The Miracle of Another Chance The Miracle of Another Chance

The Miracle of

Another Chance A TRUE STORY

Cleo W. Jeppson Sutter

The Miracle of

Another Chance

d A Tr u e S t o r y

Cleo W. Jeppson Sutter

THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE Copyright ©2012 by Cleo W. Jeppson Sutter First draft written in May, 1987 All rights reserved. Printed in the United States. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without permission in writing by the author. ISBN: 978-0-9826525-6-5 Cover by Jolynn Jeppson Forman

Dedicated to

Dennis Because of his courage and constant effort to improve himself

No matter who you are, where you have been, what you have done . . . when your heart is willing and your mind is ready— our Savior will be there for you. This is a true story with experiences of hope and of miracles and Second Chances.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

d To My Cheering Section

Family

and Friends that gave me encouragement needed I express GRATITUDE and love and thanks to Tina Burningham Frank Cline Sheri Cole Shelly Coleman Steven Cottrell Jean Crowther Jolynn Forman Virginia Hahn Connie Hazen Carol Hodson Roma Jenkins Edward A. Sutter

FOREWORD

d If we follow God . . .

if we are determined, have faith, and are humble, we experience His choice blessings. ___________

You know the kind of “never” we find ourselves saying?

We hear ourselves weaving it into conversations “Oh, that will ‘never’ happen to me . . . I am so glad I will ‘never’ have to cope with . . . I will ‘never’ have to be . . .” and so on. We say it to ourselves like an invisible insurance against trials. Not too long ago, one of those “never happenings” did happen . . . to one of my favorite people. ___________

This is a story about a tragedy with eventual blessings . . .

a dune buggy accident that happened to my son, Dennis. It

is a true story about drugs and disobedience—followed by

hope, faith, courage, miracles, and the unconditional love Heavenly Father has for His children, even when they are

not living worthily. It’s an experience I felt compelled to tell.

Although we can’t go back and make a brand new start

d We can start now to make a brand new end

CHAPTER ONE

d

Heavenly Help and Angels

Were All Along The Way



“Mrs. Jeppson”, the doctor said, “Your son, Dennis,

will be blind, . . . deaf, . . . paralyzed on the right side, . . .

unable to speak, . . . all the bones in his face are broken with some repositioned, . . . and others are missing. . . . He will be unable to learn . . . or think properly. He is brain damaged! The WORST you can expect is death within the

next few hours or days. The BEST you can expect is a rest home for the remainder of his life.” This was Dr. Carlos A.

Carrion, a neurologist at the St. Joseph’s Hospital, Barrows Neurological Wing, Phoenix, Arizona speaking. It seemed to me, this Dr. Carrion had it all backwards! The best I could hope for is death. The worst, would be for him to live.

It happened November, 1983. Dennis had just turned

28 years old. It was Thanksgiving time. A time for celebra-

tion for some, and a time to give thanks to God for the bounties of life for others. Dennis chose to celebrate. He

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

planned to spend the holiday at Rocky Point, Mexico, a small settlement about 200 miles south of Phoenix, Arizona.

Mexico: where rich and poor alike go to vacation,

unwind from the tensions of work, suntan, laugh with

friends, and run along the ocean edge as the water laps at

soft warm sands and sprays the browned bodies. No pretense here. A place to be yourself with friends who will let you be yourself.

Dennis and a group of buddies purchased an old car,

as they had in previous years. They ‘modernized’ it, restyling it with a blow torch, and cutting the top off it—styling it into a convertible. They created a real junker out of it,

with Texas steer horns attached onto the front hood. After their holiday, they planned to sell the car to the highest Mexican bidder. This would be a beer-brawling, happygo-lucky, devil-may-care holiday. The sky was the limit!

Dennis flew with a friend, Ryan, from Salt Lake City,

Utah to Phoenix, Arizona where all the gang met to drive the last part of the trip together. Sleeping bags, cameras,

tents, etc. were loaded into the newly fashioned car and

they were off, arriving in Rocky Point on Thanksgiving Day.

After setting up camp, Dennis left the group he’d trav-

eled with to visit a local bar. After meeting a girl in the bar

and spending time with her on the beach, they left together. It was late into the wee early hours of the next morn-

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11

ing. Upon leaving the beach area, the girl flagged down a

ride back to camp for Dennis with an acquaintance of hers, Rick, and waved good-bye to both of them.

Dennis rode in the back seat, as Rick sped over the

sand in his mother’s homemade dune buggy, showing off

the high speed capability of the dune buggy. The driver’s judgment was severely limited by his evening‘s use of alcohol. They hit a large hole in the sand where a sand castle

had been made the day before. Dennis’ body flew up and

out of the dune buggy landing upon some rocks. Rick was thrown clear as the buggy landed on top of Dennis.

d

Ann, and her friend Marie, had come from Chicago

to Phoenix to visit their friend, John. After arriving there, the three friends decided to go camping in Mexico. They

set up camp on the beach at Puerto Penasco in a remote area far from other campers. They went to bed late, falling asleep sometime between midnight and 2:00 a.m.

There were many all-terrain vehicles being driven

around on that desolate beach. Ann was awakened for

a brief moment by someone racing by their tent, almost knocking it over. Sleepily, she was aware that people were still up partying. Other vacationers had set up camp, but none within a mile of her tent.

About 2:00 a.m. or later, Ann woke up again, but this

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

time to an unfamiliar voice screaming from out of the

night. She awakened John and said, “Something is go-

ing on out there! What is that terrible noise?” Looking out through the back of the tent, they saw a light beyond the

sand dunes. Not being able to figure out what the horrible noise or what the light was, they went searching, with flashlight in hand.

Their flashlight revealed an accident! A dune buggy

was upside down on one person. Another man, thrown

clear of the buggy, was screaming out of his mind. It was his

screaming that was heard through the darkness of night.

Rick, the dune buggy driver, was shaking a loose light on the back of the vehicle, frantically trying to get someone’s

attention. His sounds awoke the only help available. Dennis, being under the buggy, was obviously badly injured, and his breathing was extremely poor. There was blood everywhere—all over the place!

Ann and John were hysterical at this sight. They knew

they couldn’t take care of the person under the buggy and

rushed back to the tent to awake Marie. Marie was an intensive care nurse (ICU), who had just finished some training in trauma work. They wakened Marie out of a sound

sleep, and asked her to go see what she could do for the victims, while they went to find help. Marie could see the

other man in the accident was at least mobile, but he wasn’t coherent, so she couldn’t tell the extent of his injuries.

Dennis lay face up with the dune buggy on both of his

H E AV E N LY H E L P A N D A N G E L S W E R E A L L A L O N G T H E WAY

13

legs. She could see the extensive damage to his face and head. He was laboring for breath. His head was split like a pumpkin: opened from under his nose, and up through

the nose area, between the eyes, over the left side of the

forehead, over the top of the skull and down to the back of his head. He was bleeding badly. Exposed brain tissue was covered with sand. All Marie could do at this time was to wrap his head to keep more sand and dirt from entering

the wounded area. In the meantime, Rick was taking off the license plates and trying to run away, so he would not be discovered as being involved in the accident.

Ann and John sped down the beach until they found

a campsite. They jumped from their car, waved their arms

and yelled, trying desperately to wake someone to come and help. They saw a pickup truck and felt they needed it to pull the dune buggy off Dennis. The little fishing village

Ann had seen earlier, the day before, was still one mile further down the road. It seemed there was not time to search

for help there. Finally, a guy came out of his tent and said, “BE QUIET. WE WILL HELP YOU!”

Ann said, “We need a four-wheel drive vehicle. A per-

son is trapped under a dune buggy and we need help to free him.” Several men, that were now awake, jumped into

the back of the truck. Arriving back at the accident, they decided not to use the four-wheel drive truck because it could roll back onto Dennis and injure him further. Instead, all the men circled the buggy and together they lifted it off Dennis.

14



THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

Ann’s car was a Volkswagon Rabbit, too small to be

used as an ambulance. Where could they go for help now? The only close building they had seen was a restaurant in

the tiny fishing village a mile away. Two of the campers of-

fered their truck. They laid Dennis onto a sleeping bag and slid him into the back of the truck feet first. Marie climbed in, and Ann climbed in after her pulling the back of the

truck shut. Rick was put into the front seat with the two campers, while John followed in the VW Rabbit.

The drivers of both truck and car sped down the dirt

road fifty miles per hour, not knowing where to find help.

Someone, suddenly remembered having seen a building

with a red cross painted on it. They stopped the only taxi

driver in the little village and somehow communicated their need for medical help. The cabbie agreed to lead them to a small clinic where a doctor was on duty.

As they drove along, Ann asked, “Is there anything we

can do?” Marie answered, “All you can do is pray that he

keeps breathing.” Then Marie said, “Do you know CPR?” and Ann answered, “Well yes, but I don’t see any place on his face we can do CPR, his face is so badly crushed.” The girls prayed, calling upon the Lord, the first of what

seemed to them like a thousand times before the morning ended.

They held the truck gate shut the best they could,

trying to protect Dennis from roadway dirt that swirled

around his exposed face making his condition worse. He

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15

kept breathing all the time, but there was no way they could protect him. He was partly scalped and too exposed to even use applied pressure to halt the bleeding.

Arriving at the clinic, they carefully carried Dennis

in—sadly to find out the doctor would not treat him or care for him in any way. The people at the small clinic put him up on a high narrow table and just left him to die in a

little room by himself. They refused to give him an IV nor

any kind of help—leaving the little rescue team desperate.

Marie was frustrated. She was trying to help care for

Rick as well, but the clinic employees wouldn’t let her help

him either. One of the doctors finally said, “Call this number,” but he did not speak very good English. Marie called and asked if there was a doctor at this number, but was

told the closest doctor was at a hospital across the border and was given another telephone number for help.

There was no ambulance. The clinic refused to trans-

port Dennis to the border. They wanted no part of helping

Dennis medically or in any other way. So Marie and Ann

agreed, something had to be done, and it would be up to them to do it.

Ann called the number given them from their previous

call. The number was for a woman who had a small plane

and could, hopefully, fly Dennis out to the United States. Upon calling her, they learned the plane wasn’t working

and couldn’t come. Also, they were told that whoever decided to come down to get Dennis could not come at night.

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

No one could cross the border at night. They would have to wait until sunrise.

It was now about 3:00 a.m. The minutes were adding

up, as Dennis gasped for each breath. He had lost so much blood, how could he hang on?

Marie, having worked in Chicago disaster drills, was

aware of a network of trauma centers located throughout the country. She asked the lady with the disabled plane

if there was some other place with a plane that could be called upon for help. She was directed to a medical center

that had an evacuation unit, but the medical center could not evacuate him. They couldn’t cross the border. They

were willing to come to the American side of the border

if Dennis could be brought to the Mexican side. The little clinic personnel again refused to help.

Meanwhile Dennis was left unattended. There was no

one in the room with him because Ann was on the phone and Marie was in the other room trying to help Rick. Consequently, Dennis fell off the table onto the hard cement

floor, BUT HE KEPT BREATHING. The little compassion-

ate group had no idea how he ever kept breathing . . . it was awful!

During this terrible experience the police arrived to

question the girls. Because of language differences, they were unable to understand each other, so the police left.

The two male campers with the pickup truck spent

their time trying to find Rick’s relatives. They drove to the

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17

retirement area where Rick’s mother lived and knocked on doors, awaking everyone in the village that night to find

out who he was and where some family might be. They had a little information from Rick’s wallet. Dennis and Rick had met for the first time that fateful night.

Dennis was lifted back upon the table. The clock now

read 6:00 a.m. Morning was on its way and hopefully, a rescue plane as well. It had been a night filled with shock

and stress of a nature that Marie and Ann had never before experienced.

The girls were finally able to convince the doctor to do

a tracheotomy, which allowed Dennis to breathe through a

hole in his throat. Marie kept badgering the clinic personnel to at least put an IV in his vein to get some fluids into his body.

Not willing to give up, Marie called again to the U.S.

Medical Center asking, “Where can I get permission to

have you cross the border and fly to this clinic?” Marie

made one phone call after another to many people in emergency rooms. There was one lady in an emergency room

who kept supplying her with number after number to call

for help. After Marie would call a number with no success,

she would phone back again to receive a new number to try, searching everywhere possible for a positive answer to her pleas.

Eventually, she called a number that was the Air Force

Rescue Center at Scott Air Force Base in Illinois. They

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

could dispatch a plane from Luke Air Force Base in Ari-

zona. Somehow Marie connected with Luke AFB and was asked if Dennis was a veteran. Marie didn’t know. The personnel at the base instructed her to look at his identification to see if she could find a service ID card.

In the act of searching Dennis for ID, the doctor dis-

covered a small packet of illegal drugs in his pocket. The

girls became really scared at this point, thinking they could get into trouble with the Mexican authorities if they were found helping Dennis, because of the drugs. It was Marie

and the doctor who found it. After the doctor had searched

all his pockets and pulled out the small bag of drugs, Marie looked at it, then at the doctor. Both looked at each other and then without a word, the doctor put it back in Dennis’

pocket. However, searching through his wallet, they could not find any information saying he was a veteran.

Upon relaying this information to Luke Air Base, base

personnel said, “You have to give us a phone number to

prove this is not a joke. We will call you back to verify this story.” Ann gave the phone number of the clinic and said,

“You people are out of your minds. This is no joke.” She

hung up and waited for their return call—the only ray of hope she’d found so far.

Luke AFB never called back, so Ann re-dialed and

asked, “Why are you taking so long! What is the story?”

They had actually tried calling Ann, but the clinic line was being used by someone in the other room. By this time

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19

the girls were very upset and stunned with the attitude

of those at the clinic. The clinic would not give more treat-

ment, or help in any way, or arrange for transportation to drive Dennis to the border and they managed to block the one call that could bring help.

During their second call to Luke AFB, the girls were

told they would have to call the Pentagon to get special permission, because Dennis was not a veteran. They

would have to give the full story to the Pentagon and get

full approval. This they did, and waited for a call to come from either the Pentagon, Scott or Luke Air Force Base saying help would come.

During this tedious, frustrating, emotional time of

making phone calls, there was a dispatch person who was

a saint, helping Marie in her search, as well as, a nurse in an intensive care unit. It was amazing to Marie that key

people were there as she needed them waiting to help her. She said, “Just when all seemed lost and the task looked impos-

sible, a special person would be on the phone to help me. All along the way this happened. I can’t understand why they were there.”

Eventually the call came instructing Marie to get the

Mexicans to agree to turn the landing lights on at the little

airport nearby. She asked, “How do we get permission to let you cross the border?” The voice on the other end said, “All that has been taken care of.”

The next step was to call the police in town and ask

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

them to have the airport lights on at a certain time, so the

U.S. Military helicopter could land. Marie was, also, told that she must find a doctor across the border that would

accept Dennis at a trauma unit, prepare the doctor to receive the patient, get the doctor’s name, and report back to Luke AFB. All this was done with no record of an insurance policy in Dennis’ wallet.

According to the Journal of the American Medical

Association, in 1987, more than 250,000 emergency patients were turned away from the U.S.A.’s private hospitals each year, because they lacked health insurance, or enough cash.

Drawing upon information from Marie’s recent trau-

ma training, she called St. Joseph’s Hospital and Medical

Center, Barrow Neurological Institute within the hospi-

tal, in Phoenix, Arizona. She woke up the resident, gave him all the information and told him Dennis would arrive

about 10:00 a.m. The resident thought she was some crazy person.

Since the two men with the pickup truck had long be-

fore taken off, the girls had no way to transport Dennis

over to the little airport. So they—using guilt and coercion, talked to the Mexican doctor and he committed to take Dennis to the airport.

At this point, Ann and Marie were very anxious. They

wanted to leave. They were afraid the police would re-

turn to keep them in custody because of the drugs found in Dennis’ pocket. Rick was already in police custody be-

H E AV E N LY H E L P A N D A N G E L S W E R E A L L A L O N G T H E WAY

21

cause of his drinking and being the driver of the vehicle.

The people at the clinic had agreed to take Dennis to

the airport. The police had promised to have the airport

lights on, and the helicopter pilot had agreed to come down to rescue Dennis. ALL WAS SETTLED.

Even though Marie and Ann found it hard to leave

Dennis and trusting that all would go well, they were driven by their fear of being picked up by the police and

so, they returned to the campground. They decided to try

sleeping an hour or two before beginning their drive out of Mexico. Their tent blew down. Clouds came in. It was cold and was raining, so they just said, “Forget it! We are getting out of here.”

Emotion and worry pressed them to drive by the air-

port. Maybe they could see the helicopter land. They still

didn’t trust the doctor. They didn’t even really believe the plane would come. Hadn’t they made everyone make

promises before they left the clinic? But unexplainable things were happening all along through this experience.

They passed the airport at 8:00 a.m. not seeing a heli-

copter. Then they were afraid Dennis had died, were despondent and feeling they’d neglected their responsibility

and made the wrong decision to leave. Marie remembered

she had previously tested him for deep pain and he had responded showing he was in deep pain. They were furious at themselves for not waiting—for not taking him to the airport themselves and seeing that he had the care he

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

needed.

After driving about half an hour out of town, they fi-

nally spotted a U.S. helicopter coming over a hill headed

for town. They then left the country. Their happily anticipated holiday turned bittersweet and had lasted only 24

hours. The two friends drove as far as Tucson, Arizona and then called St. Joseph’s Hospital to see how Dennis was

doing. It was a difficult trip back to Chicago. They cried most of the way home and for days afterward.

As soon as Ann and Marie left, the police, or someone

at the clinic, went through Dennis’ pockets and took his

wallet, money, drugs and a $400 watch. He was sent back to the states without any ID!

Rick was held in Mexican police custody. His mother

and stepfather were located in the Mexican retirement settlement. Rick was held for four or five days by the Mexican police—in case Dennis died they would have a manslaughter charge against him.

By this time the news media had heard and sent re-

porters with cameramen into Mexico to collect the story. Their story, with film, appeared on a Phoenix news station the following day.

When the large military helicopter arrived in Phoe-

nix, it was discovered that the copter was too large to land at the small landing pad at St. Joseph’s. Consequently, it landed at a larger pad at Luke Air Force Base and Dennis

was transferred to a smaller helicopter that was able to set

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23

down at the hospital emergency pad.

Seventeen hours had elapsed between the time of injury and

the time he received medical help at St. Joseph’s. He was admitted as a ‘John Doe’ with no ID papers, no name nor insurance as far as the hospital personnel knew.

Dennis was taken into the emergency room of the Bar-

rows Neurological Wing. Dr. Carrion told me that his emer-

gency staff had seen many bad accidents, but this case was

the most difficult they had worked on. He said the staff had a hard time holding together while they worked on Dennis. Surgery lasted for eight to ten hours.

“Bizarre,” was the word Dr. Carrion used to describe

the injury as he told us the details so far. This initial surgery

only accomplished the beginning of what was yet to come. There was a 2 inch by 10 inch strip of skull bone missing

from his left forehead and up over the left side of his head.

The brain area was very swollen. The immediate need was

to place a temporary covering to protect the brain until the

swelling went down. An 18 inch cut was made on the outside of his left thigh to remove tendons that were used to weave a netting over the exposed brain area. A piece of bone, from his hip, was used to begin rebuilding a base for his nose and a possible way for an air passage, if he

should live. Some of his left frontal lobe from the brain was removed because it was badly crushed and was dead; also some brain tissue had been lost on the beach. About two square centimeters of tissue from his left frontal lobe was

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

gone forever from his speech center.

