Back in 2001, my brother survived a horrific accident that should have taken his life. He was riding in the back of a moving truck traveling about 40 miles per hour when he fell out onto the road. The people he was with drove away, leaving him behind. Tragically, another car came along and ran him over, mistaking him for an animal, and kept driving. He was thrown into a ditch alongside the road and lay there entirely alone until the next morning.
?By the time he was found and life-flighted to the hospital, he was on the brink of death. His injuries were so severe that the doctors initially hesitated to perform brain surgery, questioning if it was even worth trying.
?That same day, my mother was at a different hospital undergoing a medical procedure. My dad and I were with her, completely unaware of what had happened. We only found out about the accident on our drive back.
?My dad and I rushed to the hospital alone. When we arrived and walked into his room, my brother was entirely unidentifiable; the only way we knew it was him was by the tattoo on his arm. It was a horrifying sight. The medical team gathered us into a room and gave us a devastating choice: they suggested we take him off life support. While he still had some brain function, he was in a deep coma, and they believed he would never wake up—and that if he somehow did, he would be completely dependent on others for the rest of his life.
?But my dad was a deacon in the Catholic Church, and giving up on him was the absolute last thing we would ever do.
?While my dad went downstairs, I stayed by my brother’s bedside and began praying the Rosary. This was incredibly unusual for me, as I had stopped being a person of faith and hadn’t prayed the Rosary in years. When my dad came back up, he remarked that it would take a total miracle for something to change. I couldn’t help but laugh a little to myself at that—there he was, a deacon, talking about a miracle while I was actively sitting there praying the Rosary, something I never did!
?Looking for more strength, I searched for prayers and came across St. Jude, the patron saint of hopeless cases. My brother and I had been incredibly close when we were younger, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. I began praying the St. Jude prayer seven times a day, for seven days, over and over and over. I never stopped.
?My brother remained in a coma for about 45 days. I sat by his bed, begging St. Jude to heal my brother and not take him away from me. Then, the impossible began to happen.
?My brother started moving his fingers. The doctors noticed the shift and told me, “Whatever prayers you are saying, keep saying them, because they are working.”
?The medical experts had been so sure of their prognosis, but they were wrong about everything. They were wrong that he would never wake up. They were wrong that he wouldn’t know who we are. They were wrong about him never walking, talking, or eating on his own again. He defied every single limitation they placed on him, and he did it all.
?I know without a doubt that it was the intercession of St. Jude that saved my brother’s life. Because of this miracle, I have dedicated my life to telling everyone my story. No matter how alone or afraid you feel, just pray. Even if you feel like you can’t, do it anyway, because you will feel the profound connection that prayer brings.
?Thank you, St. Jude, for everything you have done for me and my family.