Seventeen years ago, my brother Jonathan was in a terrible bike accident. One minute, he was riding along a country road outside Montreal, the next, he was unconscious on the pavement. For 18 days, while he was in a coma, my family sat vigil by his bed. My mother, who was quietly battling cancer at the time, kept a journal. Every day she wrote the same line: “Where there's life, there's hope.” Then, she filled the pages with updates about who visited, who brought sandwiches, and who prayed for

Tag-uri: accident