One Week in Heaven After a near-death experience, this neurosurgeon doesn’t just believe in angels; he knows they are real.

February 13th, 2013

I’ve been a neurosurgeon for more than 20 years. Over that time, I’ve heard a lot about angels.

Angels who have shown up in patients’ recovery rooms after a rough surgery, angels who come in dreams to comfort friends of a patient, and angels who visit mourning relatives. Angels who always seem extraordinarily real to the people who see them.

Such people cite convincing details about their angel’s appearance, so the angels don’t seem vague or imaginary at all.

I listened to these stories with sympathy. Neurosurgeons deal with the brain, the single most complex, and least understood, organ in the body. Operating on the brain can be highly traumatic both for patients and their loved ones. So I’d nod my head and say that such blessed events could happen.

Not that I believed any of these angels were real.

The brain is a fantastically efficient machine—efficient enough that if traumatized by illness or surgery, it can actually fool itself into getting better by generating healing imagery. Imagery like a guardian angel, complete with white robes and wings and whatever else a patient might find most comforting.

When patients experienced angelic visitations like this, they were simply benefiting from the marvelously efficient mechanisms that the brain possesses that allow it to automatically soothe and heal itself.

Of course, I never said any of this to my patients. These kinds of experiences can be hugely helpful. It was not my place to burst the bubble of a patient who wanted to believe in angels. If it helped a patient get better, then she could believe in anything she wanted.

So you can imagine my surprise when, during the week beginning the tenth of November 2008, I encountered my own guardian angel.

I awoke in my wife Holley’s and my Lynchburg, Virginia, house an hour earlier than usual, with a nasty backache. Thinking it was left over from the low-grade flu that Holley, our younger son, Bond, and I had been suffering from all week, I tiptoed down to the bathroom and ran a hot tub.

The hot water only made the pain worse. It spread to my head. I managed to get myself back to bed. I flopped facedown beside Holley, and she woke up and asked me what was wrong. A little later Bond awoke and came in as well. Hearing that I had a headache, he reached out and massaged my temples gently.

I screamed in agony. Holley wanted to call an ambulance, but I told her the pain would go away on its own. “Trust me,” I said. “I’m a doctor.”

Holley left me to rest quietly for a while and got Bond ready for school. She stayed out of the room for an hour and a half so as not to wake me. When she finally came back in, she found me lying rigid on the bed, my jaw jutting forward, my eyes rolled back in my head. I was having a full grand mal seizure.

Holley called for an ambulance, and 45 minutes later I was wheeled into Lynchburg General Hospital, where I’d worked for years. By that afternoon, I’d slid deep into a coma: one from which I would not recover for another seven days.

My doctors discovered that I’d contracted a disease, very rare in adults, called bacterial meningitis. Millions of E. coli bacteria had invaded my brain and spinal cord, and were literally eating my cortex—the outermost portion of the brain, and the part responsible for nearly everything that makes us human.

Thought, logic, emotion…it all comes from the cortex. By that Monday afternoon, mine was completely shut down with very, very little likelihood of it working ever again. My chances of survival were small. My chances of surviving as anything more than a vegetable essentially nonexistent.

Family and friends gathered at the hospital, and over the next seven days they kept a vigil at my bedside, praying for my recovery. For the first few days my doctors tried to stay hopeful. By day five, none of them believed I stood a chance of surviving.

So on day seven, they met with Holley and gave her the news that no doctor ever wants to have to deliver.

It was time to take me off life support—to let me die.

Just a room away, I lay in the position I had lain in all week—a ventilator tube down my throat, my face slack, my hands and feet beginning to curl up like leaves as my circulation gradually ebbed away from my limbs. Bond, inconsolable, sat by me, holding my hand.

My eyes popped open. Looking around me like a newborn, I took in a world that everyone believed I had left behind forever.

It took months for me to fully recover physically. I lost almost 20 pounds during my week in a coma, and my brain—miraculously unscathed despite the weeklong bacterial attack—had to work hard to find its bearings again in the physical world.

But the physical recovery was the easy part. There was something else that had to heal as well in the wake of my recovery. I guess you could call it my belief system.

I now believe in angels. Not in some abstract way, but in the same way that I “believe” my car is sitting in my driveway, in the same way that I “believe” that I love my family.

n other words, I don’t really “believe” in angels at all. I quite simply know they are real. During my seven days in a coma, I journeyed to a world above this one: a world indescribably vibrant, vivid, and—most importantly—real.

