By: Jeff Breyley

The following is my self-therapy. It should be noted that Individual names were left out of this story so none would be forgotten. Those mentioned anonymously in this story know who they are.

It isn’t that I had no faith, or that I didn’t believe, but some of my life’s experiences were ones where the church turned its back on my family when we needed it most. The blow that dealt me tended to make me keep the church at arm’s length.

I knew that God’s love existed. I grew up in the church, attended services, read the bible, memorized bible verses, and memorized those oh so fun catechisms. And despite all that, I never truly felt God’s love… although I knew it existed.

Now my theory on why this was is two fold. First because I come from a long line of stubborn English stock; Welsh to be exact, and we can’t be taught to or made to learn or believe a thing… assuming you can get through the tough skins we surround ourselves with.

Second, I also believe what all seniors are told as they receive their diplomas and step off into life; that all the booklearning in the world cannot prepare you for the real world. I feel this was also true with my faith, or lack of. All the catechism in the world could not make God’s love real to me! "The ‘diploma’ is nice, but what ‘on the job experience’ do you have? Experience is what we’re really looking for." Needless to say, I was stubborn as a mule.

Well I’ve heard it said that the best way to get a stubborn mule’s attention is to beat it over the head with a 2x4 until the message sinks in. My 2x4 came in the form of a tractor-trailer flying through the air and ripping out the heart of our family. 

That semi killed my son as he slept without a care in the world in the back seat of our car. We were all on the way "to grandmother’s" (and grandfather’s) house to celebrate our love for each other and to recognize all that we are so thankful for… Thanksgiving.

The impact of that semi hitting our car most surely and logically should be the end of this story. It closed the book on many dear aspects of my life; but I was soon to find that this event was merely the beginning. 

Our Thanksgiving was to soon turn into Easter.

Now, about that "on the job training" as far as God’s love is concerned… Unknown to me at the time, fate put a chorus of guardian angels at the accident scene of this tragic event. Witnesses to our little white car’s fate were an off duty fireman (who immediately called 911), a trauma nurse, a neurosurgeon, and a LPN.

These were passers by, some just happened to be late for work, others were taking a different route than their usual, but for whatever reason, they were there answering their own call to duty… helping to wipe away the pain and tears. 

That fellow that called 911, well he just wouldn’t go away, and thank God he didn’t. He sat with us, lifted our spirits, prayed with us, ran errands for us, took care of business matters for us. So did the multitude of our family that converged on Macon, but this fellow wasn’t family… but as he tells us "we’re family now."

Friends from home sent relatives who live in or around Macon to check in on us… and they did. They stayed with us, sat through the long nights with us, held our hands and loved us like family… but they weren’t… they too were strangers. 

More strangers heard of our plight, and the hospital switchboard intercepted a barrage of calls from people who wanted to know how they could help a family they didn’t know.

Nurses on the hospital staff called their homes, and had their spouses and children bring the Thanksgiving dinners that evaded us this season.

The nurses even finagled a room with a broken bed. That way I could have a private room and enough space for my family and the ever-increasing numbers of new friends.

Other nurses brought toys for my surviving son Evan, along with hugs and prayers. They sat with us, they cried with us; they did so much more than administer medication and tend to our wounds… they tended to our wounded souls.

One family even managed to breach the wall of protection the hospital front desk attempted to provide. A huge contingent entered my room carrying a bushel basket full of… well, just about everything we might need. They also carried much more; they carried God’s love… enough to go around. Even enough for a starved soul like mine.

That same family returned to the sight of the tragic accident. They were concerned that some of our belongings might still be there… forgotten… and they were right. That wonderful family returned with shoes and a little bag of special "treasures" all belonging to my deceased son Ryan.

Now for some stories, this would be one of those "made for TV" endings… but wait, there’s more.

All the aforementioned people still did not leave our side. They all returned for final good-byes. All our beautiful, newfound friends were there exchanging hugs, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses. Even making dates for some to come visit us. These "stangers no more" who transformed our immense tragedy into an immense blessing and finally showed this wayward child God’s vast love.

Upon our return to Ft. Myers, our friends of old continued the outpouring of love. 

Ryan was given a beautiful memorial service that was attended by over 500 people. Old friends, new friends, neighbors, old and new co-workers, Ryan’s school friends, teachers and administrators from as far back as Ryan’s nursery school days, teammates and coaches from Ryan’s fencing club, members of our congregation, family from out of town, and people we hadn’t seen in years filled our church to capacity; even overflowing into the courtyard where an estimated 75 people observed the service from outside the sanctuary. 

Both Grandfathers gave heartfelt remembrances of a Grandson they continue to hold so dear. Ryan’s Boy Scout patrol gave their gift and tribute by presenting the colors. My beautiful wife Kris, Me (with my body still broken from the accident) and our family greeted all with hugs and tears who braved the 2 1/2 hour reception line which followed.

We have (and continue to have) a steady ringing of the telephone and doorbell. Numerous people in our town, and in our congregation, took a cue from those in Georgia, and share the huge amount of love and support that helps us to carry on. A seemingly endless stream of people stop to offer their support, to help with daily chores, and keep our refrigerator brimming with meals prepared for us from the heart.

Love overflowed, and continues to overflow…which is really what this season is all about.

How appropriate that this time of year we celebrate God’s love sent to this world in the form of a child.

God also made his vast love real to our family through a child…our son Ryan.

Macon, Georgia used to be just another mile marker on our travels, now it’s become a crossroad on my journey through this life.

Toss the books aside, I’ve got my experience.

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