If you examined the above picture as a stranger, you would simply see a circle of 20-somethings chatting together. But the fellow in the tie-dyed shirt is Scott Overlook,  who is joining us for the first time, after an intense time in both the hospital and rehab.

Words so desert me, as I try to share what the past eight months have been — for Scott, for his family, and even here, at an outer orbit, for his friends. It seems like a lifetime has passed.

I remember the shock of my first visit to Eastern Maine Medical Center, after a car accident had left Scott with severe brain trauma and in a coma. This bright person, this strong young body … sleeping, sleeping, as the monitors beeped and flashed. I remember the wracking decisions his family made at the many crossroads of his care, always informed by their solid faith. What do you do when a specialist, looking at an MRI, says that people rarely recover from such severe brain trauma, just when pneumonia — often the mercy killer — is getting worse?

I remember the complications of our medical system, when insurance reimbursement often complicated the goal of getting the best treatment possible. At the time I felt our system was overly stingy, but I’ve come to see that since medical care is expensive and limited — hard though the triage may be — it must be wisely directed.

So here was Scott, walking carefully with a walker and surrounded by helpers, into our very house and sitting among his friends after so long.

Laughing — still those bright eyes — speaking a little, and me, dashing to the other room to deal with the tears.

I don’t easily talk the language of faith. The word “miracle” is just so embedded in the muddle of my past. But as I honestly scan our printed heritage, I resonate most with the time when one man said to another, “Rise, take up your bed, and walk!”

Jory Squibb lives in Camden.