Two hours of the surgery time was spent just irrigat-

ing sand from amongst the brain tissues. His teeth were

wired and the jaw was wired almost shut. In the accident his gums were broken loose with damaged, fractured teeth still intact in the gums. He arrived in the hospital, with his

gums floating loose in his mouth cavity. His right ankle was also crushed.

d What Was Learned!

Throughout each of our daily lives

spiritual guidance and help is there for us if we want it and if we tune into it.

Dennis told me later, even in his horrible,

fragile condition his understandings were

“All I have to do is take one more breath and then . . . another breath”

which was the answer to Ann and Marie’s 1,000 prayers. Prayers are important. Prayers work with faith.

CHAPTER TWO

d

From A Greater Power



Thanksgiving for me was a time of “giving thanks.”

My family was large and this was my year to prepare Thanksgiving Dinner.

The four a.m. alarm directed me to the kitchen for a

quiet time alone, as I stuffed and stitched up the turkey.

I anticipated the coming hours with excitement, thinking of the many years spent with my grandmothers, now gone. I knew they felt this same happiness when preparing Thanksgiving many years ago.

Grandma-great was a marvelous teacher for a small

child. I remember rows of pies made from her gooseberry

patch lined up on pantry shelves, a turkey bulging with dressing in the old coal stove oven and yes, homemade ice

cream—hand churned on the cellar steps. There was fun

and laughter. Grandma’s old three story home was ours for the day. We could play hide-and-seek from the attic to

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

the basement and snack on leftovers until our small tummies could hold no more.

I prepared our old oak table, rescued from a decay-

ing garage near Bingham Copper mine. It’s base opened to extend out to seat eighteen to twenty guests. I dressed it

in my finest linens, sterling and crystal; arranged the floral center piece between the candelabra; and sprinkled mint

chocolates throughout. Pumpkin pies cooled on the counter top and steamed carrot pudding warmed on the stove waiting to be covered with lemon sauce.

My family began to arrive, dressed in Sunday best.

Their hands were laden with special foods prepared for

our dinner; candied yams, hot rolls, and appetizers, each person bringing a contribution to our feast.

There were hello’s, hugs, kisses, and little grandchil-

dren, their eyes sparkling with excitement. I wanted to gather them all to my breast, as a hen gathers her little chicks, and tuck them all in warm and safe near me.

Grandmother Jeppson, now 87, was our honored guest

and offered the family prayer. Between dinner and dessert we enjoyed our family tradition. Each one shared one

thing they were most grateful for during the past year, cre-

ating a feeling of closeness, of belonging and caring one for another.

As my family gathered together my thoughts went to

my son, Dennis, knowing he was spending another holiday in Mexico. I wished he’d been home with us.

F R O M A G R E AT E R P O W E R



27

The day after Thanksgiving is always a special day for

sales and Christmas shopping. My daughter, Pam, who

traveled from California, had received some early Christmas money from Grandmother. She wanted to buy a keepsake with it, possibly an opal ring.

Pam and I left home at noon and headed for the Cross-

roads Mall in Salt Lake City, just a twenty minute drive

away. The mall was bustling with people talking and laughing, happy in their activities. But I felt sad! I really

felt sad! I felt bogged down, heavy. . . . I told myself it was just a “day after syndrome” from having the responsibility

of the large dinner party the day before. The feeling would not leave me. I tried my best to push it from my mind.

Then I heard a real live voice calling, “MOM,” like it

came from a deep well or cylinder. It sounded like a child

calling, “MOM” with fear or panic in the voice. It was a physical sound, as real as any sound in the mall. I stopped

quickly and listened again, hearing nothing and unable to trace the direction of the sound. This happened about four

or five times that afternoon as I shopped. I recall thinking

at the time, “Why do I turn to answer? What’s bothering me? What’s wrong?” I wanted to enjoy my time with Pam because we have the chance so seldom, but I couldn’t ignore the feelings or the sound of a child calling out to me.

Pam and I returned home, then I left to attend an eve-

ning movie with another daughter, Teri, who was home from college. I thought I would take advantage of this

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holiday and enjoy the girls while they were available. We

love to have one-on-one times together. We saw the movie, “The Right Stuff”. It was about airplanes. “Airplanes”—I thought. “What was bothering me about airplanes?“ We finished the movie very late.

As we arrived home about 11:00 p.m., my husband

was waiting for us. He knew I would be home soon and wanted to tell me in person. He told me Dennis had been

in an accident and wasn’t expected to live! The night was terrible! I knew now, why I’d had all those strange feelings and heard the sounds of a child calling out to me.

As the Air Force Captain arrived to pick up Dennis in

Mexico, the only information they were given was a paper

from his wallet, reading “MOM,” accompanied with my seven digit local telephone number. After a twelve hour search (complicated because of surname differences) for

nearest of kin, a policeman knocked on our door. My husband, home alone, received the news. He was asked to call

the operations desk at Luke Air Force Base to get more details.

d

During the night I called the hospital and talked with

the assisting doctor, trying to get as much detail as possible. Then I asked him, “If a person can die with just one

clean little bullet hole through his head, how then, can my

F R O M A G R E AT E R P O W E R

29

son be alive with such major, multiple injuries?” A thousand feelings flooded my heart and I said, “I don’t want him to suffer like this!”

The doctor could not give me an answer, but cau-

tioned, “Come as soon as possible.” My husband, Jepp,

had already made reservations for us on the next flight that would leave in a few hours for Phoenix.

On our flight this Saturday morning, my mind was

preoccupied with another time; another accident. We had

received this type of call once before . . . “Please come as quickly as possible. Your son has been injured in an automobile accident and may not live.” This accident was eight years

earlier, while Dennis attended college at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. He was at that time, again, in

the back seat of a car, filled with young men out on a lark.

It was winter time with sub-freezing temperatures. The

car missed a curve in the canyon and landed down at the bottom of an embankment. The car was resting against a

tree, too low for headlights from other cars on the roadway

above to see anything amiss. Dennis lay in the back seat of that car until morning, probably six to seven hours. The other boys had left the car, dazed I suppose, and walked

miles down the canyon to Provo. In shock, maybe fearing the consequences, they were hours too long getting help

for Dennis. He lost part of a lung, part of the stomach, a

spleen and damaged a kidney, but he’d managed to recover from those terrible internal injuries.

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d

Early the next morning I sat on the plane, half wanting

to sleep to escape the fear and pain I was experiencing. I

was unable to do anything except lean and rest on my husband for comfort.

Arriving, I saw a helicopter land on the small pad

just outside the emergency door at St. Joseph’s Hospital. Knowing this same scene had taken place the day before with my son as the victim, I was glad I hadn’t been there to see it. I know I couldn’t have dealt with that sight!

The day didn’t seem real as I entered the building

and the ICU area! Nothing seemed real: the surroundings

of the stark hospital halls, the nurses working frantically, the equipment—nothing. Even Dennis didn’t seem real. I DIDN’T KNOW HIM. They showed me my son and I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HIM! I felt as if I’d been magically

transported into a TV melodrama and was going through the experience of acting out a script. I tried to relate to reali-

ty, concentrating, wanting to feel the floor or just some thing beneath my feet. I couldn’t feel anything solid. Yet, I knew I was physically standing on a floor. The only real thing I

could relate to was the warm, comforting, supporting arm of Jepp around me and I drew selfishly upon his strength.

My ears heard the doctor’s voice. My mind didn’t pro-

cess the information. I stood there, looking down at Dennis in the Intensive Care Unit bed; noticing a heart monitor,

F R O M A G R E AT E R P O W E R

31

a catheter and IV tubes, as his breathing labored through

the tracheotomy opening in his throat. I carefully studied

his shape and tried to find “one” familiar thing about this

swollen, injured body . . . a lock of hair or color of eyes,

skin; I tried to remember birthmarks, a familiar sound, or tone in this groaning voice. This panorama before me left

me wondering and saying to myself, “This cannot be Dennis!” I couldn’t even cry.

Previous pictures of him flashed through my mind. A

child with perfect form, flawless ivory skin, eyes of blue

and curly, dark-red hair upon his head like a bowl of Cherrios. A child, at whom people would stop and stare at, and comment, “What a beautiful boy!”

Dennis was a carefree spirit: sensitive, always con-

cerned with helping others and loving people most of all. He was very athletic, his favorite sport being skiing where

he raced on the Brigham Young University Ski Team. He loved to surf, learning how one summer when he worked

in Hawaii the year he graduated from high school. He enjoyed sky diving and had mastered the ability to jump with 21 other people, free falling, then linking up together

in the sky. They’d form a pattern that seemed to just hang

in the air, before they pulled the parachute cords to float gently to the ground below. He actually ran, jumped, and

parachuted off El Capitan, a 3,600 foot high, granite mountain in Yosemite National Park, California. Running rivers, playing tennis and golf were also part of his life.

32



THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

He lived life as if he would not be here tomorrow,

cramming as much activity into a day as possible. A few years before he’d said to me, “Mom, I’m not going to live

to be age 30.” Just before this Mexican trip, he celebrated his 28th birthday.

The doctor passed by in the hall again. I reached out to

touch his shoulder, to thank him. It seemed it was my position to thank this skilled doctor. But, I didn’t want to thank

him. I didn’t want to say, “Thank you, for saving my son’s

life.” I was sorry Dennis had lived! The best that would fall from my lips was, “I want to thank you for your expertise

and time spent with Dennis.” Even that wasn’t entirely honest.

Somehow he sensed my thoughts, and commented to

me, “I didn’t save your son. A power stronger and greater than

I saved him. When your son was brought into this hospital, he was missing six pints of blood. He should never have lived with six pints of blood missing, especially for 17 hours. A 160 pound adult has about ten pints in his entire body.”

A cold, quivering chill shot through my body, and I began

for the first time to really think about God’s involvement in this. “What could I do?” “What should I do?” “What would God want me to do?”

d

F R O M A G R E AT E R P O W E R

What Was Learned!

Quiet your fears with faith in the Lord . . . “If you are helpless, He is not. If you are lost, He is not.

If you don’t know what to do next, He knows. It would take a miracle you say?

Well if it takes a miracle, why not?” President Boyd K. Packer President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

33

CHAPTER THREE

d

A Child’s Faith and Prayer

from His Mother’s Teaching



I had fasted and prayed many times in my life for oth-

ers needing special help from Heavenly Father. I could fast

now, and most assuredly, there was a constant prayer in my heart. It was fine for others to ask for church congregations to fast and pray for their loved ones in time of need, but I’d never asked for this kind of help. I’d seen miracles

happen to others. What else was there for me to give Dennis at this time?

It was now Saturday evening. Being members of the

Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes referred to as the LDS Church or Mormon Church, my

thoughts went towards spiritual help. After discussing possibilities with my husband, I called our LDS Bishop in Bountiful, Utah. I asked him what he thought of the idea. Agreeing with me for the need, he said he would ask for

fasting, prayers and faith from the church members tomor-

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35

row in the Sunday meeting. I called two or three neighboring Wards in Bountiful to do the same. I also asked for his

name to be placed on the prayer roll in three LDS temples, knowing that all persons attending the temple sessions

for the next two weeks would pray, with special faith, for blessings for Dennis. Somewhere in my memory, I recalled

how faith is magnified when many people are joined together in one cause.

Having done that, I went to Dennis’ bedside. In the

ICU, families were allowed to visit for about three minutes every twenty minutes and then, only one person at a time.

It was my turn to see him. A young man lay in the bed next to his. This young man had crashed a motorcycle the day before. He died as I stood there watching him.

Such a busy place! White uniformed professional men

and women rushed from patient, to equipment, to records,

to patient again. I could feel their glances towards me, lending sympathy for the pain Dennis and I both felt.

I leaned down wishing for privacy to talk quietly in

Dennis’ ear. He could not communicate to me. I held his hand and told him I was there, that I loved him dearly, that

I had faith Jesus Christ is real, that Heavenly Father is real

and cares for us. I told Dennis I knew he believed that too. I told him I was praying for him and all our friends, fam-

ily and others would be fasting and praying for him. I told him to ask Jesus and Heavenly Father to be near, to guide and protect him, to give him peace and comfort.

36



THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

Dennis made no response, in his semi-comatose state.

But, I had recently read an article in the Readers Digest

magazine about a son that had lived for months in a semi comatose condition. After recovering, the son told how he was aware of family members visiting and talking to

him. He could not answer them back, but understood everything that was being said to him. I wanted to believe

Dennis could do this too—I whispered to his subconscious mind, hoping he could find some comfort in my being

there. Doctors urged us to get some sleep. Jepp and I left the hospital for a motel nearby, wondering if rest could come to us after so many hard hours.

Arriving at the hospital again Sunday morning, we

found he’d lived through the night. I knew people back

home had started to fast the night before and prayers would be offered by families and individuals this day. We

were fasting too. I myself, prayed that God’s will be done. Whatever He would do, whatever happened to Dennis at

this point, would be what God wanted to have happen. I firmly believed it!

So many doctors, so many nurses, and Dennis was re-

ceiving more intensive care than any other patients. To-

wards noon, good news came! Dennis began to move his right knee. He pulled his knee up past his waistline, also moving his right arm. Could this mean he would not be

paralyzed on his right side as previously thought? The right ankle was badly crushed in the accident and treat-

A C H I L D ’ S FA I T H A N D P R AY E R F R O M H I S M O T H E R ’ S T E A C H I N G

37

ment for it had been delayed because it was not a life threatening problem.

The eye surgeon who was with Dennis during the op-

eration, moved briskly through the swinging doors, leaving ICU to enter the waiting room where we were sitting. There was “hope” written all over his face. Dennis’ left eye

pupil had begun to dilate and respond to light. Then came the words, “It may be possible for him to see through this eye if the brain can cooperate, giving him sight in at least one eye.”

This information made it easier to catch our afternoon

plane flight back to Utah. Our family was fasting and waiting for our arrival, so we could all join in prayer together as a family. My daughters met the plane in Salt Lake City.

Seeing the stress in our countenances, they related an expe-

rience that would be the small, but strong, thread I would hold on to for months to come and remember for always.

The day before, which was Saturday, my daughter

Debbie had taken her little son Eric, then just four years

old aside to explain that his Uncle Dennis was hurt very

badly in a dune buggy accident. She told him that all the family would fast and have a family prayer together in Dennis’ behalf. They were standing in the hallway, near the bedroom of their small apartment.

She began, “Something really sad has happened to

your Uncle Dennis and I need to tell you about it. He was

in an accident down in Mexico and is seriously hurt from

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

that accident. When we say our prayers, we need to remember him.”

Eric said, “OK, Mommy, but I want to say a prayer right

now.” Debbie turned around and Eric was kneeling at the foot of her bed saying, “Come on Mom.” As she knelt by her young son, so mature for his years, he took her hand and she asked him if he needed help. “No, I want to say it by myself,” was his reply and he began, “Dear Heavenly Father, my Mommy’s brother, Dennis, has been hurt real bad. Please help my Uncle Dennis to get better. Help him to be able to come to his home. Help him to eat and grow. OK?” After a long pause, he said, “In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

Debbie wishing to comfort him, put her arm around

him and said, “That is a real special prayer. I am sure Dennis will appreciate you. Your prayer makes me very

happy.” Then she began to cry as she said, “Prayers help people get better.”

Eric responded, “Mom . . . he will get better.”



“Because when I said, ‘OK?’ In my prayer, Heavenly Father



“How do you know?” questioned Debbie.

told me OK back,” Eric stated.

The next day, this experience was on Debbie’s mind.

Still wondering, she quizzed Eric again, concerning Heavenly Father’s answering ‘OK’. Eric reaffirmed that God

had told him ‘OK’ in an audible voice and explained the sound and tone of the voice remarking, “Heavenly Father has a nice voice. Yes, a very nice, soft voice.”

A C H I L D ’ S FA I T H A N D P R AY E R F R O M H I S M O T H E R ’ S T E A C H I N G



39

Eric is a very bright child. His language was so ad-

vanced at age two that his mother and I decided to make

a list of the words he could speak and understand. A few weeks after his second birthday we listed his vocabulary, but stopped recording after the list reached 400 words.

From his first spoken word, he spoke clearly and used his vocabulary with skill.

d

We waited for the phone to ring wondering what the

news would be from the hospital. With a large family, I still

had many responsibilities at home and could not pick up and move indefinitely to Arizona. The next best thing would be daily phone calls and many frequent trips to St. Joseph’s.

After being home a few days, I found myself on the

plane again. Jepp could not leave this time because he was a manager in a very technical government position. It was agreed, he would stay, keep home together and I would do the traveling.

There Dennis was! Still lying in the same place and

same bed, in the Intensive Care Unit. Nurses couldn’t give

me much information. It’s true. . . . I wanted to awake from the bad dream I was living. It was a time of waiting, wondering, hoping and praying for the best result.

Later, I sat out in the little waiting room near ICU,

watching the clock to mark off each twenty minutes so I

40

THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

could go in. I just held his hand for a few minutes, and whispered in his ear that I was near and loved him.

What if he died? Intensive Care Units are the main

source of transplants. Could I lose my son and then, if called upon, give up part of him again?

Dennis had been the kind of little boy who would

fight the “bully” if a younger child was being picked on at

school. He was the one who ran out into the street at just five years old, and grabbed the neighbor’s baby, saving it from the impact of a speeding car. It missed them both by inches as Dennis pulled the child onto the curb. He had a

real tender spot in his heart for those in trouble. As I re-

flected on these things . . . yes, I decided I would give his organs away for transplants if necessary.

Without being able to ask Dennis, I knew this is what

he would want, to leave this earth giving something to someone to make a better life. At least that decision was

made. Something stable had been decided upon in this unstable situation. It almost gave me strength having made

a definite decision about something. Everything else was out of my hands.

Between visits I became aware of other families suf-

fering their own tragedies. People react differently, showing their fears in many ways. There was a beautiful young

black mother with a little daughter on each hand. Such a sweet little family. Her husband, Joey, was there with a bad head injury. An acquaintance of his had taken a baseball

A C H I L D ’ S FA I T H A N D P R AY E R F R O M H I S M O T H E R ’ S T E A C H I N G

41

bat and literally beaten in the side of his head . . . all over

the sale of some automobile tires. The acquaintance had misunderstood and lashed out in violent anger.

Another mother, about my age, was there, having

just flown in from the East. Her son had come out west

to attend his first year of college. He wanted to be near

the mountains so he could pursue his interest in mountain climbing. Unfortunately, he fell climbing a mountain and had very serious head injuries.

I stood up moving away from all this and walked to the

window. It was night time, in a city preparing for Christmas. On the streets below, people moved about, some shopping,

some laughing. About one half mile in the distance, was

a large, beautiful Christmas tree lit up with multicolored lights and placed on top of one of the buildings.

I thought about this. All of us here in this waiting room

were experiencing some of the worst life would deal to us, and those out there were happy and carefree it seemed.

At any moment, with just one quick mistake, one of them could be in here tomorrow, unsuspecting at the moment— but sure as sure, there would be more emergencies here

tomorrow. I thought, ‘Life is like a game of Russian Roulette.’

