It wasn’t long ago a father reached out to me in grief. He asked, “Do you believe in angels?”
This was my response:
“Yes, I do believe in angels and that they walk among us [sight] unseen. Sometimes, if we're quiet and listening, we can feel their presence.
We had some pretty profound moments with Mitch after he passed away. As Mitch was in the process of dying he slept a lot. Natalie and I were in a state of deep despair and couldn't feel as easily what others felt. Some people, not knowing what was happening at our home the last few days, dropped some gifts or notes at our door. They would leave our house and send us a text saying things like, "I'm not sure what's happening at your home, but I felt something I've never felt before. It felt like I was walking through a crowd of angels.”
I’ve had some spiritual experiences in my life, but few as sacred as this night. I’ve written about the night Mitch passed in earlier posts from the viewpoint of everything going dark, and how only when my spiritual eyes adjusted to the darkness did I begin to see the stars. The stars were a metaphor for little blessings in my son’s life that were always there, but I didn’t have the eyes to see them. Not until everything went pitch black. An experience that is simultaneously as beautiful as it was terrifying.
Tonight, I want to share something about that same experience but from a different viewpoint.
As Mitch lay in his bed, unable to move his body or open his eyes – he could scarcely squeeze our hands in answer to questions. His weary heart was about to flutter to a stop. The time was drawing near, and Natalie and I were so very afraid.
At various times throughout the night, people came to our door and left gifts for little Mitch in the hopes of lifting his spirits during this sacred transition. I can almost hear the quiet shuffling of feet in the snow as visitors came reverently to our door to leave a token of love and care.
Mitch would never see those gifts in mortality. They weren’t in vain, however, for they were tokens of love and compassion that would lift our weary hearts after Mitch had gone.
In a strange way, my home started to feel different … like it was transforming into a busy train station. I sensed a sacred gathering of others. Others I couldn’t see. I don’t pretend to know who was with us or what was happening … I only knew something was put in motion and that other souls were drawing near. I could feel it in the marrow of my soul and it brought me a measure of peace and calm. I was hurting deeply, but I wasn’t drowning.
Looking back, I can see that even in our agony, we were supported by spirits unseen.
Today, as I face hardships and the unknown, I try to remember this dark night. And I am reminded that we are never really alone.