Easter awakening

I LEANED OVER the hospital bed in which my 18-year-old son, Art, lay in a comatose state that seemed like death. Tubes fed him through the nose; a machine breathed for him, breaking the stillness of the room with its mechanical gasps. I moved my lips close to Art’s ear and whispered, “Honey, I had a dream last night, so beautiful it seemed real. Two magnificent angels stood by your bed. It means you’ll be healed, I know it.”

Did he hear me? Can the soul hear when the body is asleep? Art didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge my words. If only he would open his eyes! Just that, Lord.

Before the accident two nights earlier, this limp form had been a strapping high school senior, the star captain of his football team and the finest son a mother could ever want. Proud of the body God had given him, Art didn’t drink or