Mystery is a very beautiful word. It seems to denote the sphere of what is not common, of what nobody pretends, can or wants to explain, but which, however, acquires an irrefutable condition because the mystery is presented as a palpable fact in a thousand different ways in nature and in the human mind.
There may be ways to unveil the mystery in the human, but those ways go through beliefs and convictions that are also difficult to demonstrate. Beliefs and convictions seem to have the condition of seeds, they remain in germ within humans until the right time comes for them to show themselves. Then they assert themselves and become, enigmatically, a protective shadow for life.
Mystery has sometimes played with me. It has stood in front of me challenging me in a friendly way to see its face. It is a risk to talk about some of those occasions. It will seem unbelievable what I can relate about it. But I will take the risk by telling you what happened when my father, deceased, woke me from my sleep to save the life of my five-year-old son.
Pixabay image edited with photo from my family archive.
My son Pablo woke up that morning with a little red dot on his upper right eyelid. I saw his little face with that red dot and I was overcome with a childish rage against mosquitoes. We live in the tropics and part of our daily routine is to protect ourselves from insects, mainly flies and mosquitoes. Having small children, this need became an obsession for me. Protective pajamas, mosquito nets on windows and beds and thorough checks of the inside of the nets when my children were asleep. I became a skilled mosquito hunter.
"Every once in a while the mosquitoes win the fight..." I thought. I didn't think much of the little red dot on my son's eyelid and went out to work, I had a tight schedule that day. Classes from 9 a.m. to noon and classes from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. I had a busy schedule that day. My husband and I both work at the same university. We returned at noon to cook and take care of the children's lunch.
When we arrived, Pablo's eyelid was swollen and very red. I was a little alarmed at how quickly the eyelid had swollen but went on with my midday chores. Around 1 p.m., after feeding the kids, I told my husband that I needed to close my eyes for a moment before I left for my 2 p.m. class.
I sat on the bed and leaned back. I just needed five minutes with my eyes closed. But apparently I fell asleep because I saw my father lean over me and with that intonation I never want to forget he said:
"Daughter, wake up. You must take my namesake to the doctor."
Pablo was given my father's middle name. He referred to his grandson as "my namesake." He was so proud that they shared a name.
My father's voice sounded so close and was so clear that he could very well have been sitting next to me in bed. I opened my eyes looking for him. He wasn't there, but I had gotten his message.
All the tiredness I had disappeared. I left the room in search of my husband.
" Dad told me in my sleep to get up and take Pablo to the doctor."
I had to describe the dream to my husband several times. Of course I would take my son to the doctor. Dad always protected me in a constant and sweet way. He was always looking out for my wishes. With him by my side I was always safe. Dad had been dead for three years. If someone at that time had told me that I had just had a dream I could have accepted it, which would not stop me from going out to do what he was asking me to do.
"I'll rush him to the clinic," said my husband. I know you don't like to miss your classes."
I agreed. He left with the boy immediately and I went to the university. I walked into my classroom. I made the outline of the day on the board and was about to start the explanation when my cell phone rang.
"Pablo needs to be hospitalized on an emergency basis."
To my alarm he explained that the doctor on call diagnosed him with orbital cellulitis that needed to be attacked with high impact antibiotics.
I couldn't believe it! I asked him to call his pediatrician, a gentle doctor who avoided medications in children unless strictly necessary.
"I already called him. He's on his way out!" he said.
I adjourned the class and headed for the clinic. I arrived at the same time as the pediatrician. Together we went into the room where my son was, shirtless and scared. To lighten the mood I made a silly joke.
"Tell me, Doctor Gary if Pablo doesn't look like Bart Simpson?"
Doctor Gary frowned at me.
"It's good to have a sense of humor, but this is serious." He told me.
Doctor Gary was a pediatrician very much inclined to naturism with healthy children but when it came to a complication he would fully embrace his specialization in intensive care.
"We're going to hospitalize him right away. I'll follow in my car."
Pablo was hospitalized for a week. After beginning treatment and performing a series of tests, Dr. Gary came to us that evening. He explained to us that treating orbital cellulitis as soon as possible is crucial. The disease carries risks of central nervous system infection and can compromise vision.
"You guys came in early. How did you detect the danger?"
"My dad, who is deceased, ordered me in a dream." I said, simply, knowing how unbelievable this was.
I myself, writing these lines wonder where my dad is that he could see the danger of his namesake, when I, who was by his side, could not. This experience gave birth in me the conviction that he will always act with me as he did when he was alive. Attentive and loving, always, even if he has to go through mysterious paths to be by my side.
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