I leaned over the hospital bed in which my 18-year-old son, Art, lay in a comatose state that seemed like death. Tubes fed him through the nose; a machine breathed for him, breaking the stillness of the room with its mechanical gasps. I moved my lips close to Art’s ear and whispered, “Honey, I had a dream last night, so beautiful it seemed real. Two magnificent angels stood by your bed. It means you’ll be healed, I know it.” Did he hear me? Can the soul hear when the body is asleep? Art didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge my
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