One thing I was thankful for . . . I knew God and His love

and His teachings. I knew I could draw strength from this

knowledge. Heavenly Father cannot or will not control people’s free mortal agency. He allows man his agency

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

to grow through personal choices. By doing that some are hurt, either by their own acts or the act of another

person. I could do anything if I were near enough to my Heavenly Father. I might not understand everything, but

I would try to grow and improve through this unbelievable experience.

A few weeks after Dennis was moved out of intensive

care, a former school friend from California stopped in to see him. His friend, Mark, was in Phoenix on a business

trip. Dennis was still unable to talk or communicate. As

I watched, Mark handed Dennis a large yellow legal size pad of paper with a pen and said, “Write something for me Dennis.”

With a lot of difficulty Dennis took the pen in his hand

and tried to make it say something legible on paper. He

would start, but was unable to formulate anything from

his mind to the paper. He just laid the pen down. He tried again, writing a very shaky squiggle on the paper.

Mark figured out that Dennis was trying to write “Smith”, Mark’s last name.

Seeing how impossible it was for Dennis, Mark said,

“Just draw me a circle.” It began just as a very tiny line, while those watching nearby around his bed cheered him on. The tiny line continued on and then connected back

to the beginning of the mark. Dennis had made an odd shaped circle! Not lifting the pen, he continued to draw

larger and larger, then faster and faster, scribbling one cir-

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43

cle on top of the other. This was his first communication with the outside world.

I remembered Dennis had not been given a Priesthood

blessing yet. How had we forgotten? I was searching my mind for any and all things I could do for him that might help and hadn’t used the greatest source. Arrangements were made for two Elders, from the Mormon church who

held the priesthood, to come and anoint his head with oil and give him a health blessing. As the blessing began, I

listened intently, waiting for words that would tell me

Dennis would be all right. Dennis was told that “If he was

healed, there would be a great responsibility for him to study the scriptures and live the gospel.” No promise was

made in the blessing. I was deflated, discouraged, and despondent.

The two Elders that gave the blessing talked to me af-

terward. They said, “It is almost as if God had not really

decided yet what He would do in Dennis’ behalf. It was as if there had to be some time for decision—and for Dennis to make his own decision as well.

There had been a change in Dennis’ teenage life about

age fourteen. Up until then he stayed close to us, loving, sensitive, happy and friendly. Everyone loved him. He had

a charisma that drew friends like a magnet, friends from

all kinds of groups . . . almost more friends than you could count. His sister remembers on family trips how he was always having fun, the fun kid. He specialized in fun, never

44

THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

afraid of anything. What he wanted to pursue and accomplish he learned fast.

As I look back I think it was at this time he started

using drugs, slowly, cautiously at first. In those days parents were so uninformed. We knew nothing about drugs or what to watch for in 1969. I don’t know for sure why it

happened. Maybe I wasn’t close enough to him. Maybe he wanted to have some fun with the wrong group of friends.

Maybe he was unhappy. Somehow I felt responsible. We were unaware of how to teach children to stay away from

drugs. The monstrous destroyer of people was on our quiet street in our small western town, the same as many streets in the world.

At the time of the accident, I knew what kind of life

Dennis was living; a life void of spiritual pursuits, a life that

included drugs, liquors and women. He had turned away from his heritage, family, and his religion and his God.

There in the hospital I could feel that God was aware

of everything. He knew it all. This would also be a test of my faith, as I mentally turned the outcome over to God. The scriptures reminded me that faith was essential. I reasoned that Dennis wouldn’t be alive this long without DIVINE HELP.

Being human, being a mother, I wanted and needed to

have a “promise” to hold on to and then my mind filled with the memory of Eric’s prayer. Four year old Eric. What

was the prayer . . . Eric had prayed? “To get well—to come

A C H I L D ’ S FA I T H A N D P R AY E R F R O M H I S M O T H E R ’ S T E A C H I N G

45

home—to eat—to grow!” My faith would have to sustain me, because I still didn’t know “how far” he would advance or “how much growth” he would achieve.

d What Was Learned!

Eric’s prayer was my promise!

Heavenly Father will answer the prayer. Book of Mormon, Alma, chapter 32, verse 23.

“And now, he imparteth his word by angels unto men, yea, not only men but women also. Now this is not all;

little children do have words

given unto them many times,

which confound the wise and the learned.”

CHAPTER FOUR

d

There Is a Purpose In His Living



Suddenly the expense of all this became a real concern

to me. How long would he be here? What would it cost to

rehabilitate him if he lived? How much had been spent so far? There was no way Jepp and I could pay for this. The

expense would be more than everything we and all of our children owned.

I phoned his business partner to see if he knew of a

possible insurance policy Dennis might have. After several phone calls back and forth, we were assured he did indeed have a policy. He did! But the amazing thing was Dennis, never before in all his 28 years held an insurance policy of any kind.

We found that just a few months before the accident,

he took out a one million dollar accident and health insurance policy. Also, one week before his holiday trip, he

signed a $50,000 life insurance policy (this amount would

THERE IS A PURPOSE IN HIS LIVING

47

actually pay for a college education in those years) to be given to his six year old son for schooling in case he was

accidently killed. Yes, he had told me he would not live to age 30. With this accident, he became a different person.

This policy turned out to be a gold mine. The compa-

ny paid quickly, both large and small expenses, as Dennis became the company’s second largest insurance claimant

in the state of Utah. The only other person claiming more medical costs was a paraplegic case.

Watching him suffer, still in the ICU, I suddenly be-

came very angry—angry at the doctors, nurses, social workers and everyone in the hospital that had anything to do with saving his life. I even wished he had died on

the beach. It would all be over now. Even the funeral—all over—and that would be easier than what waited ahead for us.

I found the hospital Public Relations person; the liai-

son between the staff and the patients’ families. I made an

appointment with her. Mary Lebra, that was her name. She was an attractive lady about 40 years old and very well

prepared for her job. I let out all my angry feelings on her in a most hostile way. I voiced anger at the doctor, mostly Dr. Carrion. Why did he save Dennis? What did he save

him for? A life in a bed? A life in a bed for someone who loved activity and adventure! Dennis would go crazy. I would go crazy. He could live like that for 50 years!

I told her the doctor wouldn’t do that to his own son,

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

if the choice were his to make. Why did he do it to mine? I

even wondered if they just wanted to experiment on Dennis, caring only about their own learning. I was really full of frustration, fear, concern and anger.

Then, studying her face, I thought how professional

she was, how well she handled her job. At the same time I wished for some kind—any kind—of answer that would make me feel better, to help me cope. Then she told me,

“Cleo, I don’t have all the answers you want. I can only tell you what happened. I was there when they brought Dennis in. It was very bad. The staff couldn’t decide what

to do. There are certain tests given when an emergency comes in, tests to determine if it’s proper to try to save a person’s life. There were four tests to run on Dennis. The

first, second, and third tests all failed—nothing there. The last test had four parts to it. It was at the last test, the last

part, the last chance and he came through with a slight response. Upon that slim little response, they decided to go

ahead with surgery.” I couldn’t believe it. Happily so many times Dennis had slipped through the gate, just at the instant it was closing. Now another miracle had happened! LETS REVIEW THE MIRACLES SO FAR

• He didn’t die in the crash impact.



• There was a nurse, yet a trauma nurse, wise and brave with all the knowledge to help him. She just

happened, just by chance, to be at the scene when she was needed.

THERE IS A PURPOSE IN HIS LIVING



49

• During the accident his skull opened to allow his

brain to swell freely. Many people have died from the pressure of the brain swelling because there’s no room for the expansion.



• He had been accepted into the hospital without



• He had survived with six pints of blood missing over



• He responded on the last possible response to deter-



• He was not paralyzed as first diagnosed.



• His vision was returning in one eye, surprising even



• By some stroke of luck, there was an insurance poli-

knowledge of name, insurance coverage or money. a period of 17 hours, an impossible condition. mine if surgery should be performed.

the eye surgeon.

cy to cover the expenses.

TRULY, HOW COULD A SERIES OF MIRACLES BE QUESTIONED?

I returned home from the second trip to Phoenix to do

some thinking. In the Bible, in Genesis, chapter 17, verses 1 through 10, God and Abraham made a covenant between them. Abraham’s responsibility in the covenant was to ‘Walk before me and be thou perfect’. God’s promise to Abraham in the covenant was many things, as you can

read, but in summary, God would bless Abraham and his

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

descendants. A covenant can be made between modern man, as well now, as in Bible times.

While back home, I also re-read a book that was in my

library, Drawing Upon the Powers of Heaven by Grant Von Harrison. I decided to underline all the parts helpful

to me with red pencil for future reference. This book, written initially for missionaries, was a great help at this time.

I understand why and how Eric received an answer so

forceful to his childlike prayer. I understood the need for me to live as close to the commandments as possible. On page 33 of the Von Harrison book, I learned that I could petition the Lord for my cause and show a willingness to

make commitments to Him. I could express what I was willing to do, in order to realize the specific desire which I was seeking, i.e. healing for Dennis.

I learned a commitment with God is a form of covenant

and should not be considered to be bartering with God. A covenant is a sacred enduring promise between God and man. One covenants with God. What would my covenant be? What could I commit to Him? Nothing material would mean anything to Him. He didn’t need it and I’m sure He didn’t want it. What

specifically was I going to ask of God? I read and pondered for a few days and then I had my answers.

Being grateful for my belief in God, I recalled the be-

liefs of others so different from my own. Before the birth of Jesus Christ, civilizations worshiped many Gods. They

lived in a time when there was a spiritual darkness on the

THERE IS A PURPOSE IN HIS LIVING

51

earth. People tried to figure out their future from omens, such as the particular design in a flight of birds, as they

flocked to eat the entrails of dead animals. They worshiped remote, multiple gods. Different from that age, I have been

blessed with knowledge and given faith different from

that . . . a loving God who had helped me many times in my life. I knew I could go to Him.

There was a lovely chapel in the large hospital. After

walking there and finding it empty, I began my prayer asking Heavenly Father to please release Dennis from this life or please restore his health in mind and body. Either way,

according to His choice I would accept, but I pleaded with

God to please not leave him suspended or trapped somewhere in the middle to live his life. My offering to Heav-

enly Father would be something for His children. I wanted something for my child, so a fair commitment for me to do would be something for His children.

The two commitments I made are sacred to me. I hold



First, I would serve His living children by never turn-

them in my heart.

ing down a calling to serve Him. Anything—anytime, I would do my best to fulfill His need of my time.

Second, I would help His children who have passed

through this life, by doing their endowment work in the

temples of God, bringing blessings to them. I would commit one day a month to do this work. It doesn’t sound like

much, but once you make a commitment, it becomes hard-

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

er to do. I set out to keep my commitment and to talk to Heavenly Father often about it.

I was home just long enough to take care of respon-

sibilities here and then off to Phoenix again. There was

nothing Jepp could do except say, “Please be careful.” I

was no good in Utah and couldn’t stay in Arizona either. I planned another trip, only this time by car and by myself from Bountiful to Salt Lake City, Utah, through Las Vegas, Nevada, then on to Phoenix, Arizona.

It was a “stormy” winter morning. After packing my

car, marking the map, and filling the car with gas and food I was off by myself. I played road marker games with the miles, guessing how long it would be before I would see

another 100 miles behind me and marking lines of my progress on the map. I listened to all the talk stations I

could find. That way my mind had to stay on the subject

that was being discussed on the radio. If I listened to music, it was too easy to become depressed. The talk show

host was talking about tree houses . . . and my memory began recalling to my mind the one Dennis had enjoyed.

In our backyard there stood a tight group of scrub oak

trees, thick with underbrush covering one-third of our backyard . To young children it seemed like a real jungle, a place for pretend adventures and secret hide-a-ways.

When Dennis was just seven years old, Jepp built a

family tree house right in the middle of the scrub oak. Oh,

it was quite grand as tree houses go, fashioned there on

THERE IS A PURPOSE IN HIS LIVING

53

tall, strong stilts, high enough to match the tree tops. The ladder leading upward was straight and steep. Once in-

side, there was ample room for four or five friends, with an old school desk in one corner. The sides of the tree house came half way up the wall space, leaving the top part open

to the trees and air. A young person could have a good view of what was going on all around and down below.

The roof was flat and provided a nice place for sisters to sunbathe. Most of all, it was private and one could lie up there never being noticed.

Down below the four stilt posts formed a shape for a

sandbox. This was a wonderful place away from the sun

to play in the sand The most exciting feature of the tree house was a pulley rope attached to one corner leading

to the edge of the sundeck right next to the kitchen win-

dow. A bucket was hung on the rope, a bell was sounded and a message was sent to Mom, working in the kitchen.

The hungry boys in the tree house were waiting for some homemade cookies, fruit, or any thing else Mom could surprise the anxious boys with.

The tree house was a fun way to spend some of the

summer hours and was especially good protection for the fall acorn fights planned with the neighborhood boys. Ten

to twenty younger boys would challenge six of the older boys who lived through the block. These acorn fights were

serious fun and would be planned days in advance. Hours were spent gathering sacks of acorns. If you were not in

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

the tree house, you would find shelter behind the pingpong table that acted as a fort, placed carefully on it’s side in a very selected spot of the lawn. The competition would

last until the sun went down, one side gave up, or until all gathered acorns were gone.

This tradition lasted several years. Talk of the acorn

fights lasted many weeks afterward and are now remembered with excitement by Dennis and his brothers.

Now, arriving in Las Vegas by early evening alone, I de-

cided to stay on the outskirts of the city. I was tired from

emotion and from driving. I had nibbled all day long, but

still went to dinner to relieve stress. Dinner was a sad time

looking around at all the happy people. I envied them hav-

ing something to laugh about. Deciding to sit in the foyer of the hotel for a while, I started to talk with a lady sitting there. She was waiting for a gentleman to come to the motel so she could give him a message. The message was . . . his wife had

overdosed on drugs and had died that day. This information didn’t help me either, so I went to bed to try for sleep.

It was pleasant to leave Utah in a winter snow storm

and arrive in Phoenix under a nice warm sun. I thought I

was prepared to see Dennis this time and asked to be directed to his room, because he’d been taken out of the ICU section.

A lovely nurse took me to his room. “This is Denny,”

she said. Well, I never called him Denny, but I knew she was referring to Dennis. I looked at him, then back at her

THERE IS A PURPOSE IN HIS LIVING

55

and said, “Are you sure this is my son Dennis?” She assured me it was.

I THOUGHT I WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO BEAR IT!

There he sat propped up in a wheel chair between two beds. His head was shaved and with the bandages off, I

could see his rearranged face was unrecognizable. He

was breathing noisily through the opening in his throat. He was tied into the chair, as if in a straight jacket, unable

to support his own swollen body, bobbing and weaving,

slumped over to one side with his right hand nearly touch-

ing the floor. He looked like a war casualty—even much worse. He looked like someone hurt so badly that he could never, ever recover from it. The whole reality forcefully struck me as I stood there, by myself, all alone.

My mind felt like exploding. For the first time, even

before speaking to Dennis, I went into the hallway and

cried. The tears that I could not shed before, fell now onto the floor. I wept, wandering through the hallways, so hard I could not stop. I found the chapel in the hospital again

and cried there, pleading with God to help—one way or the other. “Please, please, not like this!”

Upon leaving the chapel, I called my oldest daughter,

Pam, who lived in San Jose, California, and poured my feelings out to her. I begged her to come and be with me,

even knowing she had a husband and two young daughters at home. I didn’t want Jepp to know the extent of my weakness. He wouldn’t be able to stay at work and take

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care of things at home. Our family needed him to continue with his strength and support of the family. That was

the best way he could help at this time because we didn’t

know what our financial obligations would be in the future.

Pam, Dennis’ older sister, said she would be on the

next plane to Phoenix. She wanted to see Dennis, as well, in case anything final happened and wanted to express her great love for him.

Other daughters, Teri and Debbie were on their way

too, driving together in Teri’s little car. They didn’t know how long Dennis would live and wanted to show their love to him. Debbie brought along her little, nursing, four-

month-old son—Matthew. Oh, how grateful I was for my

daughters’ emotional support. The sweet feelings from that remain with me still. I loved them even more if that were possible. My daughters were ‘angels to my rescue.’

d What Was Learned!

“As an individual, I may have no hope,

but as a junior partner in a joint venture with Christ, I have every assurance of success.” Steven E. Robinson

CHAPTER FIVE

d

Trust in God



I mustered more courage and went into Dennis’ room

again. For the first time since the accident, he seemed to

recognize me. He smiled moving his lips—trying his best

to form words through the wires that held his gums, teeth and jaws in place. He was thinner, and also, the swelling

was less than before. I kept telling myself that he was Heavenly Father’s child and he was loved by Him too. Thinking, all I could do was “trust in God” knowing I had made commitments and covenants with Him.

Dennis’ eyes told me he wanted something. As he

struggled to move his lips, gusts of air passed through the throat opening. I said to the doctor, “He’s trying to say something to me.”

The doctor responded, “He cannot talk. His speech

center is one of the worst parts of his injury. Some of the

brain was removed during surgery because it was too bad-

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ly bruised. He is never going to be able to talk.”

I came right back at him with, “But he IS trying so

hard. Please put a microphone on the tracheotomy and see. PLEASE!”

Upon his order, the nurse screwed on an attachment

near the size of a quarter and about 1/4 inch thick. We all stood in front of Dennis and waited.

With a smile on his face, he said, “Hello, Mom how

are you?” No stuttering, no hesitation, no pausing to think of words—just a quick, clear message. It was like hearing

your toddler say “Mama” for the first time. I will never, never forget it. My heart gave immediate thanks to Heavenly Father. I had not really understood the magnitude of

his speech yet. Later it was explained to me by the head nurse.

She explained, “Head injured patients have difficulty

speaking. Even a hard ‘bump’ to the head can cause difficulties to the soft brain tissue, which is the consistency

of soft gelatin. Parents should never take a child by the shoulders and shake it’s head quickly back and forth. Even

that could cause damage. After an injury, the thought process does not work quickly, causing the patient to pause in speech, sometimes 30 seconds between thoughts or to wait

for a long time, after being asked a question before one can process, speak and answer. A patient has trouble thinking of the right words to use, often stuttering and having many speech problems.”

TRUST IN GOD



59

Dennis didn’t show any of that—“Hello, Mom, how

are you?” He spoke so normally, so easily that the doctor

and nurse almost passed out on the floor in disbelief. The recovering doctor said, “If I hadn’t seen it, I would not be-

lieve it.” What a joyous day for that doctor. I thanked God for those nurses and doctors. The work they do is heaven sent.

Pam, Teri and Debbie arrived and visited with Dennis.

It was as hard for them, as it was for me. They took turns

holding his hand, talking to him, comforting him, and then leaving the room to take their turn crying in the hall way.

Dennis was married once, but was now divorced and

had a beautiful young son, Jessup, who was age five. His

former wife, Jill, lived in Mesa, a suburb of Phoenix. Dennis and Jill were still good friends. She was concerned and did many things to help our family. On this trip, the girls

and I stayed at her home sleeping on the floor and taking turns visiting Dennis.

Jill played a wonderful part in his recovery during the

first few months. She visited the hospital almost every day, during the time he spent in Phoenix to give him love and

support. Her being there, made it easier for me when I had to be in Utah.

We wondered if we should allow Jessup, who was ask-

ing questions every day about his Dad, to come to visit. He had overheard some adult conversation and knew

there had been an accident and was very worried. Dennis

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was so hurt, so changed in looks, but we decided with the proper preparation and explanation about what he would see, that we should let him visit, for Jess’ sake, and also, it might help Dennis.

