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My name is Jerome Paul. I still remember the call. That one ring that split my life in two. I was told that my son, Richard, had met with an accident. That his Activa was lying on the road, twisted. He was unconscious, his head bleeding. They told me a dog had suddenly darted across the road... and my boy, always soft-hearted, had swerved to avoid hitting the dog. In trying to save a life, he nearly lost his own. I rushed to the hospital with my hands trembling, my breath shallow, never expecting the words the doctors would say next: “Severe brain damage. He may not recover.”
My Richard is just 24
He worked so hard, and never complained. He always pushed himself to do better. He used to come home late, but with a smile on his face, excited to tell us what he had accomplished that day. He used to say, “Appa, one day soon, you and Amma won’t have to work anymore. I’ll take care of everything.” We believed him. He was the kind of son who made you believe in better days. We were already living in his dreams.
Those dreams shattered six months ago
Since the accident, Richard has barely moved, barely spoken, and struggles to even open his eyes properly. He’s gone through three major brain surgeries. There were moments when we thought we’d lost him completely. And yet, he holds on.
We care for him every day—feeding him, turning him, cleaning him. It’s like caring for a baby, but the baby is your grown child, your pride, your hope. And behind every small movement, every twitch of a finger, we cling to the possibility that he’s still in there, still trying to come back to us.
I work as a driver, I don’t earn much
I’ve always done my best for my family, in trying to take care of them. My wife, a housewife, sold everything she had—her jewellery, her savings, even small things around the house that held sentimental value. Friends and relatives helped us as much as they could. In total, we’ve spent around ₹40 lakh on Richard’s treatment so far. We didn’t think of the cost. We just wanted to save our son. But now, there’s nothing left. Every day is a battle—to pay for his care, to keep the hope alive, to not break in front of each other.
Without help, I don’t know how we can continue
We were told Richard needs long-term care, therapy, and possibly more procedures to give him even a small chance at recovery. As a father, there’s no pain greater than watching your child suffer, knowing you’re running out of ways to save him. He gave up his future to save a dog. Please help me save his. Your support could give my son another chance at life, at waking up, at fulfilling the dreams he once lived for.
