One More Night

FADE OUT - Part One

In an agonizingly desperate moment of reflection, the Apostle Paul revealed in his letter to the Romans that for the Jews he would be willing to be forever cursed – cut off from Christ – if that would save them. If going to hell for all eternity would save his brethren, he would go without hesitation.

I’ve known a small measure of that desperation in the contemplation of the means needed to achieve the miraculous healing of my son. Years ago, I wondered what money could buy. My plan was simple, if not naïve. I would place a full-page advertisement in the paper announcing the payment of $30,000 to anyone who could heal Matthew in our home. I assumed the national media would pick up the story for its audacious use of faith and disseminate it across the country and beyond. In no time, I’d be inundated with applicants salivating spiritually over the prospect of pocketing a windfall and becoming a global overnight sensation.

Of course, the payout would be conditioned upon a miracle that was both instantaneous and complete. There would be one brief prayer, one touch of the healer’s hand upon Matt’s body, and the command Matthew, come forth! Matt would smile, talk, get out of bed, run up and down the driveway, and then ask for pizza and Mountain Dew. We wouldn’t have any of this praying and fasting for days on end, drenching his forehead with anointing oil, or anything else that could be part of a stalling strategy. I’d tell the healer-wannabe that he had ten minutes to effectuate the desired result. (That’s ten minutes more than Christ needed to raise Lazarus from the dead.) He’d be out the door without any travel reimbursement if nothing happened. I wasn’t disposed to pay anything to anyone who tried but failed. As Yoda said to Luke Skywalker: Do or do not; there is no try.

I wondered if my plan would attract some of the luminaries in America’s supernatural healing circuit, like Kenneth Copeland, Bill Johnson, and Benny Hinn, or if I’d get stuck with second and third-tier performers looking for the fame that could catapult them into bigger coffers. There was always the dreadful possibility that my applicants would be nothing more than spiritual drifters, those who go from church to church, from one fad to another, traveling back and forth between the miracle hotbeds of Toronto and Lakeland, collecting as much gold dust as their empty hands could hold.

Still, I entertained the idea long enough to begin designing the website where seekers would fill out an application. Most important on the webform would be the essay outlining the applicant’s previous experience with supernaturalism. I would need to see proof of healing that went beyond sore throats, migraines, and constipation. Inquirers would understand they would get nothing for their efforts if no miracle occurred. Approved applicants would be given an appointed day and time to report for duty. Those lucky enough to get inside the house would be met by a father holstering his 9mm and filled with both daring and doubt.

My plan fizzled as fast as it was formed. I feared my home address somehow would become the object of international curiosity, resulting in hundreds of strangers driving up and down our street, wandering around our backyard – with night vision goggles – and men wearing long, black trench coats knocking on both front and back doors at all hours. These thoughts led to the expectation that a home invasion would likely occur where Mary Jo and I would be held hostage until we handed over the money in addition to our credit cards, my iPad, and the key to the car. Matt’s miracle would have to wait for a safer option.

Many years ago, a prescription sleep aid made news around the world when it was discovered that its use had brought a South African man out of a seven-year coma. At first, his awakening lasted an hour, but after successive doses, his alertness stretched for days. Eventually, he no longer needed the drug to bring him to and remain in a fully conscious state. Reports of similar results popped up all over as more doctors experimented with the drug on their minimally conscious patients.

Even Matt’s doctor was intrigued and approved its administration to observe its effect. After twenty or thirty minutes, the young patient recognized his family members in the room. He even started to speak after a prognosis that suggested he’d never talk again. The doctor said it was like watching a miracle unfold before his eyes. Then he gave the go-ahead to try it with Matt.

That morning, I set up a camcorder in our living room to capture the exact moment when Matt would look at me and say Hey, Dad! Mary Jo brought him from his room in his wheelchair. He was sound asleep. We crushed one pill, dissolved it in some water, and gave it to him through his gastrostomy tube. Then we waited and waited. Nothing happened. The drug had no effect. Later, the doctor told us the patient who earlier had responded so promisingly to the drug had reverted to his unresponsive state. The effects of the drug had dissipated quickly.

What if I learned I could have Matthew back for one more night? He would come back to me. He would look at me and recognize my face. He would open his mouth and speak to me. He would lift his hand and touch my face. What if I could experience all of this for one more night, at the end of which he would retreat to the life he has lived for twenty years? A retreat that would last until he breathed his last breath.

What would I tell him? Matthew, nothing’s been the same since your injury. So much has changed. You’ve been gone for twenty years. You’re thirty-six years old! It’s 2024. All your friends have moved on. Some have married and have children of their own. They haven’t stopped to see you for a long time, but I suppose they still think of you occasionally. Your other grandparents have died. Grandpa Cecil died in 2005; Grandpa Jim died in 2010; and Grandma Fran died in 2018. Anna lives in Denver. John lives in Manhattan. Halle married Tyler Neyens in 2014. They live in St. Louis with our two granddaughters, Clare and Lucy. You are Uncle Matt now!

What next? I could summarize two decades of news to bring him current with the world, but would he be interested in any of it? I could load him into our handicap van and drive around the metro, but would he care about seeing what’s changed? I could capture the entire encounter on my iPhone to post later on Facebook, but would Matt be embarrassed about the shape of his head? We could play a game, but would that be an egregious waste of time?

Honestly, I wouldn’t want Matt to return to me like this. I wouldn’t want one more night to fill him with everything he’s missed and much of what he might miss. He could become aware of so much in so little time, but in his retreat, he would live with all this knowledge until his death. Wouldn’t all this understanding magnify his sorrow? What would Matt gain by seeing the world again only to withdraw to another locked-in state?

I might want something different for my last encounter with Matt. It’s the middle of the night. I’m resting in a deep sleep. I hear the bedroom door open and see the silhouette of a man entering the room. I can tell it’s Matt. He approaches my bedside and sits on the edge close to me. I ask him what he’s doing out of bed. Dad, I wanted to tell you I’m leaving. I ask him where he’s going at this time of night. I’m going away, and I’m not coming back. I tell him I will go with him. I’m going home, but you must stay here. I remind him he is home, but he only smiles. Tell Mom I love her. She gave me her life so I could live. I have to go now. I tell him I want him to stay. I’ll see you again soon. And then I awaken from sleep. There’s no one else in the room with me. I get up and go to Matt’s room and discover he has passed away.

The question Paul posed to himself has never left me. What would I be willing to do? What would I be willing to do to see my son healed? Would I sell everything I own? Would I travel to the ends of the earth? Would I surrender my life for his? Would I give my soul to the devil? Would I fall forever into hell?

Or, ... what would I do for one more night?

Le Moon  For A Night

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3khfHPAncJQ