Jessup came to the hospital to visit, carrying his favor-

ite teddy bear in his arm. Jess loved stuffed animals and kept them near, slept with them at night and played with

them during the day at times. Our concerns were unnecessary. After a good visit Jess left the little teddy bear to comfort and encourage his Dad.

Upon my arrival home in Bountiful, the hospital per-

sonnel called me for permission to do more surgery. They were ready to remove the tubes that were attached to his

stomach for feeding and to close the opening in his throat. Jill was nearby and would be with him, thus permission

was given. The biggest threat now was “infection.” Having so much sand in the wound and having it open to the air presented the possibility of an infection which often happens. Dennis had been kept on special drugs to help

prevent infection, but needed to wait a specific time period for the danger to pass.

THE WORST HAPPENED! Infection WAS discovered

in the brain; a large concentration of it, in the left frontal lobe where the most damage was. I had so hoped we

would be spared this. The doctor called for permission to operate. Another major surgery.

Dennis was not strong yet, but surgery had to be done

TRUST IN GOD

61

or he would lose his life from infection. Maybe it would be better for him to lose his life! I heard the doctor say, “Mrs.

Jeppson, I don’t know what we will find. I don’t know how

widespread the infection is. I don’t know if we will be able to get it all out. He will die without surgery and there’s a

better than great chance he will never speak again. It’s in the speech center and as disturbing as it is—this time will probably mean we will sacrifice his speech entirely.”

I gave permission, then went to my Heavenly Father

again, “No, no, no, not his speech again!” I’d gone through this once already. What would Dennis think if he lived and

could never speak? He will know I gave permission for the

surgery. Will he chastise me? “Mom, why didn’t you let me die? Why did you allow this to happen to me?”

The doctor told me, a person unable to hear (his hear-

ing was not good at this time), and unable to speak, to be

blind and brain damaged is the very worst of conditions for a person to live through. We didn’t know how long his eyesight in his only eye would continue.

I talked with my Father in Heaven, while my mind

was recalling a day last August. Dennis had been on my mind almost every day then. I knew the life he had been living. I knew it was very wrong.

As a mother does, even in the animal world but sure-

ly more so in the human species; a mother has an attachment beyond her own ability—an attachment that is pro-

grammed before her birth to the children she will someday

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bare. It’s a feeling difficult to describe. She feels, in a very real sense, that they are extensions of herself, to nurture, to

guide, love and be responsible for. I felt responsible for the life Dennis had been living. Reason told me he was making his own choices, but I couldn’t live with that reasoning.

So I had knelt alone that August morning, before the ac-

cident at my sofa; sun shining in through the east window,

filtering past the clump birch tree, warm upon my back. In my most sincere, most pleading way, I told God how much I loved Him, how I was grateful for so many blessings,

how I felt responsible for Dennis. I explained what Den-

nis was doing, how he was living, and that I knew he was headed for problems greater than I, as a mother, could fix.

I wanted and needed Dennis in eternity. I begged the Lord not to let me lose Dennis spiritually. I pleaded, “Please

don’t let him lose himself spiritually. I sincerely told God

I was now ready and willing to go through anything, to do anything He would require of me in order for this to happen. . . .”

That was not the only time I prayed in Dennis’ behalf on

this subject, but was one of the most sincere prayers I have ever offered.

Accidents were one thing, but for me to have to de-

cide on a surgery that would probably remove his speech

was most difficult. Was my August prayer responsible for this accident??? Had God heard me and now this was

what I would have to bear? Is this what I would have to go through? I promised I would do anything. I promised I

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TRUST IN GOD

would go through anything. Oh, if only I could call God’s secretary. If only I could make an appointment to talk face

to face with Him. Just a 15 minute appointment would do. I felt like a child wishing for the impossible.

I sat down and searched for His words in the scrip-

tures, and I found, Book of Mormon, Moroni, Chapter 7, Verse 26. “Whatsoever thing ye shall ask the Father in my

name, which is good, in faith believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be done unto you.” And then verse

33, “And Christ hath said; If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me.”

My need then, was to exercise my faith, to pray for

things that were good, to remember my commitments to Him and believe all would be well when left in God’s hands.

d

My next trip was to begin the following morning, stop-

ping to rest in Las Vegas again. Las Vegas is not the ideal

place for a lone woman to stop in late at night. I called Dennis to talk to him. To let him know that I was on my way,

to give him love and support. As I hung up, I wondered

if the next time we communicated it would be only with

a pad and a pen. I arrived in Phoenix the next day just as Dennis was finishing surgery, but knew Jill would be with

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him before surgery. By now my emotions were maxed out.

I was void of endurance. I felt so empty. It seemed all my strength had been used up.

As I drove, I tried to relate to what Dennis must be ex-

periencing, thinking “How was he holding up? How was he personally coping?” When I arrived he was back in intensive care. . .the the same place as before . . . even the same bed.

I sat in the small waiting room for the results from the

doctor, thinking I should be writing a journal. Should I

keep photo records? I just couldn’t do that to Dennis’ privacy. I couldn’t come in and photograph him in that condition. He was out of reality and didn’t know from anything

what was happening to him. If I had asked for permission,

he would have given it. I felt it would be taking advantage of him. So I didn’t get snapshots. They may have been in-

teresting to others, but they would be painful to Dennis and me.

Adjectives ran through my mind, as tears fell uncon-

trollably down and over my cheeks: gloom, horrible, depressing, traumatic, unfair, fear, pain, tragic. I listed in my

mind a long string of endless adjectives. I couldn’t think of any sentences to put them into on paper.

A man sitting in this small room saw me curled up in

the chair, my feet tucked under me trying to be as small

as I could. With kindness, he tried to console me. He, with

his wife having a cancerous brain operation in progress,

asked questions and tried to comfort me. There are no se-

TRUST IN GOD

65

crets in ICU waiting rooms; everyone seems to know why

everyone else is there. I couldn’t talk to him, I just shook my head and continued to cry. I didn’t want to cry, but I couldn’t stop.

My 20 minutes of waiting were up and I could go

in now to see Dennis. Even now after much surgery, he

squeezed my hand and I knew he was aware of my presence. Slowly opening his eyes he said, “Hello, Mom.” There

was another blessing from God. He had retained his speech! The tension drained from my body like a puddle onto the floor. I knew our Heavenly Father was aware and blessing him.

The next day when I saw Dennis, he was still in the

ICU sitting up moving his body wildly back and forth,

tubes and all. He started yelling, swearing, giving commands, throwing his arms at me, screaming, “You Bastard, can’t you see I’m the pilot and this plane full of people

who will die if I can’t get control of the plane?” Terror and

anger flashed from his eyes. He was hallucinating—actually living this experience within his mind. I couldn’t comfort him. I couldn’t help him. He envisioned me as the en-

emy, suffering his own kind of hell. My being there simply made it worse. I had to leave with my aching heart, so as not to disturb him further.

The hospital sent their Public Relations person to ques-

tion me about his use of drugs. I didn’t know what kind, or how often he was using drugs. I was only the mother of a

28 year old, who was a man living his own life style. What

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would I know? But, I did know in my heart, I just couldn’t

give them definite, detailed answers. They told me he was going through drug withdrawal, on top of brain surgery, and brain injury! No wonder I could not comfort him!

I waited for the doctor to pass by, the only way one

could speak to him. Being a very busy man time was pre-

cious to him. He came and explained the infection was in

a concentrated area in the speech center, about the size of an egg. A neat little membrane sack had been formed all around

the infection, making it easy to lift out and remove. They were sure they had removed all infection and “Dennis would retain his speech.” God continued to be with us and guide all that was happening.

d What Was Learned! Yes, he is a miracle;

a receiver of miracles, and aren’t we all!

CHAPTER SIX

d

Have Confidence That You Can

Do More Than You Think You Can



After I returned home, Jill kept up the daily visits. Jepp

and I talked with Dennis on the phone each day too. Sometimes only one sentence was exchanged between us because he was so tired, but I knew the calls helped his mo-

rale. Most of my information on his progress was through Jill, who had time to give me more details than the nurses did, because she spent at least an hour with him each day.

Before I was able to leave home again to go to Phoenix,

I had to approve more surgery. An artificial plate needed to be put in his head, about a 2” by 10” piece, to replace the

missing bone. A little later another major surgery was done

on his ankle. It needed to be taken care of as soon as Den-

nis could tolerate the operation. The ankle was crushed badly and if too much time lapsed, he would loose the use

of his foot. A steel pin was placed in the ankle and hopefully with rehabilitation, he could walk on it.

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The morning after Christmas, Jepp and I left for my

fifth trip. The snowstorm was so bad in Bountiful, that we were stuck in the snow three times before getting out of town.

A lot of thought went into a gift for his Christmas. He

needed to relate to time. We were told that relearning his relationship to time was the first step back. Patients who

could re-learn time sequences such as days, months, years,

dates and time of day had a greater chance of mental recovery. We were told it was an important link, actually an absolute essential.

Our Christmas gift to Dennis was ourselves really,

along with two beautiful calendars, with scenes of sport activities and wilderness pictures that where familiar to him. A gift of ourselves. What else could we give him at

this time? We gave as other parents have given, when a

child is in trouble. We gave love, concern, time, caring, faith, hope, and encouragement.

We couldn’t help thinking of another Christmas time

when he was a boy, about age 8 or 9 years old, a happier Christmas. That Christmas Dennis received a plastic toy

that could shape snow into a snow block. That Christmas there was a heavy snow storm. The toy was given with the

thought he could build a wall or a square snowman with

it. After he played outside one morning, I went to see what had been created. It was an igloo at the edge of our front

porch—a small scale igloo, blocks stacked neatly, smoothly

H AV E C O N F I D E N C E T H AT Y O U C A N D O M O R E T H A N Y O U T H I N K

69

shaped with an entrance and a rounded dome just like the original ones in Alaska. Dennis and a friend spent some time playing in it. Then the boys asked if they could sleep overnight in it. “Sleep overnight in this freezing weather?”

Before saying no, I decided to check out the inside of

the igloo. Boys are somewhat smaller than Mom’s so I lay on my back and scooted head first in through the opening that faced our front porch. No wonder the boys wanted

this adventure. A little shelf had been fashioned into the side wall and a candle was placed there for light. A message, “No girls allowed” was traced on the ceiling with little fingers dipped into Mom’s food coloring. A partial

package of graham crackers sat on another shelf. I was sur-

prised how cozy it was—not quite large enough for me, but just right for two boys and two small sleeping bags.

Jepp decided it would be all right if the candle was re-

moved, so the candle was replaced with a flashlight and their anticipated fun was realized. The igloo sat there on

top of the pfitzer bush, and was the last spot of snow in our yard to melt that winter.

During this most recent trip to St Joseph’s in Phoenix, I

hung on every positive word I could wring from the nurses and Public Relations employee. I questioned everyone who could tell me even a partial success story. I checked his rehab schedule on the charts in the hall, making sure

he was not missed or slighted and questioned nurses dai-

ly about his progress. I could not hide my hopes for him.

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While I fussed about, Jepp questioned the doctors in detail and gave Dennis hope through our visit.

The neurologist asked us to meet him in the council

room at 2:00 p.m. I thought, “Maybe Dennis had an unexpected turn for the good.”

Then the doctor began, “Dennis will never recover. He

will never be able to take care of himself. He will always

need one-on-one care. You must find a place for him to

live.” His voice fell on my soul like heavy metal. I couldn’t respond. I actually felt sorry for this doctor having to sit there and tell us this bad news.

All the time he was talking, a voice inside of me was

quietly whispering, “He is wrong! What do you know? You

are not God. How can you be so sure? I WILL NOT BELIEVE YOU!”

In despair, I left the council room. I just got up and



I could not go back to Dennis’ room and look at him—

walked out!

could not face him. I wanted a place to scream my lungs

out. I wanted to just scream and scream to find relief, but

instead I just cried softly. The tears dripped as I pressed my body into the walls of the hallway, finding no place for privacy.

The head nurse took Jepp aside and said, “You must

help your wife get hold of herself. You must help her accept the fact that Dennis will always live in a rest home. The sooner she accepts it the better.”

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71

Jepp found me in the hall, and tried to tell me the mes-

sage he had been sent to deliver, in a sweet, consoling,

supporting way. I listened and all I could feel inside, was “I can’t. I can’t accept it. Ask me anything, but don’t ask me this.” Anyway, they didn’t know about Eric’s prayer. They

didn’t know about God’s answer, which is my strength. I could not doubt the sweet sincere faith of a four year old and my faith grew because of it.

My needlepoint that I made about 12 years ago, hangs

on my wall at home. I copied the words from something,

somewhere. I don’t know who or where it came from, but it says, “What you are is God’s gift to you. What you become is your gift to Him.”

I determined I would try to grow through this experi-

ence. I would try to become a daughter that my Heavenly Father would be proud of. It is in times of trials that we grow; we either grow in spirituality, maturity and understanding OR we become bitter and angry, having the free agency to do either. When a person uses their agency to make choices, they may experience opposition. In trying

to grow in a positive way with this experience, I had times of despair and allowed worry and fear to get to me. I tried

with all my might to overcome that and lean on my Heavenly Father and my Savior. I wanted to give Heavenly Father “my better self” when I would be called upon to leave this earth.

At this time Dennis was doing a little better, feeding

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himself, not spilling too much and learning to shave. It

took him a long time to accomplish these tasks, but he was willing to try, really wanting to help himself. We could feel

the effort and determination he exemplified. He seemed to

be blessed with an inner strength to force himself forward

to come out of his experience. We were able to take him for rides in the wheel chair. His favorite ride was a trip to the cafeteria for a root beer.

But, he looked terrible! As I wheeled him through the

hospital hallways, people stared at him . . . not out of rudeness I’m sure, but out of pity and curiosity. I wanted to tell

them, he will change, he will be different soon. I wanted to project thoughts that Heavenly Father loved him, no mat-

ter what he’d done and that I had faith that all would work out for the best.

We found out he had begun rehabilitation, having an

hour session twice a day to help him remember. He didn’t

know where he was, why he was there, or how he got

there. He couldn’t remember things that happened before the accident or since. Although he faced a partial memory

loss, he did remember people that were close to him; his family and friends.

We would say, “Where are you, Dennis?” And he

would answer, “I don’t know.” We would tell him he was

in Phoenix, in St. Joseph’s Hospital. Within the same minute, we would ask again, “Where are you, Dennis?” and he would say, “I don’t know.”

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73

Rehab nurses tried to help him remember by writ-

ing, St. Joseph Hospital, Phoenix and put the paper in his pocket. He couldn’t remember that he had the paper in his pocket. That was real scary to me. Real scary!

The rehab people were very frustrated with his ability

and progress. After he realized he couldn’t remember, and

couldn’t retain information given him, he began to fabricate answers. He didn’t want to be wrong, he wanted to

be better, so he would make up the most colorful stories

and tell them. Anyone, not knowing, would believe his convincing tales. He became very funny, quite entertaining

and before visitors left he had them all smiling or holding their sides with laughter.

I remember some of his stories: “I was down in Mexico

with Grandpa. We were camping and the sand fleas got to us. The fleas almost ate us alive, so I had to get help.” Or “I

was out on the Bonneville Salt Flats hunting muskrats and one bit me.” Or “I was in California riding my skateboard and I fell off. I’m just getting some scrapes and bruises

fixed.” As he would tell these stories, using different ones each week, Oh how I wished in my heart that it was true; that these stories were the only reasons he was there.

He truly believed what he was saying. It was real to

him. He became angry and frustrated if we did not believe them too, so we had to play his game and go along. He

was so funny, that he was chosen to be “master of ceremonies” for the hospital Valentine party for the other pa-

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tients. Dennis could remember jokes and he liked to make

people laugh, even though he could not relate with the real world. It was impossible for him to recall what he ate

at the last meal, what day it was or what time of the day it was.

Not giving up, I leaned on the following scriptures,

Doctrine and Covenants, chapter 35, verses 8 and 9. “For I am God, and mine arm is not shortened; and I will show

miracles, signs, and wonders, unto all those who believe on my name. And whoso shall ask in my name in faith,

they shall cast out devils; they shall heal the sick; they shall

cause the blind to receive their sight, and the deaf to hear and the dumb to speak, and the lame to walk.”

We talked to Dennis about having another Priesthood

blessing. He was in a semi-conscious state for this additional blessing. He wanted to have it. We asked a few people to join with us, as well as, an Elder from our church.

Along with the help of other Priesthood holders we would all join together to have Dennis anointed with oil and have him given a Priesthood blessing.

We took him in his wheel chair, still tied in, to a little

room vacant of all furniture and people. We closed the

door and explained to Dennis what we were going to do. I

reminded him again, about Jesus Christ, how Christ loved

him and wanted the best for him. I told Dennis that he too must have faith to recover. This was his test, as well as

ours. Christ had healed others even from death and there

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75

was nothing Jesus Christ couldn’t do, if He wanted to and you wanted to accept His help.

After the blessing Dennis broke down and cried. He

just sobbed as I bent down over his wheelchair and held

his head to my chest. We stayed like that for some time— just loving each other—with me trying to support his body, and letting him take from me the strength he needed.

Afterward we wheeled him down the corridors and

through the glass enclosed bridge, high above and over the street below to the other annex. He was silent for a long

time, thinking, not wanting to talk or share thoughts and feelings. I felt like he had really been emotionally touched

by this experience and would seriously include Heavenly Father and Jesus in his life from now on.

The nurses said he constantly tried to untie himself

from the wheel chair. Dennis was feeling so restricted,

but the staff was feeling that safety was of utmost importance. The two were in conflict. This once carefree, capable,

young man, tied immovable, as in a straight jacket, without memory of what had happened to him, struggled in his mind to understand. Only he knew what was going

through his mind. He wanted to get out and walk, but the attendants were afraid of him falling and hitting his head. Also, his ankle would not stand the pressure put on it yet.

He was constantly tied up to prevent self injury. And

he hated it. It was pathetic to watch him or try to explain to

him. Dennis would beg to be untied, pleading and prom-

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ising to be good, then forget he was suppose to stay off his feet. He could not be trusted because of his memory

problem. His former struggle to breath for many hours immediately following the accident, now became his struggle

to remember. He began to devise crafty, sly ways to accomplish his freedom. Even if knots were tied behind the wheel chair, somehow with time, he would undo them.

Wanting desperately to go home he would try to run

away from the hospital. Often he would be found outside the hospital on the lawn and was caught several times at

the front door. When he once left his room, in his confusion he could not find his way back even if he wanted to return. This is when he realized he could not remember things. This reality began to cause extreme frustration.

After Jepp and I returned home we continued with our

daily calls to Dennis. How does one explain the feelings? One has to cover all fear, frustration, worry, concern, ques-

tions for the future with this, “Be still and know that I am God.” Our lives are in His hands. He loves us and leads us forward.

Since the accident, I have had a heavy feeling, as well

as depression from time to time. It was so great I wished I could be a little circle drawn on a paper with a pencil, so

it could be totally erased forever—into nothingness. I felt like that little zero, just a little nothing, sitting like a circle wishing to be erased with the whisk of the eraser. I felt so like a failure, as if I had failed Dennis.

