Glory In The Valley: A Story of Faith, Family, and Triumph

By Jessica Matheron and Gabriel McCown

"Glory In The Valley" is set in the small town of Ada, Oklahoma in the 1970's.  On a January day in 1974, Glory Matheron, a senior, and five other Cheerleaders left Ada traveling to a wrestling match.  Shortly after, they were in a head on collision that killed the driver of their vehicle and left Glory with a Traumatic B

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dirt Road Publishing
• Release date: Jan 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781734529302

Jessica Matheron

Jessica Matheron was a published author, composer, pianist, and poet. She wrote for local newspapers and published several short stories. Glory In The Valley is her only full length book.

Book preview

Dedication:

First and foremost, to the Glory of the God of Abraham, and the Messiah, Yeshua, who we commonly call Jesus Christ. The father of creation, the glue woven invisibly throughout our universe, and our blessed hope without whom all would be lost.

Secondly, to the multitude of individuals who have, are, or will deal with the long-term effects of traumatic brain injury and those who aid them in their journeys.

Also, to Ada High School, it’s faculty, students, and alumni. To the City of Ada, Oklahoma and the surrounding communities. May God bless you all.

In memory of Ernest & Jessica Matheron, biology could not have created better parents or grandparents.

Not flesh of my flesh,

Nor bone of my bone,

But still Miraculously my own.

Never forget for a single minute,

You did not grow under my heart,

But in it.

Forward

(Written in 1994)

Aheartwarming story written by a mother about her beautiful daughter who experienced a tragic injury and the long road back to recovery. A true story of faith and divine guidance.

An outpouring of sympathy and support came from classmates and the entire community all through the hospital stay and the rehabilitation period.

Glory courageously struggled to succeed during her early college days to become a skillful and confident teacher with a master’s degree.

Glory is the mother of one child and is teaching in the public schools. Her name is most appropriate and best portrays her life – Glory!

Ray Stout

Mayor – City of Ada

Graduate Dean Emeritus

East Central University

Chapter 1:

I Forgot to Pray

In numb silence my husband and I sat in the doctor’s conference room at the hospital. We looked at one another blankly...to shocked and stunned by the doctors’ request to think clearly. Dr. Pelofsky's voice could have been coming from another planet. Unfamiliar words traveled around stark, white walls before reaching our ears. He had just asked us to donate our young daughter's kidneys.

We looked at each other in mute helplessness; hearing the doctor's words but unable to deal with them rationally. He believes she is dying, I realized. Our beautiful daughter was dying.

He continued to speak, This doesn't mean she is dying, he said. I wouldn't have given her five minutes when she was taken to the intensive care unit last night, but she's still alive this morning. He went on to explain that his request was routine in a situation like ours. His explanation was meant to ease some of our tension, but we knew he wouldn't ask such a thing unless he thought there was a strong possibility of her death. 

Glory's kidneys were not injured in the accident he continued. We will use every possible lifesaving means to help her, but, if she should die, we'll keep her on a heart and lung machine until a recipient can be brought to the hospital for a transplant.

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OUR THOUGHTS UTTERLY floundered while he waited for an answer. We were not prepared to discuss this awful possibility. Finally, I asked, do we have to make this decision now? He shook his head and gravely replied, No. We were not prepared for the accident itself. There was no premonition or undue worry before it happened. I wasn't even uneasy at Glory's remark while looking for her misplaced wallet. I'll need it, so they'll know who am if I’m in an accident, she said. Glory! Stop it, I scolded.

She smiled and after finding her wallet, kissed me goodbye and dashed out to join the other cheerleaders. They were going to cheer at a wrestling match in Del City, about sixty miles from Ada.

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2 – 1973, Glory and Ann Ashby

HER BROWN EYES SPARKLING, she flashed V for victory signs with both hands as she left, so bright, so excited, so typically teenager. I stood in the kitchen door and watched the car disappear around the corner at the end of our block. It would be several days later before I remembered that I had forgotten to pray for their safety.

I wasn't worried about road conditions for their trip because the weather was unusually clear and sunny for a day in January. So beautiful, in fact, that I went into the back yard and began to work on some flower beds and shrubbery. Ernest and our fifteen-year-old son, Ernest, Jr. found me there when they got home from work and school. We all stayed outside a few more minutes, just enjoying the rare, spring like weather.

It was January 25, 1974, about 6 p.m.

As we opened the door to go in the house, we heard the telephone ringing, I answered it, Mrs. Matheron, this is Gloria Kemp, said the voice on the line. The Mission Hill Hospital in Shawnee called, the girls have been in an accident. I don't think they're hurt, she said in an uncertain tone. But they want us to come over there.

