This I Believe
“Sleep with angels,” my mom would always say before we went to bed, a statement to express a feeling of security and comfort for us; a phrase to keep us safe during this time of slumber. My brother and I would drift away into some world very different than ours. At such young ages, a dream was our perfect world. Before we closed our eyes we would say a little prayer, without much meaning behind it, usually just a wish for something. After hours of peaceful rest, we would wake up and yearn for those dreams to come true. Dreams of flying and befriending, of better times and of newer places. These dreams were very much like what we asked for in our prayers. I believe in this once single belief: that dreams may not always come true, but prayers come pretty close.
On January 10, 1999, many dreams were shattered but many prayers were answered; a bittersweet scenario. For two long months my brother lay in a hospital bed not able to talk, walk, or even open his young eyes. During a bitter night in November, he was rushed to the hospital, not knowing what was wrong or ever finding out. My mother and I watched as his frail body turned eight and he lay quiet and still through the most cheerful holidays, which were this year, the most painful. He was almost numb to everything; he was in a coma since he arrived and never woke up. Each day we would hope for the best but only received satisfactory progress. No improvement was made, and no answers were given. Only dreams were wished and only prayers were asked.
Every visitor, every nurse, every doctor, and every family member dreamed of his recovery. Their wishful thoughts of him setting two feet on the ground, moving again, and opening his eyes were all thoughts kept locked in the back of everyone’s minds. They dreamed that this little boy would experience all the things there are in the world but the inside of the cold, blank hospital room. They dreamed of him being well again, home again, and to have all fear set aside from the unknown things everyone was so unsure about, like when his health would be steady once again. They dreamed of a better day.
Every night my mom would still say her comforting words, though he could never smile in reassurance that he believed he would. My mom included God in her daily life; “sleep with angels” she would always say. Aside from dreaming of her son’s health, she prayed for it as well. She would ask God every day for his fragile state to heal, for him to be safe, and for him to be worry free from all that was wrong. She prayed for a better day.
On that cold January day, many dreams were shattered. My brother never came home. He never set another foot into the world he knew so little about. He never experienced all the wonders his life could have. He lay in my mother’s arms and quietly and painlessly fell into God’s loving arms. However, there was a miracle on that day. The prayers of everyone overcame the wishes and he did recover, and he was safe, and he was happy; he suffered no more. I believe that my brother truly did from that day on sleep with angels, and although most of our dreams did not come true, the prayers of everyone were answered.
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