The Dream That Changed My Life for Eternity

I look over and see a clock on the wall that reads 3:15. I don't know where I am.

Suddenly, a frantic-looking nurse starts pulling tubes from my nose. I start to gag and try to cough, but a sharp stabbing pain begins in my stomach and shoots up my chest into my throat. I can't breathe.

I see my mother there crying. She is holding her tears in and clutching her chest. I’m starting to get some air. I am able to cough, but my head feels like it is splitting open every time I do. I start to feel how wrecked my body is, like I have some kind of hideous flu. I’m nauseous, aching everywhere, and coughing. I start to cry, but I don't know why.

Over the next few minutes, I begin to remember what happened. I search for my last memory. I was in a park with my brother and his friends—all several years older than me. I was with my friend, and we tried our best to fit in and be cool.

I just turned 15, and summer is just starting. My brother and some of his friends went off to Pink Cadillac, a night club nearby in Waikiki. Me and my friend don't have fake IDs like they do, so we stayed at the park. A few of my brother’s friends were there with a bottle of 151-proof Bacardi. I didn't know what that meant, but they were all making a big deal out of it and saying it was super strong.

All of these guys are super edgy and cool and have a fake “cult” they promote called the “Ronald McDonald Religion.” They all read edgy Marxist books and have made up some kind of satirical cult reminiscent of Clockwork Orange. They were kidding around saying me and my friend had to take “communion” and had us lie down on the hood of the car as they poured the 151 Bacardi down our throats. I was a willing participant and gulped it down, hoping to impress. My friend spit it out and didn’t want anymore. This is my last memory.

Saved by a Miracle

My mom touches my face and can't stop crying. She pulls something from under my pillow, and I see a small wood painting of Jesus in her hand. She shakes it at me and says through her tears, “He saved you! You are supposed to be dead!”

I’m crying and can only imagine what has happened and what I put my mother through. This isn't the first time I’ve gone off the rails. In my very short years of rebellion between the ages of 12 and 15, I have snuck out multiple times, stolen a friend’s parents’ car for the night…sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll.

We have ridden around in cars with guys we don't know, who are high on LSD, driving on the wrong side of the freeway for kicks. I’ve woken up in strange places, and Sid and Nancy was my favorite movie. I pretty much had a death wish and had zero regard for my parents’ respect. As my mother put it, I was a rotten teenager.

“You have been in a coma for the last 18 hours. They told us your blood alcohol level was .46 and you would most likely not make it!” My mother sobbed. “I prayed all night. Father Peter was here all night praying for you. You are alive because a miracle happened!” She is shaking from emotion. I’m crying too. My throat burns from the tubes being pulled and from holding back my tears. I am sick, sorry, guilty, and ashamed all at once. I have so many questions, I don't know where to start.

“How did I get here?” I ask.

“Your brother saved your life! You have your brother to thank! He found you passed out in a car. He said he knew the moment he saw you something was wrong. He pinched your cheek, and you didn't move. He pulled out your tongue, and it stayed out! So he called us and told us, and we told him to call you an ambulance. When you got here, you were a code blue and they pumped your stomach. You went into a coma, and they had to have you breathe on machines. I thought I would never see you again. I thought I lost my little girl!”

My mother puts her head in her hands and cries deeper and louder than I have ever heard her cry. I feel like I’m breaking in two.

Through my tears and sore throat, I squeak out a soft, “I'm so sorry, Mom. I didn't know that could happen. I didn't know…”

I didn't know someone could die from drinking too much alcohol. I didn't realize how easy it was to permanently break your mother’s heart. I still feel so drunk and dizzy and sick. I can hardly grasp what happened.

A Vision of the Divine

They move me to a different room, and my mother leaves. I have to meet with a psychiatrist and stay one more night in the hospital. I lie in the bed with a throbbing icy headache, a burning stomach, and a sore throat. I feel guilty and selfish.

Then I remember my dream.

I was in an underground tunnel waiting for a subway to come. It was cold and smelled like urine. Garbage was blowing around me, and newspaper caught against my legs. I couldn't move. I was frozen to the ground. I wanted to run, but I couldn't. I heard the subway coming, and the sound was getting louder and faster. Louder and louder and faster and faster. As it came near, the sound got more and more frantic and loud—so loud I wanted to scream.

It felt like the subway ran right through me, and then there was silence.

When I opened my eyes and looked down the tunnel, I saw a bright glowing light. I floated towards it and stood at the end of a cliff. I looked out, and about 15 feet below me, I saw crystal-clear aqua blue water with a moving cloudy mist over it.

I turned around and fell backward into it. I floated in the warm, peaceful water as it filled me with an indescribable love. I had never known love that powerful and pure. My parents loved me, but not like this. It was love that was complete and total acceptance. A love that knew everything about me. It knew my future and my past. It felt euphoric and blissful. It felt eternal, like it would never leave or diminish. I knew this was God. This feeling I was experiencing was the living God.

I start crying again, alone in my hospital bed. I tell God I’m sorry. I didn't know. I was so stupid and arrogant. I didn't care about my life. I didn't care if I hurt my parents. I didn't think about my future. I didn't know God was real. I didn't know love like that.

I don't know who Father Peter is, or how my mother has a wooden picture of Jesus. We aren't religious. Until that dream, I never thought about God or knew anything about God.

I want to talk about my dream with my mom but can't because I know I’ll cry and not be able to get the words out. I think about it all day. I want to get back to that water. The water changed me. I realized my life matters. It matters to my parents and brother and probably my friends. But my life matters even more to God. I have significance. God kept me alive for a reason. There is a purpose, a reason that I am here living this life. I know for the first time that God loves me. God really, truly loves me.

That's it. That's all that matters.

He moved heaven and earth to keep me alive. He gave me life, purpose, and a destiny.

I am beyond grateful.

What's the most meaningful dream you've ever had?

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