but that isn't all. This man was a Christian whose faith in God had slowly been dwindling over the years. Your kindness, your generosity, and your humility helped to rekindle that faith. Where a good number of children would've pocketed free money, you placed yourself second to others in need."
A feeling began to well up inside that I hadn't felt for years. It rose in a powerful surge that rolled through me until my nose began to burn and my eyes were wet with tears. I had spent the majority of my life believing that I was worthless, unloved, and unwanted. To learn that something I had done had brought about such a positive impact on the life of another filled me joy. And it was an incredible feeling!
Doc knew. Whether he was reading my thoughts or simply saw the tears in my eyes, I'm not sure. But he nodded with a knowing pat on the shoulder. "We're not done. Remember Miranda Meyner?" Her image appeared before us, the wide-eyed teacher holding the letter I'd written. "This incident weighed heavily on her mind for three years. She feared that somehow, some way, she was going to find herself accused of child molestation or worse. Eventually, the anxiety combined with the stress of her day-to-day work as a teacher and she decided she had to quit."
"How is that a good thing?"
"After a bit of consideration, she took what savings she had and put it into opening a business. She now owns a small flower shop on the north side of town and is far happier with her life than she'd ever been while teaching."
The fog shifted over and over, showing scene after scene while Doc explained the significance of each event. "I'm sure you remember little Samantha. After you accepted Christ into your life, you attempted to reconcile with the people you'd hurt with your actions. As you saw, your bravery and dedication to doing the right thing inspired Samantha to reconcile with her aunt. See, her Aunt Peggy had been tasked with caring for her the previous weekend, but Samantha had been wildly disobedient. When Peggy attempted to punish her by sending her to her room, Samantha said some pretty hurtful things and swore she'd never speak to her again. She knew she was wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to admit it. That is, not until you set the example for her to follow."
I nodded as he went on, trying to suppress the lump in my throat. "Then there was the young man who attempted to light your shirt on fire. Much like Timmy, this incident was just one of many. His exploits led him down a very dark path, and he is currently a member of a violent gang in New York City. His actions, however, have driven his sister's dedication to her education. She wants to show him that he can make something of himself despite their poor background.
"Next was Anna, the young lady who groped you in the hall. That event distracted her long enough so that she wasn't involved in a fistfight on the floor below. You see, one of her friends named Carla was being assaulted by another girl, Tammie. And Tammie had a collapsible knife in her pocket. Had Anna arrived in time to involve herself in the fight before school security could break it up, Tammie would've used the knife as an equalizer."
My mind was reeling at the endless string of revelations. "Honestly, how do you know all of this?"
"Your time in the church youth group was important for you. Not only was it a good learning experience and a chance for you to try to come out of your shell, it helped you realize that there is far more to being a Christian than simply calling yourself one."
From an outdoor view of the church to an image of Annie standing between Brian and myself, the mist continued to shape the building blocks of my life right in front of my eyes. "Your time spent with Annie taught you much about what a healthy relationship should and should not be. And through our talks about the ordeal she put you through, you've come to learn that true happiness cannot be found in things of this world. Only when we set our sights on God's will, only when our desires match His, only then will we learn what it means to be truly happy. That is one of the most vital aspects of finding peace in following Christ during trying times."
And then we looked upon my father, sobbing as he cradled my mother's lifeless body in his arms. "When we revisited your mother's death, you were surprised by the revelation that your parents did love both each other and you. On top of that, you learned to see your father in a different light. And when we stopped by your workplace," the scene changed to a view of me being yelled at by a customer, "you finally started to see customers as people not unlike yourself. People with fears, insecurities, and flaws that sometimes have a negative affect on their actions."
Tears were running down my cheeks. Doc took hold of both of my shoulders and turned me to face him. "Bad things happen, Herbert. Humanity chose sin over God. But you have to understand that each and every tragedy, loss, and struggle is used by God for the greater good of His plan. And everything that has happened to you has contributed to the person you are today. Your strong sense of morality, your dedication to justice, and the compassion you feel for those in need comes from the hardships that you have faced over the course of your life."
I shrugged my shoulders and gazed into the fog. "And what good does that compassion do anyone? Nothing I've learned means anything if I can't use it to benefit others."
Sadness enveloped Doc's face as he pointed back to the mist. "That brings us to this."
A cold wind blew through the glowing white fog as it curled and twisted into an image that made me sick to my stomach. Chills ran down my spine as I looked upon that terrible image of myself sitting in the corner of my bedroom gripping Dad's gun. "I don't recognize this," I told him. "I mean, I saw it a short while ago, but I don't remember it actually happening."
Doc's next words confirmed my fears. "But it did happen, Herbert. You gave up on the world. On life. On yourself. You gave up on God."
"Then how are we here together right now? What's going on? What has all of this been about?"
"God is blessing you with a second chance at life. You have the power within to accomplish great things. The trials of your life and the lessons they taught should not be kept inside. With your eyes now open to the reality of the world around you, you can affect the lives of others in a very real and positive way. How you do it is up to you, but always remember that everything works together for the good of God's plan.
"And what is God's plan for me?"
The old man's eyes twinkled as he smiled at me one last time. "Redemption."
A gust of wind blew, a breath of soothing warmth that washed over me like a peaceful summer's rain. The glowing light of the fog increased ten times over, obscuring Doc's image in a blinding sea of white. For a moment, I could see and hear nothing. I tried to call out to Doc—to anyone, for that matter—but there was no answer. The light began to fade, and the warmth along with it, until I was all alone in an ocean of black. Voices, distant at first, wafted through the air for a time, their words unintelligible. A minute or two passed, maybe more. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where I was. Then someone's hands touched either side of my head.
"Open your eyes, Herbert."
And that's when I found myself in this hospital bed. I was disoriented and confused at first; I suppose shooting oneself in the head might have that effect on a person. There were all sorts of tubes and wires connected to my body, probably monitoring my vital signs. I was sore, tired, and frightened. But every image, every word, and every memory of my time spent with Doc was crystal clear in my mind. How much of it had been real? Had any of it been real?
Did it matter?
"You're awake!" a voice came from my left. I rolled my head to the side to see Sasha sitting in one of the chairs against the wall. She jumped up and rushed to me. "I can't believe it! You're awake! Are you okay? Can you move at all?"
"I'm okay," I said. My voice was hoarse from not having spoken in . . . well, however long it had been. "What are you doing here?" I asked her.
Her face turned bright red. "Oh, well . . . See, I felt bad that you don't have any family to come visit you, so I've been coming by every n
ow and then. I hope that's okay."
I tried to nod, but my body wasn't responding so well. As of writing this, I'm far better. The doctors say I was just a bit stiff from being out for so long. "It's okay," I told her. "Thank you."
She stared at me for a moment, seemingly embarrassed that I'd caught her watching over me. Then she glanced at her watch. "Oh no! I've got to get going. I'm going to be late for my shift at the store. I can't wait to tell everyone you're awake!"
Her excitement at my condition was surprising. I had no idea anyone cared so much about someone like me. "Thanks, Sasha. Be safe. Tell everyone I'll be back soon."
It almost seemed as though she wanted to laugh at that. "I doubt they'll believe me! How many people survive being shot in the head?"
I couldn't help but grin as I looked up at her. "With God, all things are possible."
It turns out that Doc does not exist. I never walked into a psychiatry office that night. I went home and shot myself in the head with Dad's gun. As I wrote at the beginning of this entry, it seems like every doctor and nurse is shocked by my recovery. It was pretty much assumed that I was going to be in a vegetative state for the rest of my life. But here I am, alive and kicking—literally kicking; these blankets they keep