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The Little Boy in the Portrait
by Sharon Bryant |
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| | I would like to tell a story. This is a true story and it changed my
life drastically.
| | In 1977 I lost my only child, a son, age 5, in an accident. To those who have lost a child, you know the feeling of depression, loneliness and heartache so intense. I was not coping very well even two years after his death. I had clammed up with family and friends, knowing they would never understand what I was living with every day of my life. I didn't want to live with the pain.
| | My son's room was closed off after his death, untouched from the day of the accident. It still held all his toys, his favorite little red rocking chair, clothes, everything he had played with. His toy box was filled with Tonka trucks. He had picked out his own carpet the year he was three. Orange was his favorite color, so his room had a two tone orange/rust color.
| | Andy was born on my 26th birthday on Jan. 22, 1972. I waited 5 long years to have a baby, and I think we all know the joy of holding our child when we want one so bad. Andy looked like me, exact same face. Only I called him my munchkin. He was a giggly, happy-go-lucky baby.
| | I own my own business and took him to work with me daily. I never let him out of my sight.
| | Andy was born with a callous on this thumb, from sucking his thumb inside my womb. And he proved it the minute he was born, with his little thumb in his mouth. As he got older, nothing I said or did would make him stop sucking that one thumb. He had a blanket that he named MR. B. He'd wrap Mr. B around his hand so no one could see him with his thumb in his mouth.
| | Finally it came time for him to start school. This was something he wanted and something I didn't. I didn't want him away from me. That first day of kindergarten, it was mom who cried, and Andy telling me everything was going to be ok, just go home and don't forget to come get him in 2 hours!! I was a weepy stumbling mom as I walked out of that school with him looking at me through the glass door, with his "thumbs up" sign.
| | Andy was different. He had a way with people. Some used to call him a little saint. He cared about people. He always helped people. I used to make up bedtime stories for him, or type made up stories for him, which he loved. All the stories had a reason, a meaning behind them, so by storytelling, he also learned.
| | I used to work in a mall. I had a cotton candy stand in one mall in Michigan where I used to live. It was Christmas, that last one Andy had with me in 1976. There was a fountain in the center of the large mall. My stand was near the fountain. Many shoppers used to sit on the cement railing that circled the fountain and rest or just hang their feet. One day, Andy had walked over to the fountain. I could see it, it was about 40 ft. from where my stand was. A lot of shoppers were sitting on the cement ledge. I got busy, and a few minutes later, looked up and saw a whole LOT of people all in a circle on the one side of the fountain.
| | Everyone was quiet, listening. I snuck out of my stand, and got as close as I could and I saw Andy kneeling before two elderly ladies. One was in a wheelchair and one was on a walker. Andy was talking to them. People had hankies, kleenex and were wiping their eyes. I couldn't figure out what was going on, so I stepped between the people with my "Excuse Me's" and I saw Andy on the floor with the two ladies. I said pssst, Andy, and he looked up at me and I motioned him with my finger to "come on". The lady in the wheelchair looked up at me among all those people and she said, "Is this your child?"
| | I wasn't sure right then if I should say yes or not, but I nodded yes. She was wiping her eyes with a hanky. And then she looked up at me from that chair and said, "All my life I've been crippled, I've never walked, from polio. I always felt I was cursed. But now I know I'm not. Because your son just told me how special I am and that God made me this way for a purpose."
| | I didn't know what to say and Andy looked up at me and said, "Mom, you always told me that people in wheelchairs are God's special people and I just KNOW this lady is."
| | The lady looked back at him, smiling and crying both, put her hands on both sides of my son's head and kissed him and said, "No honey, YOU'RE one of God's special people. Because of you, I know that these old legs aren't so bad after all."
| | Everyone clapped, and a man raised Andy in the air, and everyone cheered him, and he looked at me with the biggest grin in the world. After he and I were in my booth and I said, how come you told that lady all that you did. He told me that he "knew" she was special and she was sad, and it was Christmas! He just wanted to tell her that he knew she was special, that legs weren't the only thing that made people. That was my Andy.
