ARNOLD, Md. – The bedroom is all teenager, a glorious, jumbled mess. Or else, “it’s a disaster area,” says Donna Jasper, because she’s a mom – but given everything these last two years, its very normalcy is reassuring.

Never mind the unmade bed or the stuff on the floor. What hangs on Jarren Jasper’s walls is extraordinary: Jerseys signed by NFL and NBA stars. Boxing gloves with the message “Jarren Strong.” And a handwritten note from a Georgia grandmother.

Susan May sent it a while ago, just after she’d learned that Jarren needed – or she can’t quite recall, maybe it was just after he’d received – a heart transplant. She wanted to tell them about her son Nick.

“I hope our family’s story, Nick’s in particular, helps you face the future,” May wrote. “Part of Nick’s story … is that he will soon be celebrating 27 years with a heart transplant and be 29 years old.”

And the Jaspers wholeheartedly agree with May’s conclusion – “Life is good” – because Jarren has a future.

Jarren is the son of Navy offensive coordinator Ivin Jasper. Two years ago last month, when he was 14 and excited about playing his freshman season of high school football, he went in for a supposedly routine procedure to correct an abnormal heart rhythm – and almost didn’t make it out alive. After 11 days on life support and more time in intensive care, he spent months essentially homebound, with an electronic device implanted in his chest – and often plugged into a wall socket – as he hoped for a transplant.

“Everything just turned upside down,” Donna Jasper says. “Our lives were –”

“Highly unfortunate,” Jarren interrupts, and everyone laughs – because they can.

Jarren is 16 now, a high school junior, and he has sprouted to 6-2. He takes medicine twice daily to prevent his body from rejecting the heart he received January 30, 2018. A lingering nerve issue in a foot has prevented him from participating in the team sports he loves, including football. But he spends countless hours in the basement with friends playing video games and occasionally argues with his older brother and sister. He rolls his eyes at things his mom says, and resists when she tries to hug him.

“He’s back to where he was, basically,” says Jaylen Jasper, Jarren’s older brother. “He’s normal. It’s great.”

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But when it comes to what happened, Jarren is pretty quiet. His description of how his heart was damaged, of those five-plus months when his life was preserved by a left ventricular assist device (LVAD), and then of the heart transplant, is shorter than this paragraph.

“And now we’re here,” he finishes. “Time has passed. Yeah. That’s what happened.”

All of which is why his parents sometimes wonder how he feels, and what he’s processing. When Ivin comes home from work, he routinely asks: “Where’s Jarren? Buddy, come talk to me.” And he wonders: “What’s going through his mind? What does he actually think about?”

When Ivin asks, Jarren’s standard reply is: “Dad, things are fine.”

“But I know,” his dad says, “there’s a lot more there that he doesn’t communicate.”

There are occasional clues, though. Like the day when Jarren flatly informed Donna: “I’m gonna die in 10 years.”

What does a mom say when her son has googled something like “life expectancy of heart transplant recipients,” and allowed a statistic to sink in too deep? Donna tacked a note to his bedroom wall.

Because of Ivin’s position at Navy, Jarren’s dire situation drew attention from media outlets including USA TODAY – and responses from celebrities and obscurities alike. The Jaspers, who count their Christian faith as integral to Jarren’s successful outcome, and they’re grateful to have received so much support and especially prayers from people they knew and others they’ll never meet. Even now, Donna calls it “overwhelming.”

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“We can’t thank everyone enough,” Ivin says. “All the coaches, all the fans, just all the positive energy and all the prayers.”

Clemson’s Dabo Swinney sent Jarren a video. Pittsburgh Steelers quarterback Ben Roethlisberger did, too. Damian Lillard signed a Portland Trailblazers jersey. There’s an oar from Minnesota coach P.J. Fleck, a helmet from Virginia, and even a football and jersey from Navy’s rival Army – and so much more, including all those notes and cards. One man, apparently serious, said he’d led a good, full life and he wanted to donate his heart to Jarren.

About that: It’s difficult for the Jaspers, even now, to process how they should feel about the transplant.

“It’s hard to put into words,” Ivin says. “You feel selfish. … We always said we were ‘waiting for a prayer,’ but it was a hard time.”

The Jaspers have not met the donor’s family, and aren’t sure what they’ll say if they do.

“How do you say thank you? That’s my (question),” Jarren says. “You can’t really say thank you because, I don’t know, I just feel like thank you is not a thing you can say.”

And Donna adds: “You can’t say ‘thank you’ for life. They lost somebody. All I could say is, ‘thank you’ and promise from the bottom of my heart that I would take care of him and take care of the gift that we were blessed with. That’s exactly what it was: a gift that was able to let his life go on.”

Which is why May’s note was especially meaningful. Life goes on. The Jaspers say they’ve gradually and gratefully begun to return to normalcy. Or at least a reasonable approximation. Ivin continued coaching. Football, and especially Navy football, remains very important (as the plaque in their living room says, “all you need is love … and football”). And so does Jarren's hope of returning to competitive sports.

His older brother Jaylen is a standout volleyball player at Stanford; his older sister Dallas also played the sport in college. Jarren loves sports, too, and he’s frustrated that because of the nerve issue in his right foot, he can’t yet play them.

"He wants to get out there and run around," Ivin says. "But he understands, take it one day at a time. You can't rush nerve regeneration. I wish I could just give him a nerve out of my leg and he could go back to running around.

"It just shows how much you love your kids, and how you'd do anything for them if you could."

That includes reassuring a teenager who wonders about his life expectancy, which is why Donna placed that note on the wall, between the giant Oregon “O” and the Georgia Tech jersey. May, from Cartersville, Georgia, has never met the Jasper family. But she sent the note along with a book, “Nick’s New Heart,” which she’d written years earlier, to the Jaspers care of the United States Naval Academy’s athletic department.

Her son Nick received a transplant a few weeks shy of his second birthday. He’s now 30. He wrestled in middle school and was on the tennis team in high school. He snow-skis and water-skis. He’s married with an 1-year-old daughter, a college graduate in retail management.

“People just need to know there’s somebody else out there that’s living through what they’re living through,” May says. “Ninety-nine percent of the time they just want to know: Nick grew up. They want to know their child can grow up, too.

“I just wanted them to know that no matter what the statistics are, you can live a good life and take advantage of the life you’re given.”

Donna showed Jarren the note and told him: “Look, someday you’re gonna be a dad. And then you’ll know why I cry all the time.” And she says now: “It’s exactly what we needed to hear.”

On summer mornings, Jarren routinely sleeps in. Each day, Donna wakes him to take the immune-suppression drugs, and asks him how he feels. “Fine, mother,” is Jarren’s invariable reply.

“Then he lays back down,” his mom says, “and goes back to sleep.”