Don't Tell Me to Pray

October 23, 2014 6:00 PM

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Don't Tell Me to Pray

On April 1, 2006 my middle son, Adam, fell into a coma. He had been sick for about a week with what doctors perceived to be a virus. Although my mommy gut told me that something else was happening inside of his body, I took care of him from the vantage point that he would soon get better. When he seemed to be improving, I sent him off to his dad's house for the weekend. Twenty-four hours later, I received the call that nearly crippled me. Adam suddenly spiked a fever of one hundred and five degrees and was having grand mal seizures.

Upon arriving at the hospital, I knew things were horribly wrong. He was still convulsing and looked as if death was just a heartbeat away. I fell to my knees, unable to stand or breathe. Why was this happening to such an awesome kid? He was so full of life just a week before, playing basketball in ...

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