Thursday, 11 October 2018 19:58

That First Sign

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The man and his family had been through hell, the absolute worst for them. An accident had occurred that defied explanation.  The man’s wife had died and come back at the scene of the tragedy.  Their daughter stepped outside the vehicle to discover her Mom, Dad and brother laying in the dirt and bleeding.  She thought they all were gone.  Quinton did transition, at the scene.

The emotional and physical pain was only beginning. They were divided based upon their injuries, going separate ways, only to finally end up where they should be, together, six hours later.  X-rays, physical exams and treatment for a wide assortment of injuries began immediately.  Calls were made and loving support came.

The man, he looked strong; looking strong for his family, but how strong can any human be when a child transitions. He had tried to sleep twelve hours after the accident but when he closed his eyes, horrible images from the accident greeted him.  The images were vivid; he immediately decided staying awake was a better option.  The day passed, holding on, making calls – beginning the business of running from the pain and making busy.

Eighteen more hours pass. Family and friends were arriving, to wrap them in their loving embrace, figuratively and literally.  The man needed sleep.  It had been awake nearly two days.  His wife was sedated, his daughter was making calls – both Dad and daughter trying to hold on, but it was time to sleep.  A total of thirty hours had passed since his son had transitioned. 

Finally, as he lay in bed, in an empty room, he felt his body begin to relax. You know the feeling, the peace before the sleep, when sometimes you feel yourself begin to fade and if there is talking nearby it sounds like an echo chamber.  There were no voices as his body relaxed and no visions from the accident scene came.  Just before sleep wrapped the man in a warm and peaceful embrace, he had the oddest sensation.  As he lay there, in a bed, in an empty room, he felt somebody take his hand – his left hand.

My hand is being held, he pondered silently.  He felt his hand being held and it was not his imagination, but not yet did he know what was possible.  In that moment he did not know who was holding his hand, yet he knew his hand was being held.  A soft and gentle grip held his hand as he faded into a deep sleep while reaching for an explanation.  The best he could do in that moment was to marvel and postulate, “Well that must be the manifestation of all the prayers that resulted with my hand being held".  This was the only time he had this sensation.

It took time for the man to realize who was holding his hand. This realization didn’t come quick and certainly not in days, but more like weeks.  Whether it was three weeks, eight weeks or even longer matters not.  The epiphany came of its own accord.  The prayers were only getting started.  If it were the prayers that caused the sensation of his hand being held, it would have happened again he surmised.  There had to be another explanation and then it came to him like a ray of light.  Quinton, their son and brother, has the softest hands and not only he, but his wife and daughter would walk hand in hand with Quinton.  Quinton knew eventually, his Dad would figure it out and realize, it was him holding his hand in that empty room, to comfort him and demonstrate that he still is.

Here begins the gift of knowledge for the man.  The gift given to him by his son, Quinton.

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