| | In the mall was an old man, Max, who owned a center card shop. Andy knew all his employees because the card shop was right in front of where I had my cotton candy stand. Max was a grump. He many times came over to me and told me to "Keep your kid here with you." I tried, and tried and I told Andy to stay away from Max. And all Andy said was, "Mom, Max likes kids, he just doesn't know it yet."
| | On Christmas Eve that year before the mall closed early, the card shop employees were having their Christmas party. One of the girls came over and asked me if Andy could walk the 20 feet to their stand and join in the party. Knowing Max and the way he was, I didn't think that was a good idea so I said no. About 10 minutes later, here comes Max, with slumping shoulders and a mean look on his face. And I will never forget what he said. "Can Andy come to our party. He has a gift waiting for him?"
| | I about fell over. I looked at Andy, and he said, "Mom, say yes, say yes."
| | I laughed and said, "OK." I watched as he ate cake and had a cold drink, I watched as he watched the employees open their gifts from each other, and I was looking when Max reached up on a shelf and handed Andy a big bag. I had no idea what was in the bag. I saw Andy peek into the bag, and everyone in the mall could hear him as he screamed out, "Oh thank you Max, I knew you weren't a SCROOGE!" And Max was smiling. I walked over to the card shop, and Andy proudly presented his gift from Max, a big hard cover book on animals that Andy had been eyeing for a few weeks. I looked up at Max, with a tear in my own eye and he was grinning for ear to ear as he said, "There's something about this kid of yours. I didn't want kids hanging around my shop here, but he wouldn't quit. And he called me a SCROOGE!" Andy was grinning from ear to ear as he hugged Max's leg and looked up at me and said, "See, mom, I told you he liked kids, but he just didn't know it."
| | Andy was one of the most gentle children I have ever seen. He wanted people to be happy. He hated sadness. Just before he died, I picked him up from school and I always listen to country music, and a song titled "Roses for Mama" came on. He sat quietly in the truck listening to the song as I drove home. The song is about a little boy 5 years old whose mama died, and the little boy is in a florist shop trying to buy roses for his mama's grave but he only has a dime. A kind man told the florist to give him what he wanted and as the man was driving out of town, saw the boy kneeling at a grave. He had ordered flowers to send to his own mother on Mother's Day, but went back to the shop and told the woman, don't send them, I'll deliver them in person myself. When the song ended, I heard a sob come from Andy and I looked over at him, and I will never forget the words he said to me "Mom, I'm so glad you're not dead, and I'm so glad we have each other. I don't want to be that little boy with no mama."
| | Little did I know, in less than a month, I would be a mama without her little boy. On October 24, 1977, I was working in my kitchen. Andy wanted to go outside in the fenced in backyard and something told me not to let him go. I didn't understand WHY I felt like that, it was a warm fall day, sun was shining. Matter of fact, he and I were going out after supper that night to go "wish shopping." I used to take him out that time of year. We'd look in the stores in the mall, and he'd let me know what he wished Santa would bring him. It was a big event and I looked forward to it as much as he did.
| | That day, my dad was due out on the property (we had an 80-acre farm) and he had promised Andy he'd paint his red wagon orange, bright orange. Andy LOVED the color orange. He once told me God had made a mistake when he made the grass green, and I said, how come? And he said, "Because it would REALLY be pretty if the grass was bright orange." He even used to take his apples, and use his water paints and paint them orange, then look at the apple a while, then we'd have to wash it all up so he could eat it!
| | He had his tricycle in the yard and he had his wagon "tied" to the back of the bike. He wanted to go out in the yard and watch for grandpa. He didn't know my dad had already arrived and had used our back driveway. He didn't know my husband was out back behind our big barn, getting ready to cut down a large tree, making way to clear land for a new barn we were going to build. Neither did I.
| | The last thing Andy said to me when he went out the door was, "Mom, Grandpa is here." and out he ran. I went into the wash room to throw a load of clothes in the washer. The next thing I heard my dad screaming my name "Call an ambulance!"
