open heart day
When Noah was three years old, I had a dream that he died. He was 19. I was standing in line in some random outside airport park (it was a dream) and Noah walked off a cliff. Two men (angels) went down to get him. I waited and waited and waited. Finally, the angels came up, staring at me.
Haunted for fifteen years, I’ve made every excuse possible for the meaning. “He didn’t die, it wasn’t about that, and after all, it was just a dream.” I know better.
Then a year ago, I was running on the trail when this random thought bulldozed my mind over, “Angels can’t save my son, but God can.”
Three years our family has been dealing with this beast of drug addiction, three months the dragon heroin. Death possible in two weeks from this bacteria, this sepsis, this staph, Noah carried it three months.
I stand amazed at the expertise of the surgeons, doctors, and nurses of this world. I stand amazed at the love of my family and friends. But most of all, I stand amazed at the God of the Universe, who today plucked my son from death’s door.