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I couldn’t laugh, wondered if I would ever feel joy or

real happiness again. I couldn’t accomplish anything with

my time, just existing from day to day with the pain in my soul, a constant companion “suffering along with Dennis”. My body was tired. My joints ached. I lacked enthusiasm. I dragged my body from one task to another, doing only

that which was absolutely necessary, hoping my family wouldn’t notice too much.

I cried really often, spilling tears off my cheeks any-

where, anytime. Meals were not cooked, beds were unmade, ironing piled higher in the basket, and sewing sat waiting by the machine for weeks at a time.

This was so out of character for me. The fears, worries,

tension, and anxiety continued to press me, wrestling for places in my thoughts and pushing out the hope, faith and

positive thoughts I struggled to have through my fasting

and prayers. It seemed a negative force was trying to invade my thoughts and emotions to mess me up.

A nonstop movie played technicolor pictures in my

minds eye. Dennis’ past, present, future; little snatches of this and that, from my memories and creations from my mind for the future. This accident experience ended up

being years of neglect for every one in my family while I just focused on Dennis’ needs. Actually there was no other way. I had to be everything; counselor, therapist, friend, teacher and parent.

Somehow it was comforting to think backwards and

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I found relief from all this ‘down, heavy side’ to think of

Dennis in younger years. I recalled how the curly red hair

became a problem to him during his fifth grade at school when the style was long straight hair. Dennis wanted to be

in style, at least the straight part, to be doing the fashionable peer group thing, but his thick curls sat right up on his head with circles as tight as a bowl of Cherrios .

One day he came home from school and begged me

to help him straighten it. After consulting with my salon

beautician for instructions, we purchased a home permanent, but instead of using it to ‘curl’ hair, we applied it

with Dennis’ head hanging over the edge of the tub, and

combing, combing and combing his wet hair as it dripped with perm solution trying to turn that curling chemical action upside down to do the opposite. We managed to relax some of the curls, but much remained, so ‘he invented’ a

night cap made from the top of my nylon stocking, by tying a knot in the cut edge to keep it from fraying. Dennis pul-l-l-l-ed and str-r-r-r-r-e-e-e-etched the stocking top

down tightly each night after his shower plus a generous amount of slippery green goo hair set and slept that way

to let his hair dry in a plastered down style. This was a ritual he didn’t miss all during the fifth grade. Wouldn’t you know? Later curly hair became fashionable, and while

other boys were actually going out for expensive perms, he had one built right in.

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d What Was Learned!

Believe in yourselves.

Believe in your capacity to do great and good and worthwhile things.

Believe in the nature within you, the divine nature, that you are in very deed a spiritual son or daughter of our Heavenly Father.

There is something of divinity within you,

something that stands high and tall and noble. Believe in yourselves and in your capacity to act for good in the world and make a difference.

President Gordon B. Hinkley

President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

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CHAPTER SEVEN

d

We Must Remind Ourselves That

God Is Allowing Our Faith to Grow as We Reach and Stretch for Him



I had spent weeks “play acting” through each new

day, trying to act like a mother, a wife, a daughter, and a

friend as the need arose, with a portion of me being absent

from real life. I felt the need to draw from someone else’s strength and to have a special direction given me from my Heavenly Father.

I fasted and prayed some more that morning, February 23, 1984 then kept my appointment with Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone, a General Authority in the LDS Church, also known as the Mormon Church, at

1:30 p.m. in his office in Salt Lake City. The wonderful feeling, as I walked inside this building was peaceful, warm and friendly. It was decorated with a graceful,

quiet beauty. Just being there was healing to my soul. Brother Featherstone listened to details of the accident,

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to my own concerns about my life, family, our family’s future and my need for strength.

I am so happy to have men like him serving our Heavenly Father, sharing their time and letting their spirits touch others. May God bless them forever. Brother Featherstone said he would give me a blessing. Before

doing so, he explained how he felt about blessings. He said, “Blessings were different from prayers. Through the priesthood, blessings can be given for the person’s needs and they literally are pronounced upon the head of the receiver as a fact or an event to come to pass. He never gives any thought to what he will say before a blessing, just lets the

Holy Spirit guide him.” Many times he doesn’t even remember what he has said afterward.

He laid his hands on my head, and I knew instantly he

was holy, that God was in tune with him and that what he would say, would be directly from God.

The words poured from him in the most beautiful blessing I have ever witnessed. The eloquence and

command of the English language used, the feeling and the love he held in his voice, I have heard only one

other time in my life. I know joy now in a new way. I asked myself “Is this most beautiful, celestial feeling of

joy I felt, at that time, something one is allowed to feel

only a few times in a lifetime?” I have felt joy before, but this was over and above.

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He talked of Christ and of the miracles Christ performed, recalling the parting of the seas and other

great events. In this manner Dennis would be made totally well, enabling him to do almost everything he

was able to do before, with only a few injuries remaining. He said Dennis had been saved by divine intervention, because he still had things he needed to accomplish. He told me I would be able to make the right decisions for Dennis at the right times, and feel and know

what was right. He told me the negativeness and tiredness I had felt, were from Satan. He commanded these

feelings to leave me and for me to have energies and enthusiasm for accomplishing those things I desired and needed to do. He said I would have the time and

energy to care for Dennis. He went on to tell me many things I do not wish to write at this time—things too special to me.

As I drove home from the Church Office Building, the

feeling of his hand prints were still on my head; warm,

gentle hands, gently touching my head, still the feeling re-

mained with me. A sweet warm burning in my chest was like an extra witness to this blessing that it was good—it

was true. These physical feelings remained with me for a few days. When I feel overpowered, I remember this expe-

rience and the feelings and am able to recall them again, just as real as they were when first experienced.

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83

I hope I never forget that day. Being close to God, feel-

ing His presence, knowing He loves me, is something I

will keep uppermost in my mind and work for—for the rest of my life.

Brother Featherstone gave me a copy of his book, Pu-

rity of Heart, and signed it for me. He asked me to read the

chapter thirteen, page 84 titled “Purity in Adversity”, saying there would be something in it to help me. This quote from that chapter has helped me:

“One of the greatest tests of purity of heart is the adversity we are called upon to pass through. Not only

does adversity test our purity, but it helps us to develop it. The purest people who have walked this earth are surely those who have suffered most.”

Then he related the trials, tests and challenges of oth-

ers who have lived and survived them. Elder Featherstone told me the negativeness, tiredness, extreme heavy feelings and depression came from Satan. But the joy, peace

and comfort I was feeling was given to me from God. I remember these contrasting feelings—a gift to me as an extra witness. When things seem to overpower me, I can

remember this experience and choose which power to follow.

Elder Featherstone so touched my heart that I have a

visual-aid hanging on the rear view mirror in my car. I see it several times a day, each time I get into my car. It is a

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small faceted crystal one inch heart. I love to see the light

shining through it and the beautiful reflective patterns it makes within the car. It is symbolic to me of the light and beauty that can come into ones heart when they turn themselves toward Christ.

When I thought about the different ways we can turn

towards Christ—my thoughts turned towards a mission in

Scotland: and pondered the word “choices.” Places to rent were few and far between. For a while we lived on a large

old working farm, in a small, granite bunk house. Part of

the Master’s house was three hundred years old. I’ll share

an observation with you which I will call A PRISONER BY CHOICE. We can learn “lessons” from people, but from other things as well.

At that farm lived two ponies. The gray pony was so

smart and capable, she was in “jumping competitions”

down in England far away. During the day hours this slender, beautiful, pony would spend her time in the large,

green pasture on the hillside with a little, brown, plump,

Shetland pony. Now the large green pasture was recently divided in half with a thin, one inch wide, white strip

of plastic ribbon. (Not an electric ribbon.) While the two horses were confined to the upper part, the lower part

grew taller and greener. The upper part had thistle; stinging nettle and a type of clover that the horses didn’t like to eat. The best morsels of grass were limited and sometimes they had to lean way over the outer main wire fences that

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encircled around those two smaller pastures—divided by

the ribbon; to enjoy what was there just outside the wire

fence. During my walks down the lane, I pondered the situation. This thin white ribbon was only as high as the top

part of gray ponies legs. Remember, she was a jumper, a trained very good jumper and had won awards in compe-

tition. She could jump much higher than this little ribbon. (She had the ability) BUT, out of choice, her mind-set kept

her prisoner because she lacked the will to choose better and was a prisoner because of that. Little brown, plump Shetland pony is solid and strong. She only needed to press her

body into the ribbon and it would have given way. (She had the ability) BUT she too, lacked the will to choose better and stayed a prisoner of her mind-set by choice.

Beyond the barns were two dwellings housing two

families that worked in the chicken production part of the

farm. With the family on the right, lived a large Rottweiler dog named Zak. Zak had a firm, hard, brown body with muscles strong under his coat. He had a loud, deep bark

that shook the air and scared the daylights out of everyone. When he saw you walking by, he raced full speed to

the corner of his yard, barking his threatening message as he went. Since the gate was locked, his destination was

to stand atop the granite stone wall, which was the same height as the wire fence that ran right along side it—wanting to come out to you and send you away from his territory. Now springing out of and over the wire fence would

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be no trouble at all for him. (He had the ability) YET, he was imprisoned and also lacked the will, staying a prisoner by choice of his mind-set.

The animals were “conditioned” to respond to the

boundaries that were set up for them. They were conditioned to go that far and no farther, consequently remaining a prisoner of their choices. What I want to explain here is—God has given us “choices”. The gift of agency is from

God and He will not take that from us. This leaves us the “ability” to choose.

To strengthen thoughts on choices, I take a paragraph

from Steven E. Robinson’s book Believing Christ, p. 60.

“In this life there are only two lords and two sides. We must choose to belong to the One or the other. If we do

not choose the One, we will receive the other by de-

fault. There is no middle ground, no third alternative. Life, like a computer, has default settings, conditions

that will automatically apply unless we take positive action to avoid them. Thus, if we refuse to make Christ

our Lord by taking positive steps to enter into his cov-

enant, then Satan becomes our lord by default. Christ by choice or Satan by default—there are no other options.”

G O D I S A L L O W I N G O U R FA I T H T O G R O W A S W E R E A C H F O R H I M

“The trials ahead of you are never as great as the power behind you.” – Heber J. Grant

d What Was Learned!

“The difficult times are here for us to learn from. We all will be challenged.

It is only part of the journey in life.” Dana Reeves story, wife of Christopher Reeves, (Superman)

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CHAPTER EIGHT

d

Constant Challenges, Trials and Constant Support are Here to Teach Us



As the weeks went by, each time I went to Phoenix

to visit Dennis, he knew I was coming. Without fail, he

would have a little bag packed. Some of the clothes were

not his. He gathered up what was in sight, not knowing which were his and which weren’t. There he would be—

all packed—anxiously waiting for me, with a little hat on. Hats became his logo, as he wore them to cover the scarring on his head. He had some wonderfully stylish hats,

but would end up losing them or “generously giving” them away to someone who admired them—any one who

liked them. This kept us buying more hats for him which was a good thing.

I was greeted with a big happy smile, a hug and then

he would say, “I’m supposed to go home with you now.”

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89

He was so childlike, it was almost more than I could do to tell him he had to stay and couldn’t go home with me. I

wanted him to go home with me. I wanted this to be all over for him—over for all of us.

One day, when I called him from Bountiful, Jill talked

to me, instead of the hospital staff or Dennis. She told me

Dennis had said a prayer, the first one she’d ever heard him say. She had come to visit him and sat beside his

wheelchair. He told her he wanted to say a prayer with her. She said, “Do you want me to say the prayer?” He answered “No, I want to say it.” As they bowed their heads

together, he began. She started to cry softly, overcome with emotion. She told me, “I only remember one thing he said

which was ‘Thank you, Heavenly Father. I am very glad to be alive.’”

He was now beginning to understand how badly he’d

been injured and realized how much was missing in his memory. He would stand in front of a mirror when he

thought no one was watching, just to look and stare at

himself. Yet, he said, he was glad to be alive. This showed the fighting spirit within him, a fighting spirit that carried him through, a continuous strength to him.

It may be important to mention that while Dennis was

in Phoenix a friend and neighbor, Don Wortley, who was a professional Physical Therapist and Vice President of Inter-

Mountain Health Care, flew down to St. Joseph’s Hospital to assess Dennis’ condition. When he came home he told

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me, “You will eventually have to find Dennis a Care Home to live in with adults. He will never be able to be any better.” We love Don Wortley and he was our Bishop. For the

first time in my life I said to my Bishop, “NO, I CANNOT

DO THAT”. We were very grateful for his friendship, his caring and interest, but I could not consider that direction.

One day the phone rang in Utah. It was Dr. Carrion,

saying, “Cleo, we’re releasing Dennis in three weeks. The

rehab personnel are unable to do any more for him. Maybe

if you take him to Utah, where he will be in familiar surroundings, around people he knows, his memory will im-

prove. You will need to locate a place in Utah for him to live. Find a place where he will receive the care he needs, a rest

home to live out his life. I would suggest you don’t place him with the elderly. He will give up. Be very, very careful where you place him, because Dennis will take on the

personalities around him. He will copy and mimic person-

alities available to him. Above all, don’t let him become depressed—which is the biggest danger now. Most headinjured patients become depressed. When that happens, progress stops with slight chances of ever overcoming it.”

Dennis was like a 140 pound child, about age three or

four, without a memory. The day I wanted to procrastinate had arrived. NOW everything was upon MY shoulders. What could I do? There was no facility in Utah at that time,

like Dr. Carrion wished for—for Dennis to live in. Other states had such places for head injuries, but not here. It

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91

was not as easy as picking up the phone and placing his name on a waiting list or finding a place with a vacancy.

My neighbor, Connie Hazen, who was a retired regis-

tered nurse, went with me on my search. She was my stabilizing influence, listening endlessly to me talk, venting

my worries, and letting me cry. She was there, next door, whenever I needed her. We inquired about private homes that were set up to handle patients. We phoned group

homes that took patients who were just learning again to care for themselves. This type of place might work, but there was a history of drugs and alcohol, used by adult

men there. I wouldn’t have that. Dennis just went through drug withdrawal. Besides, Dr. Carrion told me that one

drink—one marijuana cigarette could kill him at this time.

Hospitals were visited and tours taken to determine

if their rehab programs were the best I could find. We decided to transfer him; to the University of Utah Hospital in

Salt Lake City, directly from St. Joseph’s. He still needed rehab and in order for the insurance to continue to pay for it, his care could not be interrupted from one hospital to another. If we brought him home for a few days or a week, the University of Utah Hospital would not admit him.

After all the paper work was completed, the Universi-

ty of Utah Hospital personnel said they would admit Dennis as a patient. But now, how would we transport Dennis

to Utah? He was too weak to travel by car, or any other slow means of transportation. We couldn’t afford to hire a

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private plane. The insurance would not pay for transportation from Arizona to Utah, leaving the commercial air lines our only option.

It was decided that Jepp would purchase a one-way

ticket for Dennis and a round trip ticket for Jill to accompany him. She’d visited him daily and knew better than anyone else what his needs were and how much he could tolerate. Also, she wanted to come with him.

d

I heard a new sound today. I heard myself singing and,

yes, laughing. I waxed the kitchen floor for the first time since Thanksgiving. It was March 10. I dusted and cleaned

and swept; even felt like dancing. Interesting what stress and worry can do to a person.

The reason for this wonderful change in me, is we are

transferring Dennis to the University of Utah Hospital

this next Thursday! He’s coming home, after almost four

months in Phoenix. I feel wonderful, marvelous, and most of all, ever so grateful to God for all His time, attention, blessings and love for Dennis.

Yesterday, in Phoenix, he had his fourth surgery. This

time it was to line up the right eye properly. He doesn’t see out of it because one eye was moved higher than the other one in the accident.

Here in Bountiful, the snow is melting exposing patch-

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93

es of grass I’ve not seen since November. It’s been a very difficult winter; the weather has been worse than I can

ever remember in my whole life. Certainly the crisis with Dennis is the worst I have experienced.

I have come out of this, with a renewed and strength-

ened love for God, a greater belief in Him, and a knowledge of how close He is to us. Heavenly Father has my attention! Hardly an hour goes by, in any day, that I’m not thinking of Him. I long for the day I can embrace Him

in grateful thanks. I heard the song of a bird today. Even though the ground is so dirty, the yards are beat down from winter, the air hangs heavy with smog, my heart sings, along with my backyard song birds.

March 15, 1984, a small group of friends and family

met Jill and Dennis as they arrived at the Salt Lake International Airport, big smiles on both their faces. Five foot,

three inches, weighing just 105 pounds, Jill supported him from one side, as he steadied himself with his cane

on the other side. This was the same airport he had anxiously departed from for his Thanksgiving Holiday, al-

most four months earlier. Now his imperfect, weakened body, showed the suffering. His mind was fragmented, his

face was altered, and unable even to walk off a plane by himself. This handful of people confused him, as he was not entirely sure of names and faces. Tenderly, Jepp and

I placed him in a wheelchair to take him to the car and drove him to his new residence.

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This hospital sits nestled against the Wasatch Moun-

tains, high on the east foothills, overlooking the famous

valley that became home to the Mormon settlers. One can

see for 30 miles in each direction: south, west, and north.

One can see Temple Square, the airport, and the freeway lights, like strands of rhinestone threading through the valley from one end to the other. A golf course is within walking distance and the university campus just beyond that.

We decorated his hospital room with photos of favor-

ite people, posters, and cards covering his walls next to

his bed. Plants, flowers, sometimes balloons and always hats: a plain English sport hat, a wool riding hat, cotton duck hunting hat, with ear flaps, and baseball hats. Thus we tried to transform this corner of a hospital room into a private home for Dennis.

As far as I knew, this was going to be his new home

for the next six months. Would there be a close finish with the insurance company assets? Would we run out of time

or money first? We’d already passed the one-half million dollar mark spent on him so far.

When Brother Featherstone previously gave ME a

blessing, he invited me to bring Dennis into his office for a blessing when we moved him to Salt Lake City.

As I met the doctor that would be in charge of Dennis,

I told him I was taking Dennis the very next morning, right

after breakfast, to receive a blessing. He couldn’t say much. I didn’t ask permission. I don’t know what he thought. But

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the next morning Jill and I dressed Dennis, still tired from the trip to Salt Lake City, but willing to go. We put him in his wheelchair and we were off.

There’s a flight of stairs up to the front door of the

old Church Office Building on South Temple Street where

Brother Featherstone’s office was. With the use of a cane

and our help, Dennis managed that long, long flight of 18 steps.

Only a small amount of his hearing had returned by

this time—he was beginning to read lips. He did a good

job of it, with a lot of faking, and most people were unaware of his hearing problems. We listened thankfully as a

most beautiful blessing was pronounced upon his head by Brother Featherstone.

Afterward the three of us talked a little about the bless-

ing as we left the office. Dennis told me he wasn’t able

to hear a word that was spoken. So we sat with him on a bench in the hallway in those lovely surroundings, for

awhile, to record as best we could remember, what we had just heard and seen.

We recorded the greeting by Elder Featherstone, as he said to Dennis, “You are a walking miracle, aren’t you?”

