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Meeting Heaven

"Think about it. If you know just one person in Mexico or the Philippines or Bolivia or Lichtenstein and something happens in one of those countries, don't you feel a kinship with everyone there? It feels like we've met everybody in those countries even though, obviously, we haven't yet.
I bet this is what Jesus meant when He told His friends that people would understand who He was by watching how we treated each other. Early on I thought big acts of generosity or great sermons or arenas full of people singing songs would help us understand God's love for us. He said it was none of these. Jesus told His friends that letting people see the way we love each other would be the best way to let people know about Him. It wouldn't be because we'd given them a lot of directions or instructions or because they memorized or studied all the right things. It would be because someone met you or me and felt as if they'd just met Jesus. I think what He meant was He wanted someone to meet a person who loved Him and then feel like they had just met heaven--everyone there." -Bob Goff, Everybody Always



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Gabriel is gone. In my arms. Another piece of my heart gone to Heaven before me.

I don't remember much of the rest of the day after he dies. I'm still very sick, and the physical pain kicks in much sooner and much stronger than I thought it would. Gosh, my side hurts, it feels like I've run a marathon and have a massive stitch in my side, I tell the doctors. They tell me it's because my liver is swollen and very angry. If you've ever had one of your organs get angry...you know the pain. My goodness, it's intense.

The phone rings in my room and my Mom answers it. Who is it, Mom?

"Jo?"

Jo? Jo who? I take the phone from her and whisper a hello.

"Hey, buddy."

Johanna. 

I have been blessed with several very special women in my life. Amazingly strong, brave, beautiful, loving women. She is one of these women, and I look forward to the cheerful, "Hey buddy!" every single time she answers the phone.

This time is obviously less cheerful for both of us. Hey, girl. I wish you were here.

"According to this mileage sign, I'm around 2 hours away from you right now. I'm on 80 heading West."

What?? What do you mean you're only 2 hours away from me? You live 7 hours away!

"Girl. I told you when Gabriel was born that I would be there, didn't I? I will be seeing you soon, okay buddy?"

"I think what He meant was He wanted someone to meet a person who loved Him and then feel like they had just met heaven--everyone there."

I've met Heaven.

Not just because two of my children live there. But because there are people who live here, walking side by side with me, as I spend the rest of my life living without my boys. They wanted them for me.

They miss them with me.

I feel Heaven each time there's a hand on my shoulder. Each time I'm given an extra long hug.

Each time someone quietly listens and a tear falls down her cheek.

Johanna arrives and immediately goes to the local grocery store. She comes back with a bag full of treats. This woman left her own 4 babies at home with her husband (who took the day off work so she could come), and drove out for me in my time of need.

I've met Heaven.

She comes into my room, walks to Gabriel's cooler-bed. At this point they've made him a bed of ice to slow the inevitable breaking down of his body.

She cries.

She comes to me in my bed and hugs me. More like holds me. I'm so sorry I just cried all over him Kaila. He's so perfect, so beautiful. I tell her not to be sorry. This is sad. Her tears bring me comfort.

Soon, the nurses change shifts. Jamey has gone to my parents' to be with our two living babies. Mira and Edward had met Gabriel a few hours earlier, and Mira is understandably upset that her Mommy is sick. Your baby died, Mommy? ....Mommy, did you die too?

...when will he be alive again Mommy?

Her questions are honest. Sad. Heartbreaking. Our answers don't seem to satisfy her. I understand her confusion. Her discomfort.

The answers don't satisfy me either.

I settle in for the night, and Johanna makes up her bed on the couch near mine. We are introduced to my night nurse, Kassie. She's very young. Oh my, she probably doesn't have any kids. Why did they assign someone so young to me? All of these assumptions run through my head about how the evening will go.

She walks over to Gabriel's bed. Looks down at him.

...and she speaks. Oh my goodness. Look at you, beautiful boy. So perfect. Hi Gabriel. 

I've met Heaven.

The rest of the night is rough. I'm unable to get out of bed because the anti-seizure meds won't be stopped until the next morning. I get very little sleep. Even though I am elevated, the heartburn I've had refuses to leave, and every time I doze I wake up choking on my own stomach acid. Every time I choke, I feel like my incision is going to split open.

At one point a muscle in my belly starts to spasm, and with each jolt I'm sure that my insides are coming apart. I push the call button and Kassie comes in. Johanna jumps out of bed. It's the most pain I've ever felt in my life, and I start to sob with my hands covering my face.

I have to stop because the belly sobs are too physically painful, and I bring myself back with breathing. None of the meds seem to be helping with the pain. I start to shake every time someone comes into my room to draw blood. Every tiny needle prick that has never bothered me before registers at a 9 on the pain scale. I feel as if a butcher knife is being stuck into my vein and twisted each time they do it.

The night feels never-ending.

I'm afraid the pain will never leave either.

I feel abandoned by God.

And yet. These women are here with me. Holding my hand.

Holding me.

I've met Heaven.

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