| | I didn't know who for, or even what for, but I dialed and told them to get one out to my place fast. I looked up and saw my dad running, with my husband and my husband was carrying Andy. I remember screaming, not even knowing what had happened. The tree had fallen the wrong way, fell into our property instead of into the woods and had struck my son. I remember screaming and screaming his name as they brought him into the house. I collapsed on the floor, but screamed. "Give him to me." I was holding my son when he took his last breath. I lost the dearest person to me in my life. I lost my future. I lost my mind.
| | For the next two years I didn't cope well at all. I didn't care about anything, life, people, nothing. I just wanted to be MOM. I wanted a child so bad. When I had Andy the doctor told me I did not conceive easily and chances were very slim I'd ever have another child. In January of 1979 I adopted Amy, my daughter at 48 hours old. In 1981 I had one more son, Randy. I'm "mom" again but I'm mom to 3 children. When people ask me, "How many kids do you have?" I always say, "Three, but one died as a child." Some ask how? Some say nothing. Sometimes I don't even want to tell them what happened.
| | At Andy's funeral, his teacher came to the funeral parlor. Miss Evans was her name. And as I was falling apart, she held me and told me something I will never forget. She said no matter what she did in the classroom, Andy always told her that she was really good but his mom could do it better. She told me he idolized me. She told me she'd never seen a child so young brag about his mom. And I'm a mom who will never quit bragging about her son.
| | Months after he died, I had an artist take his kindergarten photo, and copy it into a large portrait which I hung in my living room. The portrait had always been there since my daughter's birth but she had never asked who it was, and I decided until she did, I wouldn't mention the little boy in the portrait. How do you explain death to a two-year-old? How do you tell her that her brother does no longer live in the house?
| | Through a private adoption, I adopted a 48 hour old baby, my daughter, the second year after my son's death. She gave me purpose to go on. She was a very bright child, she walked and talked very early. By the age of two, she could talk as well as any 6 or 7 year old.
| | I had always told her the truth about everything she asked. I explained the difference between make believe friends, and real friends. She played alone, as there were no other young children in our neighborhood at the time. One day I heard Amy talking to someone. I was doing dishes in the kitchen. She and I were alone in the house. My husband was at work. I walked down the hallway towards Amy and she was in Andy's room. And this is what I heard her say: "Can I play with this?" (I peeked around the corner and she was holding a truck up to the empty rocking chair). She sat it down. Can I play with this too?" She held up another truck and faced the rocking chair as she spoke.
| | I stepped into the doorway and said, "Amy, who are you talking to?"
| | She said, "That little boy, mama." and pointed to the rocking chair. She was sitting on the floor in front of the chair, with the trucks around her. I told her there was no one in the chair, and that we don't have 'pretend' friends.
| | She said, "There IS TOO a little boy, mama, and he said this used to be his room."
| | My heart stood still. I stared at the chair, and saw no movement, no signs of anything.
| | "He says I can play with all these toys. He said they were his toys, mama," she said.
| | I remember I said to her, "Is he still in the chair now?"
| | She turned to the chair and back to me and said, "Yes, mama, he's here."
| | She told me he told her that he had "bought" the carpet in the room.
| | I said, "Ask the little boy what his name is."
| | She did, then turned to me and said, "He said you know what his name is, mama."
| | She turned back to the chair, knitted her eyebrows together, turned back to me and said, "You made the little boy go away mama." She got mad and said, "But he'll be back. He plays with me."
| | Just a few days later, she and I were in the living room, when suddenly she seemed to notice the portrait on the wall and she jumped up and yelled, "Mommy, that's the little boy who comes and plays with me." It was on that day I had to tell her who Andy was and that he did used to live in the house, and that was his room. I told her he lived with God.
