Post by Summer on Oct 13, 2006 12:01:01 GMT -5
On July 22nd, I was in route to Washington , DC for a
business trip. It was all so very ordinary, until we
landed in Denver for a plane change. As I collected my
belongings from the overhead bin, an announcement was
made for Mr. Lloyd Glenn to see the United Customer
Service Representative immediately. I thought nothing
of it until I reached the door to leave the plane and
I heard a gentleman asking every male if he were Mr.
Glenn. At this point, I knew something was wrong and
my heart sunk.
When I got off the plane, a solemn faced young man
came toward me and said, "Mr. Glenn, there is an
emergency at your home. I do not know what the
emergency is, or who is involved, but I will take you
to the phone so you can call the hospital." My heart
was now pounding, but the will to be calm took over.
Woodenly, I followed this stranger to the distant
telephone where I called the number he gave me for the
Mission Hospital. My call was put through to the
trauma center where I learned that my three-year-old
son had been trapped underneath the automatic garage
door for several minutes, and that when my wife had
found him, he was dead. CPR had been performed by a
neighbor, who is a doctor, and the paramedics had
continued the treatment as Brian was transported to
the hospital.
By the time of my call, Brian was revived and they
believed he would live, but they did not know how much
damage had been done to his brain, nor to his heart.
They explained that the door had completely closed on
his little sternum right over his heart. He had been
severely crushed. After speaking with the medical
staff, my wife sounded worried but not hysterical, and
I took comfort in her calmness.
The return flight seemed to last forever, but finally
I arrived at the hospital six hours after the garage
door had come down. When I walked into the intensive
care unit, nothing could have prepared me to see my
little son laying so still on a great big bed with
tubes and monitors everywhere. He was on a respirator.
I glanced at my wife who stood and tried to give me a
reassuring smile. It all seemed like a terrible dream.
I was filled in with the details and given a guarded
prognosis. Brian was going to live, and the
preliminary tests indicated that his heart was okay.
Two miracles in and of themselves. But only time would
tell if his brain received any damage.
Throughout the seemingly endless hours, my wife was
calm. She felt that Brian would eventually be all
right. I hung on to her words and faith like a
lifeline. All that night and the next day, Brian
remained unconscious. It seemed like forever since I
had left for my business trip the day before.
Finally, at two o'clock that afternoon, our son
regained consciousness and sat up uttering the most
beautiful words I have ever heard spoken. He said,
"Daddy hold me" and he reached for me with his little
arms.
By the next day, he was pronounced as having no
neurological or physical deficits, and the story of
his miraculous survival spread throughout the
hospital. You cannot imagine. We took Brian home and
we felt a unique reverence for the life and love of
our Heavenly Father that comes to those who brush
death so closely.
In the days that followed, there was a special spirit
about our home. Our two older children were much
closer to their little brother. My wife and I were
much closer to each other, and all of us were very
close as a whole family. Life took on a less stressful
pace. Perspective seemed to be more focused, and
balance much easier to gain and maintain. We felt
deeply blessed. Our gratitude was truly profound.
Almost a month later to the day of the accident, Brian
awoke from his afternoon nap and said, "Sit down
Mommy. I have something to tell you." At this time in
his life, Brian usually spoke in small phrases, so to
say a large sentence surprised my wife. She sat down
with him on his bed, and he began his sacred and
remarkable story.
"Do you remember when I got stuck under the garage
door? Well, it was so heavy and it hurt really bad. I
called to you, but you couldn't hear me. I started to
cry, but then it hurt too bad. And then the birdies
came."
"The birdies"? my wife asked puzzled.
"Yes," he replied. "The birdies made a whooshing sound
and flew into the garage. They took care of me."
"They did"?
"Yes," he said. "One of the birdies came and got you.
She came to tell you I got stuck under the door."
A sweet reverent feeling filled the room. The spirit
was so strong and yet lighter than air. My wife
realized that a three-year-old had no concept of death
and spirits, so he was referring to the beings who
came to him from beyond as "birdies," because they
were up in the air like birds that fly.
"What did the birdies look like"? she asked.
Brian answered, "They were so beautiful. They were
dressed in white, all white. Some of them had green
and white. But some of them had on just white."
"Did they say anything"?
"Yes," he answered. "They told me the baby would be
all right."
"The baby"? my wife asked confused.
Brian answered. "The baby laying on the garage floor."
