mother’s name was Donna, and her great clan of grands and great-grands called her Grandma Donna – as well as all the children at our church for several decades. She went to heaven in January 2022, and is greatly missed by her host of adoring fans. When I read “Grandma Donna” in this piece, tears flooded my eyes. This hard, dark world needs all the Grandma Donnas it can hold. May your lovely and adored tribe ever increase.
Deborah,
It makes me so happy to hear there was another Grandma Donna!
God bless you and yours.
Donna