When I entered this world, the first thing—the first person—that I saw was a beautiful young woman. She had long golden-brown hair, deep-blue eyes, a simple dress of powder blue and indigo and pastel-orange peach. I realized we were riding on the wing of a butterfly!

In fact millions of butterflies surrounded us, vast fluttering waves of them, dipping down and coming back up around us again. It was a river of life and color, moving through the air.

As we floated along together above a landscape of staggering beauty—of trees and clouds and waterfalls—she spoke to me in a language beyond words. And what she told me was, in essence, the same thing that the “imaginary” angels had told all those patients of mine over the years.

That I was loved. That I was safe. That I would always, always be taken care of.

Today, I’m still a surgeon, and still a man of science. I still believe the brain is a staggeringly sophisticated machine, capable of the most extraordinary feats, both when well and when under attack by illness.

But today, when a patient tells me that he or she has been visited by an angel, I no longer marvel at how clever the brain is in creating such realistic illusions.

Angels, I now know, are not illusions at all. I know, because I learned it from my own angel. An angel with blue eyes, who I met on the wing of a butterfly.

Beyond Tears-Living after Losing a Child Book Review

February 13th, 2013

This book was incredibly insightful and full of understandable raw emotion.  These nine mothers share themselves and their story of moving thru grief and forward after their children went to Heaven (teenage to young adult).  The courage these women walk with after such deep suffering is a true testament to the Human Spirit.  They offer practical advice on coping, healing and dealing with Holidays, Birthdays, Anniversaries, new babies, their other children, marital intimacies, etc. 

This is a revised edition with chapters from “the fathers” and “the siblings” , they offer a much needed glimpse into how “Passings” of young family members truly effects each member of the family unit differently and in a unique ways.

A poem written by Barbara Goldstein resonated so much for me, It emplifies the spirit of why I created this company and the Brand,” Still Celebrating You”.  My brother’s Life is the flame that ignited my passion to CELEBRATE him fully and to live my life in service of helping fellow souls, do the same for their Angels.  I know if enough people are reminded that their Angels are always “on their shoulder”, and Still part of their Life, we can all collectively Heal and make peace with the process of Life.

To Howard on his 24th Birthday

I am the keeper of the flame

When others hesitate to…

I say your name.

I am the teller of the tale

Words spoken calmly

While inside I wail

My tears are a stream in which memories swim

While I have breath

Your light will not dim.

For some it is hard to speak of you

For me, it is hard NOT to.

I am the keeper of the flame

I never hesitate to say your name.

Barbara Goldstein

Still Celebrating Lancelot H. Owens “Winki”

February 12th, 2013

I have always admired Queen Latifah for many reasons, but none more than when her beloved Brother, Lance moved to Heaven at age 24 (1992).  I “watched” as she walked her journey of grief with her usual strength, pride and grace.  Her connection to “Winki” as she lovingly referred to Lance somehow made me feel silently bonded to her, because, I too had my own special brotherly connection to draw the similar JOY from.   I continue to draw strength from other sisters who have learned to move forward in healthy grounding ways.

Dana (Q.L) Celebrates Lance in many public ways and I am positive, so many private ways.  I trust  she knows Lance walks right along side of her at all times, for Always.  The following are a few ways she Celebrates and honors Lance.

* She co-chairs the educational foundation her mother set up… The Lancelot H. Owens Foundation

* She wrote a song called “Winki’s Theme” (on Black Reign)

* She had Lance’s motorcycle key dipped in gold and wears around her neck.

* She is open about the fact that she sits at his gravesite and cries, laughs, prays

and leaves feeling so much better.

A brother is a friend provided by nature.
~ Legouve Pere

Heart-Broken Open by Kristine Carlson Book Review

February 12th, 2013

This was an AMAZINGLY healing book for me !  I am so grateful to Kris Carlson, The deeper understanding and totality of healing that her words had upon me, still has yet to fully sink in. 

She organizes the book by a mantra that became her way of life as she navigated her way in the journey of moving forward after her husband and life partner of 25 years moved to Heaven “all of a sudden”.

SURRENDER…to grief and the Process of Healing

TRUST…Life and Love Will Lead Me

ACCEPT…There is Divine Order

RECEIVE…Rebirth a New Life

I did not realize I would connect so deeply with this book, or with Kris’s journey because I thought, this is a “widow’s” story. But… Kris Carlson reminded me that the journey of grief and intense pain when someone suddenly physically leaves your familiar existence, connects us all. 