He went on, "You came out and opened the garage door
and ran to the baby. You told the baby to stay and not
leave."
My wife nearly collapsed upon hearing this, for she
had indeed gone and knelt beside Brian's body and
seeing his crushed chest whispered, "Don't leave us
Brian, please stay if you can." As she listened to
Brian telling her the words she had spoken, she
realized that the spirit had left His body and was
looking down from above on this little lifeless form.
"Then what happened"? she asked.
"We went on a trip," he said. "Far, far away." He grew
agitated trying to say the things he didn't seem to
have the words for. My wife tried to calm and comfort
him, and let him know it would be okay. He struggled
with wanting to tell something that obviously was very
important to him, but finding the words was difficult.
"We flew so fast up in the air. They're so pretty,
Mommy," he added.
"And there are lots and lots of birdies." My wife was
stunned. Into her mind, the sweet comforting spirit
enveloped her more soundly, but with an urgency she
had never before known. Brian went on to tell her that
the "birdies" had told him that he had to come back
and tell everyone about the "birdies." He said they
brought him back to the house and that a big fire
truck and an ambulance were there. A man was bringing
the baby out on a white bed and he tried to tell the
man that the baby would be okay. The story went on for
an hour.
He taught us that "birdies" were always with us, but
we don't see them because we look with our eyes and we
don't hear them because we listen with our ears. But
they are always there, you can only see them in here
(he put his hand over his heart). They whisper the
things to help us to do what is right, because they
love us so much. Brian continued, stating, "I have a
plan, Mommy. You have a plan. Daddy has a plan.
Everyone has a plan. We must all live our plan and
keep our promises. The birdies help us to do that,
because they love us so much."
In the weeks that followed, he often came to us and
told all, or part of it, again and again. Always the
story remained the same. The details were never
changed or out of order. A few times he added further
bits of information and clarified the message he had
already delivered. It never ceased to amaze us how he
could tell such detail and speak beyond his ability
when he talked about his birdies.
Everywhere he went, he told strangers about the
"birdies." Surprisingly, no one ever looked at him
strangely when he did this. Rather, they always got a
softened look on their face and smiled. Needless to
say, we have not been the same ever since that day,
and I pray we never will be.
--Unknown
I got this from an angels forum that I belong to, and just had to share it with everyone here, I thought it was so amazing.
business trip. It was all so very ordinary, until we
landed in Denver for a plane change. As I collected my
belongings from the overhead bin, an announcement was
made for Mr. Lloyd Glenn to see the United Customer
Service Representative immediately. I thought nothing
of it until I reached the door to leave the plane and
I heard a gentleman asking every male if he were Mr.
Glenn. At this point, I knew something was wrong and
my heart sunk.
When I got off the plane, a solemn faced young man
came toward me and said, "Mr. Glenn, there is an
emergency at your home. I do not know what the
emergency is, or who is involved, but I will take you
to the phone so you can call the hospital." My heart
was now pounding, but the will to be calm took over.
Woodenly, I followed this stranger to the distant
telephone where I called the number he gave me for the
Mission Hospital. My call was put through to the
trauma center where I learned that my three-year-old
son had been trapped underneath the automatic garage
door for several minutes, and that when my wife had
found him, he was dead. CPR had been performed by a
neighbor, who is a doctor, and the paramedics had
continued the treatment as Brian was transported to
the hospital.
By the time of my call, Brian was revived and they
believed he would live, but they did not know how much
damage had been done to his brain, nor to his heart.
They explained that the door had completely closed on
his little sternum right over his heart. He had been
severely crushed. After speaking with the medical
staff, my wife sounded worried but not hysterical, and
I took comfort in her calmness.
The return flight seemed to last forever, but finally
I arrived at the hospital six hours after the garage
door had come down. When I walked into the intensive
care unit, nothing could have prepared me to see my
little son laying so still on a great big bed with
tubes and monitors everywhere. He was on a respirator.
I glanced at my wife who stood and tried to give me a
reassuring smile. It all seemed like a terrible dream.
I was filled in with the details and given a guarded
prognosis. Brian was going to live, and the
preliminary tests indicated that his heart was okay.
Two miracles in and of themselves. But only time would
tell if his brain received any damage.
Throughout the seemingly endless hours, my wife was
calm. She felt that Brian would eventually be all
right. I hung on to her words and faith like a
lifeline. All that night and the next day, Brian
remained unconscious. It seemed like forever since I
had left for my business trip the day before.
