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 lying 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 OK, 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 he r 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, 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.
The story is not over (smile)!
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 badly. I
called to you, but you couldn't hear me. I started to cry, but then
it hurt too badly. 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
that 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 lying 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 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 telll 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.
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