Brother Featherstone explained he had the power to give an apostolic blessing and that, through his priest-

hood, the blessing would be realized. He blessed Dennis with the “Gift of Faith;” he blessed him with the desire

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to learn more about Jesus Christ. Adding, “Sometimes, because of our activities and the directions our lives

have taken us, situations are created. The Lord uses

these opportunities to teach and develop his children. Sometimes a person has to go through these trials to turn back towards the Lord. Dennis, you have suffered

much and you have gone through a great deal, both

mentally and physically. It was not your appointed time to die. Through your faith, you will be healed.” He continued, “The Lord is waiting to receive you,

Dennis. You were happy to come to this earth and receive a body. You were chosen and foreordained to do certain things on this earth, and you will be healed

to fulfill those missions and assignments. You will be

healed to be able to solve sophisticated problems. All

parts of your brain that were lost or damaged will be rejuvenated and repaired. You will remember better, and you will return to normal both mentally and

physically. Physicians cannot heal the broken body. They have done and will do, all they can. They will be guided by the Lord and given direct revelation minute

by minute, as they make their decisions for treatment and therapy for you. The plastic surgery will be successful and satisfying to you.”

Brother Featherstone paused for a moment, stopped talking to Dennis and said, “Dear Father in Heaven, Thou hast giv-

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en me the power to perform these blessings. Thou didst not bestow these healing powers on me if they weren’t able to be fulfilled. I know that Dennis can be blessed. Please, please, please, Lord, heal this young man so that he can be normal again.” Then he talked to Dennis again. “Your mother and your father have pled with the Lord for your recovery. I have also, pled with Him as well, in your behalf. Now I ask you, Dennis, to accept this blessing and exercise this faith you have been blessed with.” He said, “I have personally seen people cured of leuke-

mia, cancer and other tragedies through the power of an apostolic blessing. I pronounce these blessing upon your head, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

Throughout the day, Dennis expressed his apprecia-

tion for the blessing and thanked me for arranging it. I know he could not hear the words of the blessing, but he

did feel the spirit. Many times, in the blessing, Dennis was reminded that he would be blessed in his healing process.

I had just heard the possible future from one of God’s

servants and I reflected backwards on additonal miracles. Dennis had been blessed with speech, and the ability to

talk normally. The infection that formed in his brain had

done so in a way that it was in a concentrated area, with a neat little membrane sack built all around it making it

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easy to remove and lift out. Even with the second surgery

and infection in the speaking location of the brain, he was blessed with speech the second time. He had shown no depression, a trait that would be fatal to his recovery. He

was given a sweet, wonderful attitude, one free from anger. Abundant blessings were ours!

At the U of U Hospital I was told Dennis would not be

exactly the same as we knew him before the accident. With

this head injury, he would have a 50/50 chance of becoming violent, angry, with outbursts of temper, OR of being milder, more loving, with a sweet disposition. He would definitely change to one way or the other. No one could predict the outcome.

At the hospital Dennis shared a room with anoth-

er head injured young man. It seemed that almost all of the patients I met were young men, injured in accidents,

mostly auto related. Are young men more daring, reckless, more carefree?

Dennis’ roommate could not feed himself. As I watched

him, youthful and handsome, with his mother, I relived all the early days we went through with Dennis. I thanked

God for the improvements Dennis had made. As I reflected upon my blessing from Brother Featherstone; “Your

son will be made totally well.” I knew God could do this, whether the medical profession believed it or not. I did.

The hospital technician took several x-rays, tests, and

exams to determine in what areas they could help best.

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Dennis was taken to the hearing department where they probed, worked and cleaned his hearing areas. Afterward,

his hearing returned, startling him with all the noise. He had become so accustomed to muffled tones and hushed

sound. Now he could hear people walking and talking

down the hall. He became preoccupied with this new awareness and thrilled with the experience. All he wanted to talk about was how much better he could hear.

After only nine days at the University of Utah Hospital

doctors gave permission for Dennis to come home for a

weekend visit. My daughter, Lisa, and I picked him up. He talked all the time about how wonderful it was to leave the hospital!

On the way home we stopped at his sister Debbie’s

home and I shaved his neck. His hair was just barely beginning to grow back. I wondered if it would still be curly.

Dennis played with Eric, Jamie and Matthew. Eric showed off his “clean” room; and, as usual, the children were on him like a litter of new puppies. There is a natural love between Dennis and children.

Next we stopped at the grocery store, and he asked to

come in with us. At this point, Dennis still needed extensive facial surgery, and he used a cane for balance as he

walked. The experience was like a party to him. He marveled at the meat counter and vegetable displays, looking

intently at everything that caught his eye. He involved himself in our selections and pushed the cart.

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Evening dinner was at Grandmother’s home with a

lovely meal being prepared by Aunt Lou. We sat down to

a formal dinner, with china, linen, conversations and manners, and all went well for him. He was so appreciative and obviously happy.

Buying chocolate ice cream cones, and filing the car

with gas were exciting for him. He fairly sang as he enjoyed activities that had been denied him for the past four months.

Sunday morning began with a long distance call from

Jill, and his decision to attend church. We put together an

outfit, using the new slacks Jill had given him (he’d lost 30 pounds) and some of Jepp’s clothes, topping it off with his favorite English hat to cover his scars.

In the evening our family all came over for homemade

pralines-and-cream ice cream. We celebrated and talked,

as tears warmed our cheeks. Dennis told us how he remembered fading out of reality, and coming and going

from some unknown place. He remembered his spirit leav-

ing his body and looking down on the emergency team at St. Joseph’s as they worked to save his life. He recalled

another time when he couldn’t breathe. How he concen-

trated, with all his might, on the next breath thinking, “All I have to do is take the next breath, and then the next, to stay alive.”

Hospital rehabilitation was tried, but nothing was

accomplished with Dennis. Time was marching on. I re-

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membered Dr. Carrion saying the first two years after the

accident were the most important years—the time when he would make the most progress—so I was frantic with wasted time.

As luck or God would have it, just 30 days after en-

tering the U. of U. Hospital, I received another phone call

from the doctor in charge. I had settled back into my life

thinking I would have a six month reprieve with Dennis getting all the help he needed, and I had everything all taken care of. But, the doctor on the line said, “We have done

all we can for Dennis. His needs now are not life threaten-

ing and the hospital is not a forever rehab unit. It’s your job now to take him home and rear him—ACTUALLY RAISE HIM AGAIN.”

With no rehab here like Dr. Carrion wished for I turned

to the greatest source of strength I had—Heavenly Father

and Jesus Christ. The Lord became my guiding REHAB LEADER. I listened carefully to the whisperings from the Spirit and followed as closely as I could, the step by step heavenly directions I was given.

What would I do with him! How could I help him

most! Recalling the instructions from Dr. Carrion, “to be

careful of the people who spent time with Dennis, because he would take on their personalities and characteristics.” Jepp and I decided the best place for him was home with us.

We decided to use the basement bedroom that had been

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his when he was just six years old. He would be familiar with it and have old memories. I’d turned it into a hobby

and sewing room for myself. It was a pleasant room, large enough with two large windows that looked out into the

scrub oak trees in the back yard because that part of our basement was above the normal ground level. It was large enough for a TV set and all the things he needed, with a

bathroom right next door. Out went my things to create a place for him.

One month was ending and another will begin, a

Spring month. As I sat early in the morning, at my kitchen

table, I contemplated the big event of the coming day. Dennis will be coming home from the hospital, only to return there for out-patient therapy and plastic surgery.

My mind reflected over the past five months and ad-

mittedly a little apprehension was felt for the days and

months a head of us. Would Dennis be bored here? What

would the next few weeks and months hold for him? For all of us? My eyes moved from the bird feeder in the tops

of the trees and fell upon a single clay pot sitting on the

sundeck, left for some reason, sitting there through the winter. As I looked at that picture, these words formed in my mind—and my questions were answered.

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ANOTHER CHANCE

The clay pot sits lonely on the sundeck,



Last year’s flower—dry, brown, brittle;



It would seem lost forever to death.



But Spring is nearing—a fresh new start,



And in the roots lie the magic of life.



With water, sun, and care it will sprout and bloom again.



As with the flower,



Spring time resides within him too;



Dennis is having



‘The Miracle of Another Chance.’

d What Was Learned!

God doesn’t care nearly as much about where you have been as He does about where you are and, with His help, where you are willing to go. Your Father in Heaven knows your name and knows your circumstances. He hears your prayers. He knows your hopes and dreams, including your fears and frustrations. And He knows what you can become through faith in Him. Jeffery R. Holland Quorum of the Twelve Apostles Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Created for Greater Things

CHAPTER NINE

d

The Eternal Worth of a Soul

Is of Highest Concern to the Lord



Dennis called me at 10:00 a.m., “Mom, I’m all packed

and waiting.” He was so excited to be checking out of the

hospital, humming a little tune, as we wheeled his belong-

ings in a wheel chair to the front door. Belongings collected over the past few months: pictures of Jess and Jill, a little

flower vase, someone else’s jacket given to him by the nurse, a foam bed roll which made his bed bearable, and

other items “piled high into the wheel chair.” He had spent

many hours tied into one of those chairs himself. Now he would only need a cane for support.

Momentarily, I wheeled him in one chair, as he pushed

another one, full of his personal belongings, towards the hospital entrance. At the entrance to the large foyer in

the hospital, you can look up to see a bronze statue. It’s a life-size, perfect copy of a nude man high in the air above everyone walking below, arching backward, horizontally

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stretching his fullest reach, out to a small nude infant body;

both trying to reach the other with their out stretched hands and not quite touching each other, but looking into

each other’s eyes. It’s a beautiful statue and a lovely piece

of art, tastefully done. I don’t know the message the artist intended, but the symbolic thought that came to me that cold, windy morning was a child had been placed in my

care; a re-birthing. Dennis was a different person, with different looks, thoughts, desires, and life style. The person

he was before, symbolically died on the beach. He would grow to become a man again, from child to man again. My job was to salvage a human being.

In my heart I knew it would be true. As Eric’s prayer

had said, “Bless him to grow.” This growth had been affirmed to me many times since.

It seemed to him like the happiest day of his life. He’d

advanced to living outside of a hospital. We talked of all those times he’d tried to escape from St. Joseph’s—now

it was truly happening. He could walk out the door and would not have to come back an hour later.

We made a quick stop at his vacant house in Salt Lake

City, then went on to shop for groceries. After dinner, Jepp, Lisa, Dennis and I went to a movie. It was a perfect

movie, chosen for him by Jepp, called Champions. This was a movie about a race horse jockey, his battle with

cancer and his struggle to return to health. Dennis cried through the whole movie and related very well with the

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jockey. My heart hurt for him as only a mother’s heart can feel.

When I feel a wave of despair or fear, I quickly make

a mental picture of him sitting in Brother Featherstone’s

office with hands laid upon his head, while I witnessed a wonderful blessing being given to him. Immediately I know all will be well and, in the meantime, there are lessons for us to learn and tasks to be done.

Sunday, we all went to Testimony Meeting. I felt a

strong impulse to bear my testimony and told the ward members of the love God shows to Dennis, as well as the unconditional love, even for those who may not be living

worthily at the time. How beautiful it is to watch the healing power from Heavenly Father restore his body and his

mind day by day. Dennis felt great all day. Friends came to visit. His brother Gary played a game; sister Debbie,

friends, Steve Winn, Bruce Blaine and his wife Becky visited for awhile.

Dennis and I made a goal to have morning prayer to-

gether and to weigh together daily. Me to lose and him to

gain. He was beginning to enjoy his prayers, and they took on great meaning for him.

He talked now and then about how he remembers the

great pain at the accident and passing out. He shared how he felt each night, thinking he would die as he went to

sleep, constantly fighting to stay alive, then saying the rest of his memory was too painful to talk about.

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107

I have heard people say, “If you have faith and trust

in the Lord, you can do anything.” I’d seen people who believed that, but honestly, sometimes I thought some

of it was wishful thinking. But with this experience, I’ve learned it to be true. To watch the love of people, the love

of God for Dennis, to see the use of the priesthood power for him and see him respond, has been the most faith promoting experience in my life, in fact it has changed my life.

With my new responsibility, I could only think of one

day at a time, unable to make decisions for anything beyond the next day. My husband, my other children, grandchildren and parents were put on the back shelf, so to speak. My life was now given totally to Dennis. Up until this time I had visited and phoned, leaving some time for other things. NOW I WAS NEEDED FULL TIME!

I felt an increase of mothering instincts, a new aware-

ness to the nurturing, caring emotions and responsibility that a young woman feels after the birth of her first child. I felt like a partner with God in this most serious project.

Dennis needed a total rehab program, BUT there was

nothing like that organized. The doctor had just said, “Take him home and be his mother.” I answered, “How?

What do you mean?” I was told, “You raised him once,

you’ll have to raise him again.” I was warned, “Do not let him be­­ alone. He will get lost. He was unable to find

his way back to his room if he went down the hall in his wheel chair.”

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

I went to Heavenly Father again. I did each day, very

often in the day, but once in a while I spent more time, talking about specific needs and asking for specific help.

When we drove in the car I quizzed him with, “How

will we return home? Which street should I turn on?” When

we shopped I made him think of a menu or foods for our

evening dinner. “Where would we find them in the store? Bacon? Which kind of bacon?” I had him be responsible to

put items in the grocery cart and push it while I just fol-

lowed. I asked him many questions leaving him to search his mind for the answers, forcing him to use his brain as best he could. I continued to receive Heavenly Help with

ideas for his recovery. I also needed a rehab program of a different kind!

I don’t remember how I got her name. Paige Heiner-

man was a speech rehab specialist with time to talk with

me. I will never forget my phone call to her. Her sweet un-

derstanding, caring voice soothed my concerns. We made an appointment and I met her the next day at Holy Cross

Hospital in Salt Lake City. Never had I been treated with such concern. As we sat together on a sofa in the hospital

foyer, I felt at peace. Some how I knew this woman would be another important link in his recovery.

Feeling as though I had just communicated with an an-

gel, I walked through the parking lot to my car, and looked

at the trees, and the world God had created. I knew He was re-creating one of his children, my son. My part in this

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109

was to love, have faith, give encouragement, and give my time, my life, for this next while.

Paige had time to see him three times a week. Even

though Dennis could talk, he had forgotten words important to good conversation. He had also forgotten knowledge needed to survive in this world, knowledge he

needed to be responsible for himself. She spent months providing this help.

Painfully, he pushed himself forward. I thought as I

stood back, letting him try, “How is he going to know what he can be—unless he pushes to his limits. How else will he know?”

As a child Dennis loved music. We had my neighbor,

Connie, another neighbor Nona, and a piano which they

both played. I wanted to see if Dennis could re-learn information necessary for his life. I also wanted to know if

he could learn entirely new information that he had not known before the accident.

So we started piano lessons. Dennis in his pajamas,

with Connie or Nona sitting beside him, he learned middle

C on the piano. Sometimes he was too sick or too tired to sit there, but we forced, we coerced, we tricked and begged him to play each day. In the beginning, they had to teach

him over and over again, as he strained and stretched his mind to comprehend. He was learning, he was beginning

to remember, and most of all he was learning new mate-

rial, something he never had learned before in his life.

One day, I was so excited I called Dr. Carrion in Phoe-

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

nix and told him Dennis was learning to play the piano,

and he was playing little songs on his own. The doctor was totally surprised and said Dennis would probably progress farther than they ever dreamed.

When he first came home from the hospital, he could

walk the distance from our front porch to the end of our 30 foot sidewalk where it met the crosswise side walk. Upon

arriving at the end he was confused and could not tell how to get back, even though he could see the front door of

the house from where he stood. But now he remembered

“where” he was living, but had to learn what day it was and what time it was. He was able, most of the time, to

wake up and tell me what day it was—if we gave him time to think about it. Most of the time he would be correct, but sometimes needed clues.

Dennis had arrived at my house, walking with a cane

for short distances, tiring quickly and needing lots of sleeping time. We would walk down the block and back

with one of his favorite hats on, and his cane helping to support and steady his steps. He always felt he’d really

accomplished something when he walked down the block and back with me, so this activity became part of our daily routine.

I felt if he were physically stronger, he could be men-

tally stronger. Our walks soon included a trip around the

block and then several blocks. As we walked he always talked of the same things, same people, same questions

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111

about people like a tape recording, forgetting we had talked of this the day before. I just kept up the answers feeling one of these times he would remember.

One day, he wanted to walk down the block and back

alone. I was very reluctant. If he should lose his way and

fall, I would not find him fast enough. But, I had been preparing for such a time. As we drove around in the car I

would ask him if he could give me directions back home. Feeling safe enough about this I let him go—almost. I just

had to hide behind the tree and watch, as he reached the

corner, to see if he would turn around and come back. He did! Finally, a little step towards independence.

We would talk about positive, uplifting things, about

faith, Heavenly Father and even read. We would lie across

the top of the bed, sideways, and read, the book open between us. He was like a kindergarten reader, slowly sounding out the words, tired from the mental exertion after just a paragraph or two.

I set up a daily routine. Breakfast: he had to shave, even

if he missed lots of whiskers, before eating breakfast. He

had to dress and come upstairs to piano practice. Not for the music, but for the mental exercise. Then a mid-morning nap. Lunch: then I would drive him into Salt Lake City for

his rehab classes. Evenings: sometimes were spent putting

puzzles together or playing games and going on a short walk.

Mostly I reacquainted him with our town Bountiful,

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

and life outside the hospital world. When I went on errands, he went with me. I encouraged him to carry a sack

if he could, sometimes to push the grocery cart, and help

select the groceries. I gave him choices and made him choose and think. I had him purchase treats for himself

and deal with money, making change and learning money values.

We went to movies, some plays, concerts, church, ball

games and family parties. We talked a lot. I was, in fact, helping him to grow up again.

He handled the stares and questions about his face

very well, being always upbeat and positive. He had a

beautiful way of putting other people at ease with a natu-

ral humor. People liked him, and he mixed well. I watched him grow from a child of three to age six, then ten, then fourteen, seventeen and older.

It seemed at times, as if we were in a time capsule. He

would say the same things, with the same mannerisms as he did years earlier, when growing up the first time—only

now his growing was accelerated. He would pass through a span of a year or two in just a month or so. I hoped I was

getting enough learning crammed into such a short space of time. A little window of time opened to relearn what took years before.

Hats became a part of his person. We even let him

wear them while attending church to distract from his disfigurements and shaven head. They seemed to be one of

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11 3

the few things that could be given to him as a gift. Hats and t-shirts: one of his favorites being a blue t-shirt given

to him by his sister Lisa. It had a saying on the back, “God hasn’t finished with me yet.” Sometimes when he didn’t want to take it off, he would use it for a pajama top.

One morning, we had an argument. Dennis had grown

weary of the constant scheduling of tasks to be done. Tasks so mundane and small to others, but to him—real work. I

was anxious that not one day would be lost in his recovery time, always remembering the doctors’ words “most improvement will happen within the first two years”.

He canceled his piano time with Connie, reaching out

to take control of his own life. In one way, this was wonderful! It was progress for him to show independence. On the

other hand it was detrimental, because his judgement was not always in line with progress. We exchanged a few loud

words—actually yelled at each other. The strain of months past showing up in both of us. We were both worn down.

Soon Connie came over for piano practice, even though

Dennis had canceled his lesson that day. She became a soft-

ening influence, a counselor between us, helping to soothe and bring the good feelings back.

Dennis gave me a hug. I kissed his cheek. As I put my

arms around him, I felt the arms of our Lord, Jesus around both of us. I whispered another silent plea to God, “Bless him, walk with him, restore him.”