Finally, at two o'clock that afternoon, our son
regained consciousness and sat up uttering the most
beautiful words I have ever heard spoken. He said,
"Daddy hold me" and he reached for me with his little
arms.
By the next day, he was pronounced as having no
neurological or physical deficits, and the story of
his miraculous survival spread throughout the
hospital. You cannot imagine. We took Brian home and
we felt a unique reverence for the life and love of
our Heavenly Father that comes to those who brush
death so closely.
In the days that followed, there was a special spirit
about our home. Our two older children were much
closer to their little brother. My wife and I were
much closer to each other, and all of us were very
close as a whole family. Life took on a less stressful
pace. Perspective seemed to be more focused, and
balance much easier to gain and maintain. We felt
deeply blessed. Our gratitude was truly profound.
Almost a month later to the day of the accident, Brian
awoke from his afternoon nap and said, "Sit down
Mommy. I have something to tell you." At this time in
his life, Brian usually spoke in small phrases, so to
say a large sentence surprised my wife. She sat down
with him on his bed, and he began his sacred and
remarkable story.
"Do you remember when I got stuck under the garage
door? Well, it was so heavy and it hurt really bad. I
called to you, but you couldn't hear me. I started to
cry, but then it hurt too bad. And then the birdies
came."
"The birdies"? my wife asked puzzled.
"Yes," he replied. "The birdies made a whooshing sound
and flew into the garage. They took care of me."
"They did"?
"Yes," he said. "One of the birdies came and got you.
She came to tell you I got stuck under the door."
A sweet reverent feeling filled the room. The spirit
was so strong and yet lighter than air. My wife
realized that a three-year-old had no concept of death
and spirits, so he was referring to the beings who
came to him from beyond as "birdies," because they
were up in the air like birds that fly.
"What did the birdies look like"? she asked.
Brian answered, "They were so beautiful. They were
dressed in white, all white. Some of them had green
and white. But some of them had on just white."
"Did they say anything"?
"Yes," he answered. "They told me the baby would be
all right."
"The baby"? my wife asked confused.
Brian answered. "The baby laying on the garage floor."
He went on, "You came out and opened the garage door
and ran to the baby. You told the baby to stay and not
leave."
My wife nearly collapsed upon hearing this, for she
had indeed gone and knelt beside Brian's body and
seeing his crushed chest whispered, "Don't leave us
Brian, please stay if you can." As she listened to
Brian telling her the words she had spoken, she
realized that the spirit had left His body and was
looking down from above on this little lifeless form.
"Then what happened"? she asked.
"We went on a trip," he said. "Far, far away." He grew
agitated trying to say the things he didn't seem to
have the words for. My wife tried to calm and comfort
him, and let him know it would be okay. He struggled
with wanting to tell something that obviously was very
important to him, but finding the words was difficult.
"We flew so fast up in the air. They're so pretty,
Mommy," he added.
"And there are lots and lots of birdies." My wife was
stunned. Into her mind, the sweet comforting spirit
enveloped her more soundly, but with an urgency she
had never before known. Brian went on to tell her that
the "birdies" had told him that he had to come back
and tell everyone about the "birdies." He said they
brought him back to the house and that a big fire
truck and an ambulance were there. A man was bringing
the baby out on a white bed and he tried to tell the
man that the baby would be okay. The story went on for
an hour.
He taught us that "birdies" were always with us, but
we don't see them because we look with our eyes and we
don't hear them because we listen with our ears. But
they are always there, you can only see them in here
(he put his hand over his heart). They whisper the
things to help us to do what is right, because they
love us so much. Brian continued, stating, "I have a
plan, Mommy. You have a plan. Daddy has a plan.
Everyone has a plan. We must all live our plan and
keep our promises. The birdies help us to do that,
because they love us so much."
In the weeks that followed, he often came to us and
told all, or part of it, again and again. Always the
story remained the same. The details were never
changed or out of order. A few times he added further
bits of information and clarified the message he had
already delivered. It never ceased to amaze us how he
could tell such detail and speak beyond his ability
when he talked about his birdies.
Everywhere he went, he told strangers about the
"birdies." Surprisingly, no one ever looked at him
strangely when he did this. Rather, they always got a
softened look on their face and smiled. Needless to
say, we have not been the same ever since that day,
and I pray we never will be.
--Unknown
I got this from an angels forum that I belong to, and just had to share it with everyone here, I thought it was so amazing.