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She told me she didn't care, that he came and played with her.
| | A few times after that day, I would hear her talking to 'The Little Boy' in the bedroom. Each time I went down the hallway and listened. She told him stories, she talked constantly to him. I'd hear her ask questions, nod her head, and continue on.
| | I don't know how she saw what she saw and I could not see. I have come to the conclusion that it was meant for her to see and not me. I only know that there is no humanly way Amy could have known about the carpet in that room. Nor how did she know that was HIS room? I only know from that day on, I knew in my heart that death does not separate our love.
| | I believe today that angels are among us. It took the eyes of an innocent child to see that and show me that. I have never seen Andy as Amy did. I would give my life to be able to do so even today, 22 years after his death. But I truly believe now, that my son is ok. I had given up almost everything I believed in with his death. On that day, standing in that room, with my daughter telling me the things she did, I can only believe that my son had contact with my daughter.
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| | Sharon Bryant
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| | If you would like to see a photo of Andy, click on In Loving Memory of Andy
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| These next two stories are about two young men who are definitely earth angels. In the first story meet Mike, the grandson who is every grand mother's dream. Then in the second story meet an unnamed missionary who brings joy to a child.
| | A Tribute to A Loving and wonderful Grandson....
| | No Problem, Grandma
by Anita |
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| | My grandson, Mike was so special and was loved by everybody. His father deserted him and his mother when he was just a few months old and he lived with me for several years. After his mother (my daughter) remarried, they moved two blocks from me. I have always had Mike close by and we had an exceptionally close relationship. I live alone and when Mike got old enough, he became my "handyman." If anything was broken, Mike came and fixed it.
| | He was my daughter's only child and when he was killed, she said, "I always wanted to be a Grandma and now I never will." She loves all children and has lots of "adopted" grandchildren, but none of her own.
| | When Mike was 16, he got an evening job and attended high school during the day. He bought his own car and paid for his own insurance. He also bought his own clothes. Not once did I ever hear him complain. I also never heard him speak a bad word about anyone. He just loved everybody unconditionally. When he enlisted in the army, he told me not to worry... He would be stationed at Fort. Riley, only about an hour away from Topeka. "I'll come home every weekend, Grandma," he told me. Every Friday night or Saturday morning he would call to see if anything needed fixing. If I mentioned anything, I always told him there was no hurry and he could wait till some other weekend if he wanted to. He always said, "No problem, Grandma, I'll be right there." And he always was.
| | Mike was killed on May 31, 1996. A buddy from the army brought him home in the buddy's car that Friday night. It was raining and the car hydroplaned and turned sideways in front of a pickup truck. The car was hit broadside on Mike's side. He was killed instantly. His funeral was so large that all the people wouldn't fit in the funeral home. I wrote a poem and put in the paper on the second anniversary of his death:
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| | No Problem Grandma Mike, on the day you left this earth,
It was two years ago today,
God took your Grandma's heart
When he took your life away.
You touched so many lives, Mike,
And you never even knew
How many people felt privileged
To have a friend like you.
In so many different ways
You showed you really cared,
For when I called you'd always say,
"No problem, Grandma, I'll be right there.
For the twenty years that you were here,
I know I was truly blessed,
And if there is an afterlife,
My Grandson, you deserve the best. |
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| | Anita Burney
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You Are Beautiful
by Susan |
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Not many people talk to my son. It isn't that they don't want to. Everyone who sees him wishes they could. There is something so rare and beautiful about him. I know I'm his mother, and I'm supposed to think that, but strangers often come up to me and just announce how beautiful he is. Instead of saying "Thank you" like any well mannered mother would, I always look at his beautiful chubby face, with its rosy cheeks, brilliant blue eyes, full red lips, and in awe myself, I simply say "I know." Something within him bubbles over with life. It amazes even me.
| | My son is two years old. And he is Deaf.
| | I used to become embarrassed when strangers would stare at our conversations. My hands flying, my face animated to express my "tone of voice", and my toddler's chubby hands fluttering with his baby signs, his face even more animated than mine, I know it is something to see. But embarrassment soon became pride when I learned that people were only staring because they think our language is beautiful. Indeed it is. Many times I have watched with joy, my heart bursting with pride and sheer love when I see my baby speak with his hands. He can say more with his hands and his face than most children his age can say with their voices. To me, nothing is more beautiful than a child's small hands signing "I love you," or "Mama, hold me."
