Proof The Bible Is True

When my son James died of a drug overdose at 43 years old, my world collapsed. He was my firstborn of six children, a gentle and sensitive soul who saw the good in everyone. At 19, he’d enlisted in the U.S. Army and quickly climbed the ranks to become a sergeant and medical specialist. While he was stationed in Alabama, a fellow soldier was fatally injured in a parachuting accident, and James—the responding medic—blamed himself for not being able to save him. After James was discharged, he struggled with PTSD and turned to drugs to block out the scenes that haunted him.

 

In the weeks and months following James’s death, I went through the motions. It felt as if part of me had died along with him. I took solace in the knowledge that he was in a perfect place, free from burdens he’d carried so long. But I also felt deserted, spiritually disconnected from my son. While he had moved on and was at peace, I was left alone to deal with my grief. I believed that those who pass on don’t concern themselves with the living. I was about to find out just how wrong I was…

 

Read More: 5 Signs from Beyond from Her Late Son | Guideposts