Over two years ago, my younger brother, Tom, suffered a heart attack.  (With his permission) Below, you will find his thoughts after enduring such a traumatic event.  If you need hope, you will not be disappointed.

  

As some of you know, I suffered a heart attack in mid February (2 years ago). My wife got me to the hospital in time (obviously); however, it was a near thing: I was whisked into the ER, where a team of wonderful doctors, nurses and other medical technicians briskly set about saving my life. As a small whirlwind of activity spun around me, I was suddenly surprised to realize a few things:

1. Heart attacks hurt!
Seriously, I'd not known one could endure such pain and remain conscious. Now, you might think it odd that this surprised me; however, you must keep in mind that I've had to endure very little extreme physical suffering throughout my life.

2. Suffering and peace are not mutually exclusive experiences.
One can experience phenomenal peace even while enduring phenomenal suffering.

It is the latter surprise that I wish to talk about at the moment. I suppose I need to start by describing more of the ordeal.

In the ER. my heart was on track to ripping itself apart, racing at over 180 beats per minute. The pain in my chest radiated over my entire body. Imagine that you somehow managed to swallow a live badger whole and the furious creature was trying to claw its way back out through your midsection, then you sort of get the idea. I felt weaker as they wheeled in the "crash cart" and my wife was led out of the E.R.

It was around this time that I noticed that I'd not experienced fear or anxiety throughout the whole ordeal thus far. It was not that I was confident in my recovery. In fact, things looked bleak. I'd recently heard that about 70% of all heart-attack victims do not survive their first event. Yes, it could be that endorphins had kicked in: that my body was shielding my mind through God-ordained natural chemistry and shock; or it could have been a peace that "passes all understanding." Whatever the cause (and I believe it was the latter), I realized with amazing clarity that regardless of whether I lived or died, all was well (or at least, all would be well).

This is not to say that I was an emotional rock. I also felt deep sorrow at the prospect of my children growing up fatherless; however, I realized that many children grow up and flourish in spite of such losses, especially when they've already set out upon the right path.

Even as those gathering thoughts pooled into an oasis of peace in a parched, sufffering land, a man leaned over me, speaking quietly. "I'm Father C---, a Catholic Priest," he said. "Do you have anything to confess?" I focused on his calm face. He smiled as if we had all the time in the world.

"Yes, Father," I answered. Then after a pause of less than a full second, I began, "Bless me Father for I have sinned. It's been five weeks since my last confession…" I was unable to make the sign of the cross. I was weak as an infant.

Above, I mentioned the slight pause because something extraordinary happened within that gap of mere milliseconds. Usually I must dig deeply to disabuse myself of my own self deceits. Yet in this instance I saw my condition with (I believe) remarkable clarity. Within an instant, I felt my heart laid bare. The choice was mine to heed or ignore God's call to ongoing repentance.

Father C--- then heard my confession which poured from my mouth with a concision that even the most casual observer will note I usually lack. He conferred absolution, then administered the sacraments of the Holy Eucharist and the Anointing of the Sick--Some readers might know the latter as "Extreme Unction" or "Last Rights."

My entire time with the priest likely totaled less than three minutes. Yet, if I had a sense of peace amid suffering before, I now also had a hint akin to joy, knowing that I might soon and very soon be heading to my true home.

As the priest left my side, the pain continued building. I received some I.V. morphine and then lost consciousness.

To the best of my recollection, I experienced nothing until waking up in the intensive cardiac unit many hours later. I soon learned that the extreme pain I now was feeling in my chest was not because I was still having a heart attack, but a side effect of the two electrical shocks delivered to revive me. I had stopped breathing and my heart stopped after the first shock; however, the second did the trick.

It wasn't long until I realized to my surprise that I'd discovered yet a third truth
(Remember:
1: Heart attacks hurt.
2: Suffering and peace are not mutually exclusive experiences.),
to wit:
3: God is good.

Most professing theists (I hope) will deem this a "given," yet I realized that I didn't get it, whatever I'd professed previously. You see, I've always struggled with the philosophical question of the problem of pain in Christianity.

One tends to ask how an infinitely powerful and infinitely good God can allow innocent suffering, knowing that many of us finite beings would do whatever we could to eliminate it. For me, this question (whose answer still remains beyond me) was for me a statement of no confidence in God Himself. I doubted God's goodness; yet now, having suffered and been close to death, I realize that suffering does not preclude God's goodness. Then again, why should I have imagined it would, given that we Christians profess that He Himself chose to use His own Son's suffering for our redemption?

That's all for now.

This is a true story that explains why I believe in angels.