| | People will walk up to us, sometimes embarrassed and nervous, sometimes shy, but always curious about this beautiful language we use. Time and time again, I am asked where they can learn to sign. What I used to mistake for rudeness was simply admiration and the wishing of strangers that they could speak like us.
| | However much they want to, most of the people in my little son's life cannot speak to him. As a result, he goes through life in a silent confusion, with only a very small percentage of the people he comes in contact with able to communicate with him.
| | And when we do meet someone who "speaks" his language, it is a unique and wonderful gift. Last week our family went to a nearby Zuka Juice. We were enjoying each other's company, laughing and talking together. The place was filling up fast, and, as usual, I noticed many people watching us sign with Noah.
| | Near the front door were two missionaries, young men dressed in suits. One of them was staring intently at my conversation with Noah. Noah and I were laughing as I was calling him a piggy and he was complying by slurping down his chocolate/peanut butter shake.
| | The young missionary waited for Noah to turn his head and when he did, he waved at Noah. Noah waved back and grinned his chocolatey two-year old smile. What the young man did next made my heart leap and tears spring to my eyes.
| | I watched with amazement as his hands formed the signs for "You are beautiful." I choked back a sob and watched as he did it again. Noah turned and looked at me, his eyes huge, as if to say "MOM, DID YOU SEE THAT?!" I pointed to the young missionary and then showed Noah the sign for "friend." The young man then signed to Noah "How are you?" Noah did a few baby signs back and, being two, that was the extent of his attention span.
| | Grinning, the young man told me his sister was fluent in ASL, and over the years he had picked up on it. We made polite conversation and all too soon it was time to leave.
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Although I'll never see that young man again, for a brief moment he gave me a gift I won't forget. His conversation with my son was like a ray of sunshine. Remembering his hands telling my child he is beautiful in his own language still brings the tears. There aren't many moments like that for Noah, and I will savor the memory always.
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| Susan Fahncke
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| | A little bit about Susan:
Susan Fahncke (FAWN-KEY) is a popular author of inspiring stories. She is a contributing author of many Chicken Soup books coming this Spring and Summer, Whispers from Heaven magazine, and has a syndicated newspaper column. Susan has written many magazine and E-Mag publications, and her stories are featured on hundreds of web sites. Susan has received numerous awards for her writing. She is currently working on a compilations book of her stories.
| | Some of her stories are also featured in:
Another Ray of Sunshine for the LDS Soul by Bookcraft - available now!
Stories for a Faithful Heart by Multnomah Publishers- available now!
Stories for a Dad's Heart by Multnomah Publishing
Stories for a Kindred Heart by Multnomah Publishing
Heartwarmers 4U Book
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| Check out her web site and inspirational mailing list!
2TheHeart - Making a difference, one story at a time!
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Four Unusual Postmen |
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| | Elizabeth Ginn was an artist in northern Alberta (Grande Prairie). She not only paints Angels and Angel paraphernalia, but does so because, in her words, "Having had several encounters with Angels personally, I do believe in their existence." Ms. Ginn has been painting Angels since 1991. Her work is reminiscent of late medieval Italian art and some of the early Renaissance. Not only does Elizabeth's artistic work express and suggest a warmth, but the woman herself does. In interviewing Elizabeth and hearing of her encounters with angels, I was pleasantly surprised and gratified to feel, literally feel, the warmth, goodness and sincerity of this human being.
| | One year, Elizabeth and her daughter were traveling to spend the holidays with a sister of Elizabeth. They were on the road traveling when Elizabeth felt something wasn't right with the car. She experienced an urging to pull over and did so as soon as she could spot a safe side road to do so. Four postmen pulled up and offered their assistance. When has anyone ever seen four postmen traveling together?