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

d

Today it was January 16, 1985. We were mentally pre-



Dr. Lewis Morales, a maxio-facial plastic surgeon, was

paring for surgery.

brought into Salt Lake City two years before by the best

plastic surgeon team in the valley. He has performed many such surgeries with one of them being filmed and shown on the Nova TV program.

As Dennis’ surgeon, he accepted this challenge with

the same assured feelings I would have fixing a Sunday dinner. Confident and impressive, Dr. Morales arranged

for us to meet with Dr. Heilbrum, a neurosurgeon. Dr. Hei-

lbrum was good too, having assisted in the separation of Siamese twins joined at the tops of their heads, sharing part of their brains.

As we met with Dr. Morales, Dennis had some con-

cerns for the surgery. When Dr. Morales told us there was a risk and chance of a permanent setback, I wanted to run

away from the decision. But Dennis definitely wanted the surgery!

Even though he had made great progress, a part of his

life was on hold, because he was so unhappy with his face. He told me, “Mother, if you looked like this, you would

hide in the house too. I look like a frog.” Actually, Dennis didn’t hide. He went to church, attended young-adult

activities, went anywhere downtown with me, saw a few

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11 5

friends and joined in with family activities. But nonetheless, he was dissatisfied with his looks and wished for improvement, no matter how difficult the surgery.

The evening before the surgery, we had four men come

to our home to give him a blessing. Dennis called them

and asked them to come. They all responded willingly and

gratefully for being asked. One of the men was Don Wortley, friend, neighbor, and Bishop.

After the blessing he and I talked of the special feelings,

the feeling of the power of God that was present. Dennis had never felt close to the Lord’s teachings or lived them

very well. He was changing. He was at the “feeling” stage of the gospel and was touched by it. We continued to read

the scriptures together in the mornings. I’m sure he didn’t understand all he read as we took turns, but some things

he did understand. He loved the feeling he had when understanding was evident.

As an “on going procedure” following surgery, he at-

tended a “Going In” party at Dr. Paige Heinerman’s home.

The little rehab group she conducted at Holy Cross Hospital, were all there to give moral support to Dennis. Dennis is a people person, and this caring from people was very

important to him. The group consisted of Dr. Heinerman, age 38, with a PHD in speech pathology; Linda, about 26, a single parent of three children recovering from stroke

damage incurred during the birth of her third child; Richard age 42, a successful stock market dealer, who drove his

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

sports car 110 miles an hour after a party, sustaining head injuries; and Jim, an extremely intelligent man with computers, who was recovering from damage due to an at-

tempted car exhaust suicide. This little group had become a network of support for each other as they met every Friday together.

d What Was Learned!

As Lisa’s t-shirt gift said,

“God hasn’t finished with me yet”. . . .

“Believe in God, believe in Heavenly Help.” – Elder Jeffery R. Holland

CHAPTER TEN

d

Some Times You Can’t Choose The Things Your Want –

GOD STEPS IN AND DOES THE CHOOSING FOR YOU



The feeling is back again. That old familiar feeling of

being a jellybean without an outer shell of sugar. It permeates my whole self: despair, fear, regret, concern, worry, anxiety, fatigue and confusion. The pressing schedule and great responsibilities became too much for me.

It is July 1, 1985.

On one of the few mornings I didn’t go walking early

with my friend, Marge, the door bell rang at 7:00 a.m. My morning walk usually lasted from 6:30 a.m. to 7:30 a.m. As friends, Marge and I walked and talked. Many times she was a strength to me, always there to listen. I could tell

her many things to get them off my chest. She shared herself, and time, when I needed it most; being a true friend.

Somehow THAT morning I slept in and missed our walk which worked out for the better.

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

The door bell woke me up with a start. I sat straight up

in bed saying, “Jepp, what’s wrong? Something’s wrong.” I heard voices at the door—men’s voices. Next, they

pushed into the hallway asking for Dennis. Fear clutched

my breast. My mind seemed to slip into a feeling of shock, their words racing through my mind. I said, “What do you

want? Why do you want him? What had Dennis done?” What had HE DONE? He had been in my home, my con-

stant care, not out of my sight for the past 17 months and in the hospitals for the five months prior to that.

Handsome, clean cut men wearing suits, pushed

quickly past me. Determined, they came into our home

and went through the house. Two men went downstairs where Dennis was sleeping. One stayed near the door in the kitchen, others surrounded the house, with their guns

drawn. Everything was happening so fast. I followed downstairs after them, barefoot in my nightgown, not worrying about my appearance.

Standing over Dennis at the side of his bed, one man

took handcuffs from his back pocket and said, “Dennis, you are under arrest for selling narcotics. We are taking

you into our custody. Please put some clothes on.” Shaking, Dennis struggled to put on his clothes, still dazed

from sleeping and bewildered over who these men were and why they were in his bedroom.

Upstairs again, Jepp and I explained Dennis’ state of

health: his need for food every two hours, and for medica-

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11 9

tion at prescribed times to prevent seizures. We explained his accident and his long recovery. I struggled to keep my

mind clear and think of questions to ask before it was too

late. “Where will you take him? Can I see him? Whom do I call? What are you going to do with him? What has he done?” The men were under orders and would not tell

us anything except where they were taking him—the Salt

Lake City Federal Court House. Dennis was quiet, afraid,

obedient and confused. Mentally, still a child, he didn’t know what he had done. I stood as tall as my 5’2” could in bare feet, right in front of one of the men with my nose close to his. With my firm serious voice I proclaimed: “If he does not get food every two hours, if he does not get his medication on time, if he does not get proper rest, if he is too stressed, he will have a seizure and I PROMISE YOU I WILL HOLD YOU RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT.”

As they moved towards the front door, with Dennis,

walking before the men with their guns drawn I thought, Say something to him, just don’t stand here in shock and leave

him like that. I WAS NUMB. I couldn’t feel emotion. I simply said to Dennis, “Please try to hang together today.” In a soft, humble, voice, he answered, “I’ll try.”

Hiding behind the curtains, I watched from the win-

dow, as they walked my son, still unable to stand erect and handcuffed, into a car. Two FBI Agents sat on each side of

him in the back seat, other plainclothes men filled the front seat, and the rest occupied the second car.

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

I noticed my neighbor across the street sitting out on

his porch, watching what was happening. Then my mind

wondered who else was watching on that beautiful, sunny, July morning as people left for work.

I reflected on months of helping Dennis, tending hm,

praying for him, working to restore his health. What would

become of him? Would Dennis ever be in my home again?

Jepp left for work, saying, “I’ll do what I can.” At 1:00

p.m. he hadn’t found any information and called to say,

“I have to leave work and go down there to see Dennis and find out if he’s all right. I have to try to see him.” He

went, but was refused the right to talk with Dennis who

was being held in a jail cell. In the meantime, I found some medical papers from different doctors explaining Dennis’ condition. I was fearful that the stress he was under, would

bring on a Grand Mal Seizure. We had been told by doctors this could happen. Gathering the papers, I left to meet with Jepp at the courthouse.

When I arrived, Jepp was with Dennis in the court-

room. I tried to go in, but was ushered right out into the hall. There were so many people around: families, FBI

agents, and lawyers. I watched and listened trying to find

some information, as Jepp sat with Dennis. I overheard an attorney talking to some parents saying, “This is BIG.”

Walking up to this attorney I said, “Please, tell me

what’s going on.” He showed me a flow chart, with one name at the top, the flow chart building in size, line upon

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line downward and outward. My eyes raced wildly over and over this chart, trying to find Dennis’ name. Oh No, there it was at the bottom corner of the large flow chart.

Finally, a man came from the court room and said,

“All you other people may come in now.” Nineteen men

had been picked up for selling cocaine, and their attorneys were already seated in the room. I wanted to go in too, but I was very frightened. I found a place to stand against one

outside wall of the court room, half-way back and pressed my body into the wall to aid in my support.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I felt

misplaced, like in a dream—some horrible nightmare.

Numb and unfeeling, I just watched as an onlooker, unable to think of very much. We had no attorney for Den-

nis. We didn’t know we were supposed to have one. Thank God for Jepp, that he left work to come here. Dennis couldn’t remember what he had done and we didn’t know either.

Seeing them standing there together in front of the

judge, I wanted to pretend this was not happening. My mind took flight to the time Jepp and Dennis had come

home from a fishing trip. Jepp took the boys, Dennis and Gary, fishing at Strawberry Reservoir when Dennis was

age ten. They dropped anchor about 80 yards off Knolls

Point amongst 15 other little fishing boats and began fishing with worms, marshmallows, and cheese. Soon Dennis began catching fish so quickly, that Jepp had to lay down

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his pole and help Dennis get the fish off his hook and baitup again as fast as possible.

Very soon, they had their limit and decided to leave.

None of the other nearby boats were having any luck, but were attracted to all the action on Dennis’ line. They rowed

over to Jepps’ boat asking Dennis how he was baiting his hook, then inquired about what he was using for bait. They asked all the curious questions that fishermen could ask.

Finally as Jepp and the boys were leaving, Dennis

sold all his remaining cheese to someone for one dollar.

The fishermen were still not satisfied, and offered Dennis another dollar if he would stay and fish in their boat

for awhile. They just knew the boy had some big secret he wasn’t sharing. It was incredible that out of all the nearby boats on the lake, Dennis caught all the fish that morning.

Jepp came home laughing about how Dennis was explaining and instructing the experienced, older fishermen how

to bait their hooks and how deep to let their lines out,

while the men with fixed attention listened to every word. These thoughts were a great escape for me.

In the court room, I prayed inwardly asking God to

be with us to guide the proceedings as I watched my husband and Dennis stand before the magistrate judge together. They looked so small in that large room filled with important and powerful people. My husband, a good man

doing the right thing, was a man I could count on when I needed him. Dennis standing there, handcuffed behind his

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123

back, unshaven, frightened, docile as a puppy. I watched my husband as he handed the medical papers over to the

judge to bargain for his release and to get help for legal assistance.

Out of all nineteen men, Dennis was the only one re-

leased—released into the custody of his parents. The others were kept in jail. The court assigned an attorney for Dennis, a Mr. Scott Reed, whom we met the following day.

I wished for the tightness and mental pain to leave

my body. It was so uncomfortable. My mind would not turn off the events of the past two days. I pretended to care

about the house, meals, dishes, etc., trying to escape my thoughts. Not truly caring, I was like a robot, just trying

to partially fill my time, wondering how many times my phone might have been tapped. How many times did they

follow our every move. The privacy I thought we had was in reality, was only a facade for the past months.

Third day into court again! The very men who arrested

Dennis were now most concerned for his welfare. Reporters were sitting on the news bench, hands posed to write,

lest they miss some bit of information. It was like madness,

a monster in a clown face laughing, and jeering in my face.

Mentally escaping again from the nightmare before me,

life experiences flashed through my mind. I concentrated on memories of young Dennis. For some reason I remem-

bered the smallest things; like not going on enough walks when he was small, missing a day of hugging him, maybe

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not giving him enough one-on-one time. Had I reared him wrong? I chastised myself for every small omission. With

seven children, one with special needs, making my four

daughters’ school clothes, cooking and preserving foods, stacks of ironing; so much to do, I was a busy Mom.

Slipping into another mental escape, I remembered

Dennis as a little child in the world of make-believe. At

least once each summer, I made a trip to the local furniture store to convince them I should take some of their empty refrigerator boxes off their hands and haul the boxes home

in our large station wagon. Once they were moved to the sundeck, off the kitchen, the boxes were open game for

small children to imagine the most glamorous play houses. Crayons, crepe-paper, ribbons, art paper, old rugs, fab-

ric swatches and anything else that looked as if it could go into the construction of transforming an old refrigerator box into a mansion, were gathered together.

Dennis’ artistic ability showed through as he helped

with the creation. Furniture and appliances were drawn on the walls; windows, and doors were cut open and curtains

were pasted at the windows. Pretty flowers were drawn

on or glued to the outsides to appear as if they were growing up the sides of this pretend mansion.

Out on the lawn or in the front room favorite stories

were used as scripts for the neighborhood performances. Dennis and anyone else wanting to join in, were selected

for special parts, such as in the ‘The Three Bears’, or ‘Lit-

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125

tle Red Riding Hood’. Costumes were cobbled from their

imaginations using anything at hand. Sometimes flyers

were circulated in the neighborhood announcing the presentation time, and parents and children would gather to the folding chairs to cheer on the performers.

Then my mind brought me back into the court room

envying the happy people—those who had no fear that day. Those who could wake up with the opportunity to

use the next 16 hours as they wished, enjoying every precious moment, while my sadness washed over me like gi-

ant waves too large for me to cope with. Tomorrow was the Fourth of July. Freedom Day in our country, but, Dennis’ freedom from jail hung over our house. I felt the public disgrace for Dennis, for him—not because of him, but worried for him, yet resentful that the ease and pleasure

of my life had been taken from me. Positive and negative thoughts fought for my time.

He was in the court for something he did two years be-

fore his accident and 3 ½ years before this day. The reason he

was in court—he had transported a small amount of cocaine from California to Utah. In those years he often went to San

Francisco to purchase used Porsche convertible sports cars. Then he drove them home to Utah where he refurbished/ remade the cars and sold them for a good profit. Doing a good job at this, he had many opportunities to sell the cars.

Because of his injuries, and because our phone lines

had been “wire tapped” from the time he moved into our

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

home to check up on him, he was given a pre-trial dismissal and released again to his parents because—he was free

of any further violations—giving him no conviction and no record. Because of brain injury and memory loss, he couldn’t

remember the past things. In his mind, he was going through an experience for someone else.

I realized later; it had to happen. Eventually things one

has done catches up to them. Dennis had to be able to clear

his record—to clear his life, to wipe out all past ghosts in the closet—in order TO START TOTALLY ANEW.

By nature, I was an optimist. I knew the reality of Den-

nis’ condition, but wanted to ignore the facts. I also believe God could not lie. A friend told me to read two verses in

the Bible. They were James, chapter 5, verses 14 and 15 “Is any sick among you? Let him call for the Elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord; and the prayer of the faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he have committed sins, they shall be forgiven him.”

d What Was Learned!

When you drive into the forest,

it takes just as long to drive out of the forest. -----

There is a length of time for

healing, changing habits, correcting mistakes.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

d

Trust, Adjustment and Change– Sometimes You Have to Reset Your Trust



The seventh surgery was near. Dr. Morales explained

his plans for it. Lift the left eye brow, fill in the open spot in

the middle of the forehead with bone where the bone was

missing, build the nose bridge higher, make the nostrils

smaller, bring the left eye corner up, take out folds and fullness of right eyelid, and place in artificial cheeks.

To do this process, the head is shaved, an incision is

made across the top of the head from ear to ear and the skin is pulled forward down over the face allowing the

work to be done. This same procedure had been done in

several of his previous surgeries. Many of his surgeries were major, and took long hours to complete.

Jepp was out of town on business, so our Bishop, Don Wortley was asked, along with some friends, to give

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Dennis a blessing. In this pre-surgery blessing, Dennis

was counseled, “Never be discouraged. Keep your optimistic, happy, loving personality. All these experiences have a purpose, and each step in your healing is for a purpose. The Lord wants you to learn something every time you go through one of these experiences. Pray to Him to find out what the Lord wants you to learn. The Lord is aware of your desire to use the rest of your life to do what your Heavenly Father wants you to do. Your learning and testimony will grow. You will look back on this when it is all over, and see and appreciate the love your family has shown you. You will realize the reason for these things and you will be made whole.” The Bishop also blessed the doctor that he would be guided and all would go well.

This surgery finished the process of facial repair, leav-

ing Dennis with adequate looks to live his life. He would

have a face acceptable by him and society. A face that smiles quickly and eyes that convince you of his love for life and for others.

Each doctor, each hospital, each section within a hos-

pital handled paper work differently. Some bills arrived

needing insurance forms, some needing to be mailed directly to the insurance company, some needed to be returned with special information, while others were duplicates. What part was paid? What was not? Overwhelmed, I had no system. How could I know how to deal with three

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129

quarters of a million dollars worth in bills? Paper work stacked up as I spent my time helping Dennis.

Now and then I worked on it, when I could find the

time, but there was a time where there were so many bills and papers, I just opened a large 6 x 15 x 18 inch drawer

and sque-e-e-e-z-z-z-zed them all in, sla-a-a-a-m-m-m-mmed the drawer shut and walked out of the room. I didn’t

touch or see them again for four to six weeks while I recuperated, thus escaping from the colossal responsibility of it all.

The insurance company was wonderful. In the end



Although Dennis’ pre-accident time, his previous life-

they paid 99% of all his medical bills.

style, had been different from his family’s we didn’t condone it. We continued loving him, but didn’t accept what

he was doing. He would come to family gatherings at

times, and we talked on the phone now and then reaffirming our love for one another. Dennis’ former adult friends

were like family to him. He shared his life and life style with them. He gave them money in time of need, provided

a place of refuge for them to sleep and food if they needed it, becoming a temporary father or provider for some of them at times.

Now several months had passed since Dennis left the

U of U Hospital and he was recovering rapidly and doing

well at home. We felt he needed to be around persons his

own age to help him advance beyond the childlike tenden-

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THE MIRACLE OF ANOTHER CHANCE

cies he exhibited. It was at this time the invitation came from a former friend, to go fishing and spend a night in the mountains he loved.

We reviewed with the friend how careful Dennis

would have to be. Dennis wasn’t capable at this time of making good judgments, and he would have to be tended like a small child. We thought the fishing and mountain air

would be a nice break for him from the constant schedules and rehab schedules he had each day.

I talked with them and explained his condition—told

them how any alcohol or drugs would damage him further, or could even prove to be fatal with the brain damage

he suffered. I thought they understood. I thought they had

learned from Dennis’ experience. I was hoping Dennis’ ex-

perience would be an example to help change their lives as well. After the friends convinced us things would be

alright, and gaining our trust, they all left with camping and fishing supplies.

It wasn’t a fishing trip at all—and was never meant

to be. The “friends” lied to us. I realized this when Dennis

returned home, sunburnt and looking as if something terrible had happened to him. I asked for an explanation and was told Dennis “had fainted.”

Later the real truth was given to me in pieces from dif-

ferent persons. Dennis was taken to a cabin retreat for a

party—a two day booze party. The fishing pole was never unpacked. Careful instructions about his medications were

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131

ignored, warnings and concerns from us about his care

were all ignored. His use of alcohol resulted in a Grand Mal Seizure on the second morning and he was left laying

backwards on a bush in full sun for two hours. Finally the “friends” became worried and called an ambulance to take

him to a hospital . . . but this seizure was a real setback in his progress.

Early the next morning, I knelt in prayer as Dennis

slept, desiring to receive a message . . . another direction from God. I needed help desperately, because I found out his

old friends didn’t understand or didn’t want to. Dennis needed adult friendships, although he was still childlike. He was not capable, yet in his progress, of making sound

judgments and good reasoning. Dennis was so-o-o-o-o lonely. New acquaintences were still afraid of his appearance and busy in their lives. Old friends kept calling him

and wanted to be with him. I knew I had to get them out of his life, but I needed the extra strength Heavenly Father could give me to accomplish this.

During the night I went to my lovely, comfortable liv-

ing room and picked up my scriptures, letting the pages fall open. My eyes cast upon a line ”Commandments are

the laws or rules man must obey as a condition of obtain-

ing salvation.” Kneeling in prayer, I poured out my needs to Heavenly Father, asking for help. I rose and again, wish-

ing for help and answers, I picked up my scriptures. The book fell open again, and I read, Doctrine and Covenants,

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section 9, verses 7 and 8. “Behold, you have not understood; you have supposed that I would give it unto you,

when you took no thought save it was to ask me. But, be-

hold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right

I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right.”

