Heaven Is for Real: A Little Boy's Astounding Story of His Trip to Heaven and Back Read Online Free PDF

telling of all, a sinking and darkening around the eyes. I had seen this look many times, but in a context where you might expect it, in a patient suffering from terminal cancer or in the final phases of old age. You know that persons life on earth has come down to days, then hours, then minutes. I would be there to comfort the family, to pray with them prayers like, God, please take her soon. Please take away her pain.

    This time, though, I was seeing the shadow of death again and I was seeing it on my son. My not-quite-four-year-old son. The sight hit me like a bullet.

    A voice screamed inside my head, Were not doing anything!

    Im a pacer. I wore ruts in the floor of Coltons room, crossing the tiny space again and again like a caged lion. My stomach churned. Inside my chest, an invisible vise squeezed my heart. Hes getting worse, God! What do we do?

    While I paced, Sonja channeled her anxiety into the role of busy caretaker. She fluffed Coltons pillow, arranged his blankets, made sure he was still drinking. It was a role she was filling to keep from exploding. Each time I looked at her, I could see the agitation growing in her eyes. Our son was slipping away and, like me, she wanted to know: What. Was. Wrong? The doctors would bring back test results, test results, test results. But no answers, only useless observations. He doesnt seem to be responding to the medication. I dont know . . . I wish the surgeon was here.

    Sonja and I wrestled with trust. We werent doctors. We had no medical experience. Im a pastor; shes a teacher. We wanted to trust. We wanted to believe the medical professionals were doing everything that could be done. We kept thinking, Next time the doctor walks in, hell have new test results; hell change the medication; hell do something to get that look of death off our son.

    But he didnt. And there came a point when we had to draw the line.

    SIX NORTH PLATTE

    On Wednesday, we broke the news to the Imperial hospital staff that we were taking Colton to the Great Plains Regional Medical Center in North Platte. We considered Normas suggestion of Childrens in Denver, but felt it would be better to stay closer to our base of support. It took a while to get Colton checked out, as it does anytime you leave a hospital, but to us it seemed an eternity. Finally, a nurse came in with the discharge papers, a copy of Coltons test results, and a large, flat brown envelope containing his Xrays. Sonja called ahead to the office of pediatrician Dr. Dell Shepherd to let his staff know we were coming.

    At 10:30 a.m., I picked Colton up out of the hospital bed and was shocked at the limpness of his body. He felt like a rag in my arms. It wouldve been a great time to panic, but I tried to keep my cool. At least we were doing something now. We were taking action.

    Coltons car seat was strapped into the backseat of our SUV. Gently, I laid him in, wondering as I buckled him in how fast I could make the ninety-minute trip to North Platte. Sonja climbed into the backseat with Colton, armed with a pink plastic hospital dish for catching vomit.

    The day was sunny but cold. As I steered the SUV onto Highway 61, I twisted the rearview mirror so that I could see Colton. Several miles passed in silence; then I heard him retching into the bowl. When he was finished, I pulled over so that Sonja could empty it onto the side of the road. Back on the highway, I glanced in the mirror and saw Sonja slip the Xray film from the brown envelope and hold it up in the streaming sunlight. Slowly, she began shaking her head, and tears filled her eyes.

    We screwed up, she said, her voice breaking over the images she would later tell me were burned in her mind forever.

    I turned my head back enough to see the three small explosions she was staring at. The misshapen blotches seemed huge in the ghostly image of Coltons tiny torso. Why did they seem so much bigger now?

    Youre right. We shouldve known, I said.

    But the doctor . . .

    I know. We