| | As they worked on the car, one of them said, "so, you're going to spend Christmas with your sister again." Neither Elizabeth nor her daughter had mentioned that they were going to see relatives. These four postmen seemed to know a lot about Elizabeth, where she was from and where she was going. They even told her when Elizabeth would arrive at her destination. It was a fairly accurate guess given that neither Elizabeth or her daughter had mentioned where they were going.
| | Mother and daughter knew these were not ordinary postman and decided to take some photographs of their rescuers. Later when Elizabeth had the roll developed, all the pictures turned out fine ã except those taken of the four postmen. Elizabeth Ginn feels she had an encounter with four of her guardian angels.
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| | This story is an excerpt from the book A Little Door, a Little Light
by Ellie Braun-Haley with Shawn Haley.
For more information about the book visit Eagle Creek Publishers
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The Angel who Drove
by Pat Nielson |
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| | I remember when my sister, Jan, my daughter, Kelsy and I went to Vancouver for Jan's daughters graduation. We were driving back through the mountains. In fact, we were high up on very winding roads with steep cliffs. Kelsy and Jan both fell asleep. It was hot and quiet.
| | I was the driver but I didn't worry about falling asleep as I had never fallen asleep driving before. I had always worried when my husband, John, was driving because he did have a tendency to fall asleep. I was very conscious about staying awake but somehow I too fell asleep.
| | My sister woke up and quietly said "Pat, you are sleeping?"
| | Who did the driving? Who kept us on that winding mountain road? I'm not sure but some angel must have been there, taking care of us and keeping us on the road!
| | I have felt this same kind of protection before!
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| | Pat Nielson
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My Own Guardian Angel
by Teri |
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| | Growing up in the mid-west, I was accustomed to driving in some pretty scary weather at times. I worked second shift and lived about 20 miles away. The weather was decent when I went to work that afternoon but quickly changed to what we called "the nasties."
| | As luck would have it, a bridge was being repaired on the main road to get home so it was necessary to detour onto some back roads to get there. I set out from work and began my journey. It was sleeting and very cold. I had my heater on high. I cranked up the car radio and put in my Keith Lancaster cassette entitled, "Prime Time." This tape always gives my faith a boost and I sang along as I slid down the road.
| | A few miles from town the weather seemed to clear up a bit. I picked up speed and continued to sing and praise God for all my blessings. I was having a grand ole time in my one-on-one with God.
| | I rounded a slight curve where the road was also slightly elevated. I hit a patch of ice and started to fish-tail. "No big deal," I thought. I let off the gas and kept right on singing. I had fish-tailed before and had always managed to regain control.
| | Well, there is an exception to every rule. I was belting out "Go Tell John" with Keith and couldn't help but notice that the three-foot high concrete wall of an old bridge was getting closer and closer to my car! I felt about a half second of fear and then yelled, "God, please don't let me hit that bridge!" Just then the passenger side tires left the road and the car flipped up onto that side. I had been so close to that concrete wall that I couldn't see any space at all between it and the front end of the car.
| | The car slid down into the creek on its' side and then flipped back down onto all four tires. I put the car in park, shut off the headlights, ejected the Keith Lancaster tape and put it in my coat pocket and shut off the engine. I climbed out of the car and up out of the ditch and walked to the nearest house to call for help.
| | It wasn't until the tow truck and sheriff arrived with their flood lights that I saw that not only had my car missed the concrete bridge on the driver's side, it had also barely missed a big oak tree on the creek bank on the passenger side. It looked as though someone had deliberately set my car between the bridge wall and the oak tree. My car was totaled but I only received a few minor scratches.
| | As the sheriff and I stood there watching the tow truck driver, he said, "Do you realize what a lucky girl you are? You could've hit the bridge OR the tree - or if the water had been high enough, you could've drowned!"
| | My hand was wrapped around the Keith Lancaster tape in my coat pocket. I looked back at the sheriff and said, "Yes, I realize how fortunate I am. I have my own guardian angel."
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| | T. Davis -
Copyright 1999
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