I am in a 20 year marriage and had a extremely close bond with my brother for 40 years.  Jimbo was my baby brother, only a year younger, we survived  many, many trials and tribulations,  the biggest being, caring for and burying our terminally ill father, when we were 16 and 17.  Heart-Broken Open reminds you that “Life prepares you for Life” 

Kristine reminded me of how much of the life we lived “with” our loved one, her Richard, my Jimbo,… can help us find the fullest sense of all we are, our whole being.  When you allow pain to break you open, you invite trust and grace in, healing follows naturally.    I encourage anyone to read her story and draw strength from her family’s journey.

“My journey through grief has shown me that I am connected to the Earth and to anyone who is open to connection.  I am Grounded.  I am Strong.  I have the courage of a Warrior and the Wisdom of a Shaman.  I wouldn’t have known I was like this if I hadn’t lost Richard.” – Kristine Carlson

Still Celebrating my cousin Adam

February 12th, 2013

This is my Uncle Geoff and he is rockin’ our Fireworks Tribute T-Shirt… “Shout Out to to his son…for all to see”.  Adam moved to Heaven as a baby more than 20 years ago and it makes me really excited to Celebrate and Honor his Soul.   No amount of “Time and space” can erase LOVE.  Adam, is one of our family’s Angels and he continues to be LOVED.

Still Celebrating Donald Takayama

February 6th, 2013

The iconic shaper and surfer was born in 1943 in Hawaii and moved to Southern California by the age of 12 when invited to shape boards for Dale Velzy. Takayama became one of the most acclaimed shapers in surfing’s history, growing his company, Hawaiian Pro Designs, in Oceanside, Calif. Takayama was also a top-ranked competitive surfer, finishing as a runner-up in the US Surfboard Championships in ’66 and ’67, and appearing in numerous surf films, including Bruce Brown’s 1960 “Barefoot Adventure.”

Takayama started shaping SUPs early on in the sport’s development, licensing his designs to Surftech. Many of the sport’s biggest players took some of their early paddle strokes riding Takayama boards. He was loved and respected by all for his aloha spirit, endless generosity and kindness. Two years ago, the late Junior Seau, neighbors with Takayama in Oceanside, told SUP magazine that the board craftsman was the reason he got into standup. We’re sure plenty of people out there are remembering the man in similar terms today.

Cambodia – P’Chum Ben (Festival of the dead)

February 6th, 2013

“This morning I woke up at 630am so that I could join the children and staff for a visit to the nearby monastery. In Cambodia, the local people call it ‘Pagoda’ and the word is used slightly differently from the way we use it. Here, the monks live in these pagodas and Buddhists pay a visit to ofer food to monks and pray to ancestors for health, happiness and good luck, much like the Buddhists who go to the temples back home. Buddhism is the state religion and most Khmers practice Theravada Buddhism – where attaining nirvana is the ultimate goal.

If you think this was an excursion for the kids, you’re dead wrong. Today is the 4^th day of the P’Chum Ben (Festival of the dead) which falls in Sept/Oct annually. It’s similar to our Qing Ming Festival. P’Chum Ben lasts for 15 days and during this period the locals pay respects to their deceased relatives through offerings and prayers at wats. They also offer food and donations to the monks. The only reason why these 80 kids get to go is because they have to pay respects to their deceased parents. These children from FLOW are all so young, from 7 to 18, and they’ve lost their parents at a young age. When I spoke to them yesterday about today’s visit, they told me they “go to the pagoda because my parents die”. More than one told me the exact same thing with a straight face. I had to avoid showing any shock or sympathy on my face – that would be the last thing they need. So I just comfort them by holding their hand or smile and pat their backs. They were very excited that I was joining them though.”

-Author Unknown

Japan – The Obon, or the Festival of Lights

February 6th, 2013

The Festival of the Dead in Japan, which is called Obon, is held every year in the month of August. The festival often goes by a second name: The Festival of Lanterns. As in the traditional festival of Halloween, the souls of the departed return to the world of the living during this time. However, unlike Halloween, in which the souls of the dead are often imagined as malevolent or angry, like the Headless Horseman, Obon is a day when the spirits return to visit their relatives.

Many Buddhists in Japan celebrate this holiday by preparing offerings of special food for their ancestors’ spirits, which are placed on altars in temples and in their homes. As the sun goes down families light paper lanterns and hang them in front of their houses to help the spirits find their way home. The celebrations end with families sending colorful paper lanterns lit by candles floating down the rivers and bays of Japan and out to sea. The string of colorful lights bobbing in the water are meant to guide the spirits of their loved ones back to the realm of the dead until next year.