I began my prayer again, explaining how I felt, what

my worries were with Dennis, his loneliness and his association with friends. I felt like Dennis should discontinue with those friends. Then, I asked Heavenly Father

if I should encourage Dennis to walk away from and discontinue friendships with those who involved themselves with activities harmful to him.

The answer was “yes!” I should require him to leave

these friends. The warm, burning in my bosom was an affirmation of my solution. Still dark outside, and for the

third time, I opened my book. It fell open on a page and I immediately read a line slightly lighter in color than the rest of the lines. It was highlighted from behind the printed page.... This had never happened before. I read, ”By the prayer of your faith, ye shall receive”.

I know God loves me, hopes for me, teaches me and

guides me. I love Him more than my limited words can express.

T R U S T, A D J U S T M E N T A N D C H A N G E

d What Was Learned!

Faith is a bridge between us and God. It can pull us in upward directions.

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C H A P T E R T W E LV E

d

Each of Us Receives

The Heavenly Gift of Making Choices – Right or Wrong

And Learning from Those Choices



Dennis became obsessed with the desire to drive again.

We enrolled him in a local private driving school to totally

relearn his driving skills. Attending classes with young high school students, he held up his head and did his best.

He completed the class, passing the driving test with

high scores. Then came the surprising blow: to him, be-

cause his past memory was poor, and to me, because I thought we were “home free” with him having done so

well on the test. He was told that he could not receive a license for several more years. His past record had been

terrible; three DUI tickets, and two arrests for an invalid

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135

license, accumulated over the five years previous to his accident. Fortunately, the past year showed no problems.

An officer took us into his office and went over the se-

riousness of Dennis’ record. We discovered the violations

were not within the state of Utah. We were told if we could go back to the counties where the offenses were commit-

ted, and clear up the records, pay up the fines, and do all that was required, he would be given a chance.

Dennis and I, together, went to accomplish this. I have

a respect for the law and didn’t feel any of these were unfair. What I wanted was another chance for a son who had tried with so much effort to return to life—a decent life. I remembered an important bit of information. We are free to choose what we want to do, but we are not free to choose the consequences.

As Dennis continued to improve, he became restless

throughout the day. His daily schedule that I had set up

for him held little interest now, and he had outgrown most of it. It was time for him to try his wings and work a few hours a day.

All the efforts that went into helping him obtain a driv-

ers’ license, would now pay off. We bought him a used Subaru Wagon from our neighbor. Because he could drive himself to work and had a car to use on the job, he was

hired as a courier, four hours a day, for Inter-mountain Health Care. This job would become a very positive experience for him.

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Daily bank deposits containing thousands of dollars

were entrusted to him to deposit. He brightened the lives

of those he worked with, as they became an important link in his therapy. This job provided him a safe place; a learning place, a place filled with patience and understanding, a

fertile ground for him to grow. He was given the honor of ‘Employee of the Month.’ Dennis also had to relearn social behaviors, and was trying anxiously to please, like a child who made a mistake and wanted to please.

Many things seemed new to him. Things he used

to like, he no longer liked, such as pickles. Dill pickles. He insisted we have a bottle in the fridge at all times. And every day he would take out a pickle to relearn a

liking for them. He shuddered as he ate, perplexed at his

dislike for something he used to love eating. Foods he didn’t like before, he now enjoyed, such as asparagus, tomatoes, squash, amazed that these things tasted so wonderful.

He relearned how to ski and play golf, becoming very

good at them. He attended a trade school, reeducating

himself with spelling, math, and English composition, and maintained an excellent driving record.

Dr. Robert Satovick became his neurologist and gave

Dennis very good care. I remember a day in October, 1985.

I thought, it had been almost two years then since the accident, as we sat together in Dr. Satovick’s office. Lots of

money had been spent, many people had reached out to

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137

help—much had transpired. He and I had been together

like a peanut butter sandwich, hardly out of each other’s sight.

The doctor explained to us, “Dennis will be all right.

He is doing well.” He looked in my direction, “Stop do-

ing things for him. Let him grow and do for himself now. I suggest you find an apartment for him to live in on his

own. He will have greater growth now if you will do this.

He needs this for his self image.” It was a happy message to hear, one I had longed for, but a difficult one too. Letting go—letting go, after so much closeness.

The search was on. Fortunately we found a small

apartment about a mile from my home in Bountiful, suf-

ficient for his needs and especially affordable within his small earning ability. He could take on full responsibility himself for the rent. It was good progress. With the help of

the landlady, we painted and wall papered; new carpets were purchased, and presto! He had a new home.

Dennis learned to be independent and responsible for

himself. He totally supported his needs, learned to pay

bills on time, balanced a check book, took medications, and met appointments making tremendous progress.

He obtained a Patriarchal blessing, and advanced to

the office of Elder in the Priesthood. He spoke in church,

and became a primary teacher for ten year old boys, encouraging them to avoid the mistakes he had made. He

did special church ordinances, and is preparing himself, so

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that when the time for marriage comes, he can be married in the temple.

During his recovery he never complained, never men-

tioned the great pain he suffered, both mentally and physically. He never showed anger nor animosity towards the

driver of the dune buggy or anyone else. He kept a happy,

cheerful attitude, and expressed love and gratitude for us at all times.

One day he shocked me with the statement,

“Mom, I’m glad I had this experience.” He continued, “You would never have gotten me away from my friends or

my old lifestyle if this hadn’t happened to me. I was too far into the wrong. I feel like I have been reborn. I feel like the Dennis I had become, died right there on the beach. I now have a new life as a new person. I’m happy. I love life, I never want to do anything wrong again. I don’t even want a traffic ticket. I’ll spend my life doing that which is right for me and others. If you follow after drugs—you will be caught. When you are caught it will be (1) by the law, (2) by ruined health, (3) ruined reputation (4) or death.”

A year after Dennis completed his time with Dr.

Heinerman’s rehab group, she called him to come back to

her office. She was starting another group and wanted his input to help and give hope to those new patients. Ironic as

it may seem, the insurance representative who sold Dennis the accident insurance policy that paid his bills, was a

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139

patient in that new group. She, herself, was now suffering with head injuries from an auto accident. At one time she helped Dennis, now he could in return help her!

Gone are the material things he surrounded himself

with before the accident. These things were lost to former “friends”, because of “friends”, or taken by “friends”.

One day a group of those old, previous-to-the-accident

friends went into his former home that was still vacant in

Salt Lake City, broke into his floor safe, and took everything from it. Little by little, material possessions disappeared from him by those who said they would watch over and keep things safe.

He has no money from the past, no insurance money

from the accident, no compensation from the driver of the

dune buggy—not even an inquiry from the driver of the

Dune Buggy as to Dennis’ welfare. Nothing material. Still he continues his way back. He is as though starting over, reborn as he explained he felt.

He does have his family, some new friends, neighbors

and those in his church that love him. They pull for him and applaud his successes. Life is a homeward journey for all of us, back to the presence of God.

I look back on the events that have occurred, and think

about all of the anonymous, obscure people that helped Dennis and myself. We are all actors on a giant stage of life

in a play that never ends. All of those people who touched our lives will forever be in my heart.

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Someone said, “Thus when time is no longer measured,

and all but truth has slipped away, many an anonymous soul will find that the seeds planted in the obscure dust of daily life will have flowered with eternal blossoms.”

Dennis has been a living example to others, a testi-

mony to Christ’s healing blessings, and is proof that God loves unconditionally, that He loves us all and will help us. God is as close as a whispered prayer, waiting, willing to help if one has the desire and faith to ask.

Sometimes, even while I sit in a crowd, I shut out the

world, just me within myself, allowing my spirit to com-

municate with Heavenly Father. I talk to Him, plead with Him, renew my covenants with Him for Dennis’ recovery. I know the end result will be what the Lord wishes,

and whatever Dennis is willing to stay committed to, but I make my desires known to Heavenly Father as He would

want me to. I pray to Him. Please, may I always remember

the “contrast between” wanting to be a little pencil lead zero to be erased into nothingness (received from Satan)

and the feelings of joy and peace received from Heavenly Father and never forget them.

Dennis is a bright light in my life. Many times he is

a real inspiration to me. I know if we traded experiences, I would not have the same strength he has shown. He

touched people’s lives for good, as they witnessed first hand the transformation from his old life style to one living nearer to God. He became an inspiration to others as

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141

they observed the outpouring of love and blessings to him from our Eternal Heavenly Father. I understand the desire to protect, the power, that inner strength pre-programed

by nature that a mother bear feels for her young, because all those emotions I have felt with this injury experience.

We have had some setbacks and disappointments be-

cause of others, but there is one new lesson I’ve learned through all this; YOU HAVE TO GO OUT THERE AND MAKE THINGS HAPPEN. YOU ARE WRITING YOUR OWN LIFE STORY. YOU HAVE TO STAND FOR WHAT

YOU FEEL IS FAIR AND WHAT YOU ARE ENTITLED TO AS A HUMAN BEING.

You’ve got to be on top of things yourself, taking

charge and following your own instincts, sometimes ignoring professionals and people who may feel your cause

is a hopeless one. You have to go on by yourself, when those you had faith in and counted on, slide gradually off

to the wayside—those who broke promises or made statements, one time giving you hope of their help.

I found you depend on yourself most, and realize oth-

ers may have meant well in the beginning, but the problem was too big for them. You need to depend on yourself, on

God, and the courage and desires of the one you are helping, who is wanting ever so strongly to recover. Realize

within you there is enough spunk, faith, and determination that you have literally inherited from a literal Father

in Heaven to pull you through. Go with your instincts, go

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with the inspiration and answers you have so earnestly prayed for. Discover what you are made of—then use it.

Quoting from Orson F. Whitney: “No pain that we suf-

fer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to

our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude and humility. All that we suffer and

all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God and it is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to earth to acquire and which will make us more like our Father and Mother in heaven.”

Up until now, blessings and miracles have come to

Dennis as a result of faith: his family’s faith, friends’ faith, neighbors’ faith and the little seed of faith growing within himself.

It’s just over three years from his injury. He has reached

a new plateau. He will be in the drivers seat of his life,

and has learned by now that triumph, many times is born of tragedy. BUT, NOW COMES THE GREAT DEVELOPMENT OF COMMITMENT FOR HIM.

Our life’s purpose is not to prove to our Heavenly Fa-

ther what we will become, as much as it is to see for ourselves the person we choose to be. Man is the maker of

himself, using the wonderful gift of free agency from God.

There is a song I like called, “Live That You May At-

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143

tain”, sung on a recording by Roger Hoffman. These are the words.

“Each new day waits before me like an empty page that I may write upon. What will my story be? I know

it’s up to me, so I begin; every hour as the plot unfolds, with every choice I make for right or wrong, it will be plain to see where it is leading me and how the story ends.

Every chapter that I write determines my eternity. I see a few mistakes that I must erase before I’m done. In the

end when I’ve made the last corrections and it’s time to

hand it in, what will the Father say? Will He be proud of me and all that I have done?

This new and untried author may miss the happy ending, except the Master knows the end from the beginning, and He puts these words in my mind. ‘Live that

ye may attain the gifts of God. Run that ye may attain

the prize. You’ll find that your story can only end in glory, if you live that ye may attain Eternal Life.”

Free agency is as much Dennis’ gift now, as it was be-

fore the accident. What he does with his life from now on, will

be the miracle he creates for himself; from his own energy, from his own desires, from his own choices.

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Walk Tall my son. Be proud.

Rise above the ordinary!

d What Was Learned!

Life is a homeward journey for all of us back to the presence of God, our Heavenly Father. We are all travelers through this life.

Remember when we were children and we played the game “Follow The Leader’’?

The leader would show us what to do

and we would follow the leader exactly, trying to do our best.

May we all follow the right leader,

Jesus Christ, back to our Heavenly Home. Let us have the faith to give all that God requires. Why are you asked to give your very best?

Because when it was your life that was to be saved, God gave His very best, His son.

The Savior gave His best, His life for you and me.

Now they ask us to have the faith to give our best and to be obedient.



The following letter was written unsolicited by Dennis

on Easter Morning, 1987. It shows his attitude change, as

well as, his ability to think and write. His penmanship is exactly the same as before the accident.

AFTERWORD About Dennis

d

Dennis moved into the small apartment close to our

home. He did just as his doctor said he would . . . and continued to improve—living on his own and learning to be responsible for himself.

He met his second wife when he became a courier for

Inter-mountain Health Care. They were married in October, 1987 and have two children.

Currently he is working in the produce section of a local

grocery store because that was something he did in young-

er years before college—before the accident. Dennis is very good at what he does.

In asking his sisters to describe him since the accident, I



y Loves being around people. They are a joy to him



y Takes time to notice the little things in life—enjoys



y Finds beauty in all God has created and likes to talk



y Friendly, personable and outgoing—loves conversa-

share a partial list of what they said he is:

all the small details about them

tion with others

A F T E RW O R D

147



y Thoughtful and complimentary



y Quick to forgive—grateful for everything



y Likes reading scriptures with Mom three or four



y Active in his church



y Sisters say he is fun, full of love, smiles a lot and



Dennis observes life and enjoys life down to the minute

times a week

happy to be alive

detail. He has come farther than the medical people expected he would. Is life easy for him? . . . NO. Was it worth it? . . . YES. It is his journey.

T H E BI RT H OF T H I S BO OK

d

How and Why

I Came to Write it



Two years had passed since that fateful day of the ac-

cident. Dennis was partly recovered by now. We were instructed by his doctor, he was well enough to try living in

his own apartment. With our help, a cozy apartment was found near my home where he could be comfortable.

Even though I still spent many hours a day helping

him, I had some time for myself now. I longed for a change of pace, “some time to be Cleo” again. I wanted to create

something, make some money of my own, and accomplish something that was just mine.

I thought of going back to school, but dropped that

idea, because I was already 55 years old. By the time I finished school, it would be too late to start anything. So, in-

stead, I decided to draw upon my talents developed while rearing seven children. I began to prepare for this part of my new life.

HOW AND WHY I CAME TO WRITE IT



149

I tried a cookbook idea, designed children’s soft toys,

created ideas for craft kits, such as for designer vests and designer pillows. I began helping a friend market her orig-

inal songs, had a strong desire to take up painting, made doll clothes for porcelain dolls, and made plans for a ca-

tering business. All this while working in my home as a substitute secretary for a film producer.

With each of these ideas, I organized, worked out step

by step procedures, researched, sought out people to help or give me advice. I worked on each idea right up to the

time I thought it would all pull together, when it would

fall flat! So I’d say to my self, “That was the wrong idea.” I would then proceed forward to another idea.

I knew I had the talent and ability. I had always been

able to do anything I set my mind to. I was becoming very frustrated with what was happening to me . . . my inability to complete an idea.

Being confused, I went to my Heavenly Father in

prayer and explained my dilemma. I had been given talents and wanted to be successful with them. I prayed of-

ten, especially for the direction for my life. I asked what would He want me to do with my time now? What would be the best for me to do?

I didn’t recognize the direction Heavenly Father was

leading me. At the same time feelings of guilt weighed heavily on me for not writing in my journal and not keeping a progress record on Dennis’ recovery— impressions I

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previously had, but ignored them, because they were emotionally too uncomfortable.

At this same time a friend came to visit me. I explained

what I had been doing with the past few years, i.e., help-

ing Dennis. She said, “You must write it.” I told her I had no records. My memory was dimmed with the passing of time, remarking how we push memories from our minds that are sad or difficult. I didn’t want to recall the details.

Again, she said, “WRITE IT.”

I answered, “ I’M NOT A WRITER,” I haven’t had any

writing classes. I even have a difficult time writing a letter.”

She encouraged me with, “YOU CAN DO IT,” leav-

ing me wondering how would it be possible. The more I thought of this large task, the more depressed I became.

Because of my frustration I decided to attend our LatterDay-Saint Temple, where I could feel closer to God and pray to Him in the peaceful, quiet surroundings there.

I poured out my feelings to Him. I thanked Him for

talents given to me, and asked why I could not fulfill my creative choices. I begged Him to give me direction, and to help me know what I should do with the rest of my life.

This sweet mental message came to me. “You will not be able to do any other projects until you write this story. You will not be given any more direction until you complete what I have already prompted you to do. Write Dennis’ story!”

HOW AND WHY I CAME TO WRITE IT



151

Recalling the constant promptings to keep a journal

and to take some pictures during Dennis’ experience, I believed this heavenly message. This nagging feeling was

my constant companion, but I hadn’t followed it. It felt like a very large task. It seemed I already had enough to do, daily continuing to help Dennis. The reality was, I fell into bed exhausted each night.

But after arriving home from the temple, I determined

to be obedient THIS TIME. I didn’t know HOW, but I

would try. I set aside the next day to write, having cleared off the events on my calendar, then prepared my electric

typewriter and supplies in the spare bedroom of my home.

(Remember it was 1987—before we had a home computer or electronic helpers).

The next day I sat down to write without praying

about it. Nothing happened as I stared at the blank wall

before me thinking how difficult this was for me and asking myself, “How will I ever write this story?”

Leaving the typewriter, I knelt at the bedside and

prayed for help. Then once more, back at the typewriter,

and still nothing would come to my mind. The third time on my knees I prayed, “Father, I really intend to try now.

Please forgive me for not being obedient. I can’t do this alone, and I NEED YOU to direct me.” At that moment I decided I would not leave the room until I could type something,

even a little beginning—actually thinking I would go without food, water or bathroom needs until I had SOME-

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THING WRITTEN on the paper.

Now, this third time at the typewriter, I couldn’t type

fast enough as the memories came back into my mind in

full detail. Words appeared in my mind—I typed as fast as I could, thinking “I won’t stop to correct spelling or grammar, but quickly use this marvelous “heavenly help” with gratitude,

and make corrections later. This was an additional miracle, something I’d never heard of before. It lasted only that

one day, but it was a beginning and more than what I had been praying for. Even though I emotionally could type only three pages that first day, I knew Heavenly Father

would help me write this story and support me in any way I needed.

Technicolor pictures were vivid in my mind. The feel-

ings and the sights returned. Emotions welled up within me. Tears fell upon the keys of the machine, while I relived

all the difficult details of this experience, just as I’d experi-

enced them the first time. Now with these few pages, I was emotionally exhausted, but with Heavenly Father’s continued help I could continue to write two to three pages a day. The story was beginning to form onto the paper.

I was able to locate the nurse who helped at the accident site.

She gave me information and details I lacked, because I wasn’t

there. More about how this nurse fits into Dennis’ experience is explained within the story.

I have learned a lot about tragedy and what it does to

some families. Many a marriage has broken under that kind

HOW AND WHY I CAME TO WRITE IT

153

of strain. Our family felt the strain and stress too, but for-

tunately we came through it, however, Saylor C. Jeppson, (Jepp as written in the story) died May 26, 1996.

I acknowledge Heavenly Father’s help and support

through this “growing experience.” He has been there strong for me, when I needed Him to be strong. I have a new personal respect for Heaven’s help.

Now the writing is complete. The Lord can do what he

wants with it. But it will go into my personal journal history for my posterity.

For the first time in three years I feel at peace with myself.

Young Dennis

Dennis 25 years later