Faith by Thomas D. Demus

by Will Searcy

and ready to spring to life for the new day to come. They are not sleeping, but waiting. Everything is waiting. Even the trees wait. They hang over the park, not a leaf rustling in the still night, waiting for the sunrise to revive them. The only one who still stirs is me, but I am growing tired.

  I sit for some time. There is nothing to watch, and I do not want to think. I wish I had my book to read, but I realize I would need a light to see it, and I do not want to disturb the ducks while they wait. My eyes grow heavy, and I do not want to sleep, but sleep comes like a thief in the night.

  For some reason, I feel conscious while I sleep. All I see is black, and I grow bored. I think I can use my mind to entertain me, but thinking makes me restless. I want to use my imagination, but I am simple-minded and cannot summon anything. A moment of struggle leaves me frustrated. I resign myself to not think anymore and to let the sleep overtake me.

  I sleep. It could be a moment. It could be several moments. I do not know, because my mind rests and I sleep. I sleep knowing I will wake. At some point, I will wake.

  After some time, I regain consciousness although I do not wake in the park. I am somewhere. My mind tells me I am dreaming, but something inside me knows this is not a dream. Some place that exists deep within my heart that my mind cannot place as being part of my body knows. It tells me this is not a dream. This is something different.

  I take in the place. The ground is white, like Doctor Alighieri’s office but more iridescent and vibrant than anything I have seen. The air itself is white, like I am wrapped in the soft sheets and comfort of a luxurious bed. I see no one with me, but I feel I am not alone.

  In the distance, I see light. It is forever away but as bright as if it were right in front of me. Out of the distance, I see someone approaching me, but he stops short. I find it strange and notice that my prior suspicions were correct. I am not alone. A man stands beside me. For some reason, I never get a clear picture of his face. It is as if I only see him in the extremes of my peripheral vision, like I always could have seen him, but never well enough to believe he was there.

  The man at my side nods, and the distant figure comes running. I walk to him. He is closer now, and I can see he is not a man. He is a boy. My breath escapes me, and I trot to reach him sooner. He runs faster. Gets closer. My heart pounds with excitement and I run until we meet and he jumps into my arms. His arms clasp around my neck and I run my fingers through his silky blonde hair. The familiar lump returns to my throat, and my eyes mist.

  It does not happen suddenly. A tidal wave does not crash down on me with overwhelming force. It starts with a twinge, like a tickle in my heart. I squeeze him tighter and press his head against my chest. Another twinge, enough to make me giggle. Sam pulls away from my embrace and smiles up at me. I still love his smile.

  The tidal wave crashes down on me. Joy bursts from the hidden place deep within my heart and flows through my body and spirit in an everlasting spring of happiness. It is a joy so pervasive and eternal that the thought of time’s presence becomes obsolete. It is a feeling so overwhelming that the abstract notion of pain, fear, or doubt is beyond improbable and, instead, laughable. It is more than my perfect dream realized; it is my son in my arms…

  I could continue. I could describe what I feel a thousand ways with a thousand languages, and none of them would satisfy me. Joy is joy. Either you have it or you do not. If you have ever truly felt it. Truly. You know it. If you think you might have, you have not. If you are “pretty sure”, you are not. If you can think of your joy and not feel your heart swelling so large that you do not know if your chest can contain it, ballooning to the point you would fear your heart will explode if not for the fact you have too much joy to fear anything anymore, then you have not felt joy. And, as I cry and laugh and wonder how I came to be so lucky, I suddenly remember. I remember how my marriage was in trouble even before Sam was sick, how cold and unfeeling I was towards my wife. I remember the struggle and the devastation of Sam’s death, and how it shone light on the darkness inside me. I remember my cave. I remember succumbing to the darkness and burning my bridge. I remember almost losing my wife and how my father’s words made me hope again. I remember wanting to win back my wife’s love, wanting the light to drive out my darkness. I remember the boy on the bridge and how he caught me at just the right time, not when I was reading, not when I was sleeping, not when I was hiding, but the exact night when I was ready for him. I remember the boy riding his bicycle towards the lights that would guide him home, towards the welcome that would change his heart, towards the salvation that would deliver his parents from the torment I had experienced through the death of my son, the death that saved their child’s life. I remember how, in it all, there was a reason. How in everything, there was a purpose. In everything, a hope.

  I squeeze Sam tight to my chest. I want to hold him and never let him go. But, for the first time since he died, I am not afraid of losing him. There is too much joy for that. Beyond my joy, I am unburdened. The anchor strapping me down has been cut off, and I am free to float into the sky. My boy is with me. I feel his arms around my neck. I feel his silky hair on my fingertips. It is real. He is real. My son was gone, and now he is here. In my arms. Alive. Sam is alive; I no longer doubt, I more than hope.

  ###

  Author’s Note

  In lieu of payment, Will Searcy requests that the reader make a donation to the Ronald McDonald House. Please contribute towards his stated goal of one million dollars so that families facing similar circumstances as the characters in the book receive top-notch healthcare for their children without losing the loving support of their families by their sides. You can donate through the following site:

  https://www.crowdrise.com/FreeBookforRonaldMcDonaldHouse

  Learn more about Will Searcy’s upcoming novel, Just a Game: White Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing, at his website:

  https://www.willsearcy.com