Almost a year ago, my dear grandson Cody, his mom (my oldest daughter, Jenn) and I spent the day together to honor Mother's Day. The three of us enjoyed a lovely lunch at Cody's favorite restaurant, Friendly's, where ice cream was plentiful.  He drew a beautiful picture and colored it for me.  He was proud of himself when he handed it over to me.  We embraced the moment as we treasured our time together.

Before returning home, we stopped at the pharmacy so Jenn could fill a new prescription for Cody.  A medial issue required a special compound of a potent medication.  This pharmacy specialized in "compounding" or hand preparing/mixing ingredients.  

That evening, Jenn gave Cody one pill and put him to bed.  About 10 minutes later, he went to his mom and asked, "What is this pill doing to me"?  Jenn reassured him that the pill would make him sleepy but that he would be fine.  She kissed him and put him back to bed.

Jenn pondered his question and reviewed his behavior and was left feeling uneasy.  At that moment, an incredible urge overtook her.  Someone/something made her run up the stairs and check on her little boy.  

The neighbors heard her screams!  She yelled for her husband as she attempted to pull Cody from the top bunk bed.  He was barely breathing and his skin was as cold as ice.  His eyes were in the back of his head.  Jenn drove while her husband held little Cody in the backseat.   As they approached the ER, they were met by nurses who snatched the lifeless boy and rushed him away.  

Cody was placed on a ventilator and then flown to a hospital near us.  They live in an unpopulated area.  John (husband) and I met the helicopter and followed them to Pediatric ICU. 

It was soon discovered that the pharmacy made a horrific mistake when compounding his prescription.  Instead of giving him .002 mgs., he was given, 23 mg.  That was almost 1,000 times the prescribed dose!  923 to be exact.

Cody remained in a coma for almost a week.  He had to return to ICU when his digestive system didn't wake up, but then he was discharged.  He has a few issues relating to this event, as one can imagine.  

We know we were very blessed and we know how very close we came to losing our little grandson.  

When I presented Jenn with a figurine of an angel standing behind a little boy, I told her," You have your guardian angel and I have mine - you"!  

Has anyone been touched by an angel or have you had a unique spiritual experience? I am reminded of the two events that rocked my world.

The first one occurred immediately following our oldest brother’s death. When Joe passed away, my siblings and I had to visit the doctor in charge of our mother’s care at the nursing home. The appointment had been scheduled before Joe’s death.

We all went there in one car, but it was obvious that we were going to be late. Before we left, I mentioned this fact and asked if we should call ahead to let them know. Since we were already late and no one wanted to take the extra time, no one called ahead. As we were stuck in a traffic jam, we grew more concerned that we were going to be late but no one brought a cell phone. Oh well, we said and left it at that.

Upon our arrival, we checked in at the nurse’s station whereupon I profusely apologized for our tardiness. I blamed it on the traffic jam and told her that no one had his or her cell phone. She looked confusingly at me and said not to worry, that our brother called to let them know that we would be there, but we would arrive late.

With those words, “Your brother called,” the goose bumps on my arms were matched only by the tears now welling up in my eyes. We looked back and forth at each other waiting for one of my two brothers to fess up. Of course, we also knew that no one called, no one that is, except for Joe! The nurse could tell we were shaken and she too became unnerved. I asked her if he gave his name, what exactly did he say and what time did he call. The call came in not long before we arrived. She said the caller did not give his name; he only identified himself as Betty’s (full last name) son. He went on to explain that he just wanted them to know that his siblings were delayed but they would arrive soon.

We all just stood there, in front of the station in complete silence. It took a few minutes for us to grasp what just happened. To this day, we can only assume that Joe did call. It brings us comfort, so why not.

And now, my second brush with an angel, my (late) sister, Mary.

Our dear sister passed away on Sep. 29, 2001. Our mother passed away 3 weeks prior. I was devastated beyond description. Shortly after her passing, my other sister was promoted. I sat down at my computer to send an online greeting card. I used the service sponsored by my ISP. It’s a bit more complicated than the more common card sites but I wanted it to have a personal touch. There must be over 400 songs from which to choose. After I picked the card I wanted, I began my search for music. The very first song I preview rocked my world. I sat there with tears streaming down my face as I was paralyzed with emotion.

The piece of music I picked began to play and to my incomprehension, the voice in my ears was that of Mary’s! She worked for our local ISP and apparently, she recorded it (a cappella). I don’t think I moved an inch for at least half an hour. Finally, when the tears subsided, I closed everything out and called my other sister. She never did receive the card but when I told her what happened, she didn’t care about the card.

Recently, I check to see if they are still using her voice. CLICK TO HEAR HER VOICE