My Son Died… and Came Back
In June 2016, my 10-year-old son tried to end his life. He missed his Papaw, who had passed away the year before, and none of us realized how heavy that grief had become for him. When we found him, he had no heartbeat. No pulse. He was life-flighted and spent nearly a week on life support. No signs of brain activity. No improvement.
Never in my life did I think suicide would touch my family, let alone my own child. Jared had an incredible spirit, overflowing with energy and affection. After Papaw died, he got angry, short-tempered, and easily frustrated but I thought it was just a phase. Like most boys his age. He told me he was fine.
The day before it happened, I was with my mom and sister. Jared seemed off irritable but nothing alarming. He went into the guest room. I figured he was sneaking ice cream again, like he always did when he was upset. Noticing the porch light was still on, my mom asked him to switch it off. When she went to the room, the door was locked. I had to get the key.
I’ll never forget her scream. My son had hung himself. His face was purple, his lips had blood. He was on his knees, leaning forward. My baby was gone.
I was 30 weeks pregnant and could only scream for help. My mom and sister got him down. I ran into the street, screaming and pleading, ‘My baby boy is gone! Somehow, my mom got him to breathe again. He was struggling, but he was breathing.
At the hospital, they warned us it didn’t look good. He was hooked to machines, in an induced coma, body temp all over the place, one lung collapsed. They told us he might never come back. If he did, it wouldn’t be the same.
I sat at his side for days. Watching, praying, stroking his hair. Telling him I wasn’t leaving. That I loved him. And then, he opened his eyes.
It was a miracle. The doctors couldn’t explain it. He had scratch marks on the back of his neck, signs he tried to save himself. But he passed out, stopped breathing, and somehow… came back.
God gave me my son not once, but twice.
Jared’s Words:
I was nine years old when I discovered my Papaw had passed away. I never said how I really felt. A year later, I made a decision that almost ended everything. I had no pulse. But I survived. The doctors said I shouldn’t be here. But I am.
If you’re hurting, speak up. Don’t stay silent. You’re not alone. You are worthy. Find something that makes you smile. For me, it’s fishing. And life. I’m so thankful I’m still here.”
