Little did I know, “Ma, I’m gone,” would be the last words I would hear my son say to me on this side of the universe early that Sunday morning as he left town for a weekend. The next words would be from a Kentucky state trooper to tell me, “It doesn’t look good.” I went through the motions of funeralizing my first born, but it was mechanical. I will always believe I must have been in a state of shock as I sat in that church in front of that casket not dropping a tear, even smiling at times. When it was all over with, and everybody went home, I simply refused to accept that my son was just gone like a puff of smoke despite all the evidence.
Sprawled out on the floor of a local library, I pulled every book I could find on afterlife and what happens after physical death. I searched everywhere I could to find answers to my question, ‘Where is my son?’ After all, I told him as he left the house, ‘call me when you get there.’ I searched the web over and over again; I talked to people I thought could help me; I even considered speaking with a medium. Nothing was satisfactory. I needed something concrete. I could not be still for weeks and months.
Finally, when I thought I couldn’t move anymore, I was at work when I excused myself from my desk and went to the bathroom. There, in an adjacent closet, I dropped to my knees and prayed like I don’t think I ever have before. My words where something like, ‘Lord, I’m tired. My son is gone and I refuse to accept that just like a puff of smoke, I can never see or hear from him again until my time to cross over. Lord, I have read your Word, forgive me but sometimes I don’t understand what You’re talking about. Please Lord; I need You to send me something to let me know my child is alright. I need to know for sure so please make it clear so that I understand.’
A year later, I had received a couple of helium-filled balloons in a small birthday party given for me at work. I brought the balloons home and kept them in a corner of my kitchen until I could decide what to do with them. Early one morning, my daughter and I both were preparing to leave for work when she noticed one of the balloons was not in the kitchen but down in the den. It was floating there in front of her when she said, “Ma how did this balloon get down here?” I didn’t think anything odd about it and told her it didn’t have a string on it so it probably just floated down there. We both shrugged it off. Off to work she went. We left the balloon there in the den.
It was 6am when I finished making breakfast. I was standing in my kitchen, leaning against the sink drinking a glass of orange juice, reflecting on the fact that my son would probably still be asleep on the couch at that time of morning. (He preferred to sleep in the den on the couch instead of his bed). As I stood there staring at the couch, I saw the balloon turn the corner and slowly come up the five stairs that lead from the den to the kitchen.
My only thought at first was the fact that this balloon is coming up the stairs as I stood there talking to myself. The balloon came up sideways, then stopped in the doorway directly in front of me. Slowly, it turned, I believe from right to left to face me so I could read what is said. It read, Happy Birthday! The only thing I could feel to do was smile, cry, and say, ‘Thank you dear.’ It only stayed for a minute, and then it slowly turned back, went back down the stairs into the den and across the room over to the couch where it stayed.
I ran up to my bedroom to tell my husband who thought it was “spooky.” Never did I feel anything but the most profound sense of joy and love before in my life. Instantly the heaviness I once felt because of the uncertainty of my baby’s well-being was gone.
“And all things, whatsoever ye ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive.”
This page address: