Proof The Bible Is True

Are you all right?” I said.

 

The middle-aged woman next to me on my flight home had been teary-eyed when we boarded, and now she was visibly crying.

 

I wasn’t doing great myself. My 22-year-old son had recently died of a blood clot in his brain. I was returning home to New York after clearing out his apartment in Phoenix, Arizona, where he’d only just moved—he hadn’t even had time yet to buy me a cross for my collection. I had one from every other place he ever lived. It was our ritual.

 

“Yes, well—” the woman paused, collecting herself. “I’m coming from my mother’s funeral. My dad retired to take care of her and he’s all alone. My two sisters and I live far away.”

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“I’ve been there,” I said. In fact, I’d been exactly there a few years ago, when my mother died and I’d had to leave my father, who’d also retired early, all alone. My two sisters and I lived far away as well. It was uncanny. I didn’t mention the coincidence, but I did tell her about my son.

 

Read More: Angel on the Plane | Guideposts