I went into shock, immediately. Woodenly, I turned from the telephone and repeated the startling news to Ernest. As we got ready to leave, I had a nightmarish feeling of moving in slow motion against a heavy atmosphere.

During the forty-five-mile drive to Shawnee, we passed a wrecker pulling a totally demolished car. It was a four door 1974 silver Lemans. Could that be the car the girls were in? I asked Ernest. We both knew perfectly well it fit the description of the one they used for the trip. I don't know, he replied. We were not willing to believe they could have been involved in anything as devastating as that car's condition indicated.

Glory would have been riding in the front seat on the right side, I reminded him. She preferred that position because she was subject to motion sickness. Neither of us mentioned that the right side of the car received the heaviest damage. It was as though I were enclosed in a kind of protective vacuum, shielded from further emotional blows

At Mission Hill hospital we were asked to sit down and wait until a doctor could talk to us. By this time some of our friends joined us. They had heard about the accident on the six-o'clock news broadcast. We all waited silently.

It seemed like a long time later that the doctor came to explain the situation. There had been a head-on collision. The woman driving the girl's car was dead on arrival at the hospital. The driver of the other car had escaped injury. Two of the girls had suffered broken bones. Two others had received head injuries making it necessary for them to be moved on to an Oklahoma City hospital. The doctor explained that the Shawnee hospital had no neurological facilities.

Our daughter was one of the two who had been sent to the larger hospital. Although I was still mercifully numb from shock, I remember saying I've never been so frightened in my life.

Our friends offered to drive us on to Oklahoma City, but Ernest thought we might need our own car after we got there. The trip seemed to take forever...as if our car were traveling about forty miles per hour. I was told, later, that we drove up to seventy miles an hour all the way.

At the hospital we went straight to Emergency where we learned the other girl, Kathy McCain, had already regained consciousness and was being dismissed, Glory was still unconscious, and they couldn't tell us anything about her condition. All we found out was that she had not regained consciousness at any time during the transfer.

A young man approached us and introduced himself. I am Dr. Pelofsky. I was impressed with his slight build and youthful appearance. He didn't look to be over twenty-five or twenty-six years old. But, when he spoke, his tone and professional manner erased any uncertainties about his stature as a doctor. Rapidly and concisely he described her condition upon arrival at St. Anthony's, She received an extremely hard blow to the right temple, and we need to do an angiogram to determine the extent of her head injuries. He concluded abruptly, and looked at us expectantly, for our answer. I was swept by a wave of fear, my sister died not long after going through that same test. Reluctantly we gave our permission.

We were not allowed to see Glory before the angiogram. I was so anxious to look at her; to be reassured that she was still alive. Perhaps she’s not badly hurt after all, I thought. Oh, how I wanted to believe that. It was just about then that a nurse handed me a clear plastic bag containing pieces of blood-stained cloth. With horror I recognized the tattered remains of Glory's maroon and white cheer leading outfit. I felt like she had handed me Glory's broken, bleeding body.

I heard a voice at my side. Is there anything I can do? It was Dan Jacobs, Ada High School’s basketball coach. I thrust the revolting plastic bag into his hands. Please take this for me, will you, I asked. Of course, he replied, and don't worry. We all know Glory. She's a fighter and she's going to make it.

Dan Jacobs was a friend who pre-dated Glory's high school days. They had become acquainted when she attended junior high school at Vanoss where he was a member of the faculty. On several occasions I had reason to be grateful to him for his support and wise counsel at that time in her life. Now, his encouragement was typical of his strong faith in Glory to make it.

I became aware of our minister's presence as we waited in suspense for the angiogram to be completed. The Rev. Jerry Wells was one of the first persons from Ada to join us in Oklahoma City.

When they finally rolled Glory out on a gurney; they paused only briefly to let us glance at her. She was covered, so that we could only see her pale face surrounded by her beautiful long brown hair. She looked so small and helpless. Her eyes were closed and the right one was beginning to swell. There were two small cuts on her eyelid, but nothing that required stitches.

Oh, my darling, you are so still, I thought. Please, I begged in silent agony, Please, wake up. They wheeled her rapidly on toward the Intensive Care Unit. I ran along behind them, my heart crying out in wordless prayer.

Brother Jerry rode up in the elevator with us. Ernest had to take care of giving information to Admitting. On the way to I.C.U. the doctor told us the angiogram had not revealed any problem requiring surgery. My hopes rose then sank again as he continued. It simply means there is nothing we can do, He explained. Her brain received a hard blow and it is swelling. Since it's encased within her skull, there's no place for it to go.

After Glory was placed in I.C.U., I was informed I could be with her for just a few minutes. She lay motionless, except that her chest was now heaving convulsively with each labored breath.   I saw that it was swollen and discolored. The nurse at her bedside answered my unspoken question, "She received chest contusions in