The cold, drab walls of our Bridge Center have been warmed with color lately. There is a young artist among us. But they said he wouldn't be.
Several years ago, his mother opened their front door in the middle of the night to a sheriff and a chaplain. They said to hurry, that he didn't have long. The doctors said he wouldn't make it through the next 24 hours.
But they misjudged and underestimated. Not only his strength and resilience, but his mother's faith and devotion, and his friends' prayers and vigilance.
"Bridge was my only outlet," said his mother. She managed his care 24/7/365. When she could, she broke to read her bridge books or play in games. "It was my only escape," she said. She concentrated so completely on bridge that, for a very short time, she was free from the enormity and consequences of the horrific car accident that they all said would take her son's life.
He lived, shocking the medical staff, and his talent exploded. She became a master bridge player. Brock's paintings now add beauty and warmth to our Bridge Center, but they are also evidence of what faith, hope, strength, dedication and a mother's undying love can do.
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