Inside a bright, white room, the peaceful song of birds breaks through a window along with the sun that paints a strip of light over Gunner's Mate 1st Class Jason L. Taylor's face.

A quick scan of his surroundings tells him he is not at home. In fact, he has no clue where he is. All of a sudden, he hears a familiar voice and sees his mother, Donna Taylor, rising from a chair - a chair with which she has become quite familiar over the past few weeks.

"How are you doing?" she asks.

Surprised by his mother's presence, he quickly traces his memory to the very last day he saw her. It was three years prior during Christmas at Jason's parents' home in Orange Park, Florida.

Puzzled, Jason asks his mom, "Where am I?"

"You're in a hospital," his mother responds in a calming, soothing tone. "You were in an accident."

Jason concentrates on the very last thing he did. Images of Thanksgiving flutter through his mind.

"Oh, it's not that bad," Jason said, before hearing his mother roll through a list of facts.

"It was back on Dec. 2nd," his mother explains. "They flew us out here on Dec. 3. Today is Jan. 28."

Again, Jason thinks back, trying desperately to remember the incident that left him lying in an unfamiliar bed on Jan. 28, 2015, his body sore, tubes running from his neck and arms and a catheter inside him being operated by a machine at his bedside. But he has no recollection of the incident at all. His only knowledge of what has happened to him is told by the injuries covering his body, some which are already healing, helping him realize how long he's been in this condition.

On Dec. 2, 2014, Jason was working in San Diego as an armorer for Naval Special Warfare Group 1. His job that day called for an escort to El Centro, California, and Jason was driving the lead security vehicle in the group. Protocol mandates that the convoy stays together.

During the ride back to San Diego, Jason passed through an intersection and pulled over to block traffic with his hazard lights flashing, a routine procedure for convoy driving. The first truck drove past. The second vehicle approached the intersection, but the driver slammed on the brakes, coming to a screeching halt, just before a semi-truck crashed into the driver side of Jason's vehicle. The immense force of the impact propelled Jason's vehicle across the intersection, leaving in its wake pieces of deformed metal, shattered glass, and distorted plastic.

The rest of the vehicle, mangled and unrecognizable, had to be torn apart by emergency responders using "jaws of life" to extract Jason, after which he was medevac'd by helicopter.

In critical condition, Jason began to have a seizure while being treated by medical personnel in the helicopter -- then he flat lined. The medical team worked desperately to save Jason, and once they had him back, they went to work on the rest of the injuries he'd sustained.

"The moment I walked into the hospital room I felt extreme relief," said Donna. "When I looked at him the only thing I could really see was his face. There really was no visible sign of trauma so it was like a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Then reality set in. We pulled back the covers to take a look at the rest of him. It was shock to say the least."

The Navy-issued pistol carried on Jason's left side, meant to protect him, turned inward during the crash and into his chest. The impact broke six of his ribs and punctured a lung, which caused internal bleeding. He sustained three fractures: one to his sinus, another to his temple, and one behind his left ear. The three fractures to areas of his head caused bleeding on Jason's brain ushering him into a coma. Weeks went by as friends and family passed through the peaceful, bright white room. They placed trinkets and cards around the room as Jason lay in his bed, oblivious. Then, one day Jason woke up, "out of his mind," he said, and ripped the feeding and breathing tubes from his mouth before moving on to pulling the tubes inside his chest and rib cage. After ripping the IV from his arm, he was held down and sedated for his health.

For weeks, Jason said he would wake up and tear away the tubes. The doctors would later explain this to him as "fight or flight." The trauma to his brain had caused it to revert to its basic instinct -- to fight.

During this time, family, friends and even the doctors were hesitant, at first, to explain to Jason the reason he was in the hospital. They believed it could cause his brain more harm, as he'd have to re-live the experience. As people eventually revealed the events to Jason, he continually tried to force himself to remember the crash, but only the memory of the prior Thanksgiving festivities came.

Jason spent nine more months in and out of the hospital after waking up, Jan. 28. Donna left her home and job to be at his side until Jason received the all-clear from doctors to be left without constant supervision.

Jason pushed his body to the limit, training his muscles to move as they had done before. He said his children became his motivation -- the thought of them, Jayden and Jason Jr., kept him going.

"I didn't want my young children to see me as I was," said Jason.

One year later, on the anniversary of his accident, Jason finally saw his children again.

"I arrived at the Tallula, Illinois airport where my children and their mother were waiting," said Jason. "They had no clue I would be there."

As he walked to the car at the airport, Jason saw the door to the car swing open and out sprung his two favorite people.

"They saw me as I was walking to the car," said Jason. "Once they saw me, they jumped out of the car and into my arms. It was a sigh of relief that my kids would be able to see me again and not lose a father. It was one of the best feelings in the world to see them again."

Jason said it was his support system of family and a close-knit group of friends that pushed him to train and get back to his work in the Navy.

"It was amazing to see Jason recover by leaps and bounds," said Donna. "He had a few setbacks, but once he hit his stride he was out the gate and running. He makes me proud to be his mother."

Donna stayed with Jason as a non-medical assistant and helped with his everyday needs.

"She stayed and helped me until June, but I wasn't alone," he said. "My brothers, as I know them as, would stop by to check up on me every day. We are not brothers connected by blood, but we are connected through a love of motorcycles and the military. We are a family."

Something else that kept Jason focused on his rehabilitation was the thought of his father, retired Chief Gunner's Mate Charles E. Taylor, witnessing his next promotion. According to Donna, since Jason was a child he has looked up to his father and always wanted to be just like him. Jason was a member the Reserve Officers' Training Corps (ROTC) unit at school and after graduation he followed in his father's footsteps, enlisting in the U.S. Navy as a gunner's mate.

"It's a goal of mine to earn my anchors and have my father, a retired chief gunner's mate, pin his own anchors on me," said Jason. "I am still looking forward to the day."

Jason has regained his strength and continues to serve in the U.S. Navy today aboard the Ticonderoga-class guided-missile cruiser USS Princeton (CG 59).

Princeton is currently on deployment in the 5th Fleet area of operations. Though still unable to remember his accident, he does remember the support and love he received from his family, and of those whom he is proud to call his brothers.

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