Sleep is supposed to release you from your worries, your worst fears. Yet as much as I wanted and needed sleep, I doubted it would ease me. My 12-year-old daughter, June, had just emerged from a coma. Now the doctors were telling my husband and me that she’d need a series of brain surgeries if she were to survive.
Lying in bed, wrung out after another long day sitting at her bedside in the hospital, my mind replayed the horrific accident. One moment, June was riding on the back of our farm tractor with her daddy, squealing as dirt clumps flew. The next, she laid unconscious, after the tractor hit something and threw her forcibly to the ground. I felt unbearably guilty that I hadn’t foreseen the danger; and terrified that my little girl wouldn’t recover.
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