BRIAN'S BIRDS (by
Lloyd Glenn, his father)
On July 22nd I was in route to Washington, DC for a business trip. It was
all so very ordinary, until we landed in Denver for a plane change. As I
collected my belongings from the overhead bin, an announcement was made for
Mr. Lloyd Glenn to see the United Customer Service Representative
immediately. I thought nothing of it until I reached the door to leave the
plane and I heard a gentleman asking every male if he were Mr. Glenn.
At this point I knew something was wrong and my heart sunk. When I got off
the plane a solemn-faced young man came toward me and said, "Mr. Glenn,
there is an emergency at your home. I do not know what the emergency is, or
who is involved, but I will take you to the phone so you can call the
hospital." My heart was now pounding, but the will to be calm took over.
Woodenly, I followed this stranger to the distant telephone where I called
the number he gave me for the Mission Hospital. My call was put through to
the trauma center where I learned that my three-year-old son had been
trapped underneath the automatic garage door for several minutes, and that
when my wife had found him he was dead. CPR had been performed by a
neighbor, who is a doctor, and the paramedics had continued the treatment as
Brian was transported to the hospital.
By the time of my call, Brian was revived and they believed he would live,
but they did not know how much damage had been done to his brain, nor to his
heart. They explained that the door had completely closed on his little
sternum right over his heart. He had been severely crushed. After speaking
with the medical staff, my wife sounded worried but not hysterical, and I
took comfort in her calmness.
The return flight seemed to last forever, but finally I arrived at the
hospital six hours after the garage door had come down. When I walked into
the intensive care unit, nothing could have prepared me to see my little son
laying so still on a great big bed with tubes and monitors everywhere. He
was on a respirator. I glanced at my wife who stood and tried to give me a
reassuring smile. It all seemed like a terrible dream. I was filled-in with
the details and given a guarded prognosis. Brian was going to live, and the
preliminary tests indicated that his heart was OK, two miracles in and of
themselves. But only time would tell if his brain received any damage.
Throughout the seemingly endless hours, my wife was calm. She felt that
Brian would eventually be all right. I hung on to her words and faith like a
lifeline. All that night and the next day Brian remained unconscious. It
seemed like forever since I had left for my business trip the day before.
Finally at two o'clock that afternoon, our son regained consciousness and
sat up uttering the most beautiful words I have ever heard spoken. He said,
"Daddy hold me" and he reached for me with his little arms.
By the next day he was pronounced as having no neurological or physical
deficits, and the story of his miraculous survival spread throughout the
hospital. You cannot imagine, we took Brian home, we felt a unique reverence
for the life and love of our Heavenly Father that comes to those who brush
death so closely.
In the days that followed there was a special spirit about our home. Our two
older children were much closer to their little brother. My wife and I were
much closer to each other, and all of us were very close as a whole family.
Life took on a less stressful pace. Perspective seemed to be more focused,
and balance much easier to gain and maintain. We felt deeply blessed. Our
gratitude was truly profound.
The story is not over (smile)!
Almost a month later to the day of the accident, Brian awoke from his
afternoon nap and said, "Sit down Mommy. I have something to tell you." At
this time in his life, Brian usually spoke in small phrases, so to say a
large sentence surprised my wife. She sat down with him on his bed, and he
began his sacred and remarkable story. "Do you remember when I got stuck
under the garage door? Well, it was so heavy and it hurt really bad. I
called to you, but you couldn't hear me. I started to cry, but then it hurt
too bad. And then the 'birdies' came." "The birdies?" my wife asked puzzled.
"Yes," he replied. "The birdies made a whooshing sound and flew into the
garage. They took care of me." "They did?" "Yes," he said. "One of the
birdies came and got you. She came to tell you I got stuck under the door."
A sweet reverent feeling filled the room. The spirit was so strong and yet
lighter than air.
My wife realized that a three-year-old had no concept of death and spirits,
so he was referring to the beings who came to him from beyond as "birdies"
because they were up in the air like birds that fly. "What did the birdies
look like?" she asked. Brian answered, "They were so beautiful. They were
dressed in white, all white. Some of them had green and white. But some of
them had on just white." Did they say anything?" "Yes," he answered. "They
told me the baby would be all right." "The baby?" my wife asked confused.
Brian answered. "The baby laying on the garage floor." He went on, "You came
out and opened the garage door and ran to the baby. You told the baby to
stay and not leave." My wife nearly collapsed upon hearing this, for she had
indeed gone and knelt beside Brian's body and seeing his crushed chest
whispered, "Don't leave us Brian, please stay if you can."
As she listened to Brian telling her the words she had spoken, she realized
that the spirit had left his body and was looking down from above on this
little lifeless form. "Then what happened?" she asked. "We went on a trip,"
he said, "far, far away." He grew agitated trying to say the things he
didn't seem to have the words for. My wife tried to calm and comfort him,
and let him know it would be okay. He struggled with wanting to tell
something that obviously was very important to him, but finding the words
was difficult. "We flew so fast up in the air. They're so pretty Mommy," he
added. "And there are lots and lots of birdies."
My wife was stunned. Into her mind the sweet comforting spirit enveloped her
more soundly, but with an urgency she had never before known. Brian went on
to tell her that the "birdies" had told him that he had to come back and
tell everyone about the "birdies." He said they brought him back to the
house and that a big fire truck, and an ambulance were there. A man was
bringing the baby out on a white bed and he tried to tell the man that the
baby would be okay. The story went on for an hour. He taught us that
"birdies" were always with us, but we don't see them because we look with
our eyes and we don't hear them because we listen with our ears. But they
are always there, you can only see them in here (he put his hand over his
heart). They whisper the things to help us to do what is right because they
love us so much.
Brian continued, stating, "I have a plan, Mommy. "You have a plan. Daddy has
a plan. Everyone has a plan. We must all live our plan and keep our
promises. The birdies help us to do that cause they love us so much." In the
weeks that followed, he often came to us and told all, or part of it, again
and again. Always the story remained the same. The details were never
changed or out of order. A few times he added further bits of information
and clarified the message he had already delivered. It never ceased to amaze
us how he could tell such detail and speak beyond his ability when he talked
about his birdies. Everywhere he went, he told strangers about the
"birdies."
Surprisingly, no one ever looked at him strangely when he did this. Rather,
they always got a softened look on their face and smiled. Needless to say,
we have not been the same ever since that day, and I pray we never will be.
You have just been sent an Angel to watch over you. Some people come into
our lives and quickly go.... Some people become friends and stay a while...
leaving beautiful footprints on our hearts .... and we are never quite the
same because we have made a good friend!
Submitted by: Calvin |
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