Dreamwalk into the Past

It was Thursday, November the 9th 1976, and I was scheduled to check out on leave the next day at 7 AM. All day that day I had this dreadful feeling that something was terribly wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I had experienced that feeling once before, when my Grandfather died. That time, though, I really felt that I needed to call home. This time I just couldn't seem to bring myself to call.



I tried to shake that feeling by diving into my work. That only seemed to make matters worse. I found that I couldn't concentrate on anything I was doing. I spent more time trying to correct the errors I was making than actually accomplishing anything. By the end of the day I was so disturbed I just went on to my room to pack for the trip home.



I put a stack of my favorite albums on the stereo and started sorting out the things that I knew I would need during my visit. It seemed like it took forever to get my bags packed.



At about 6 PM I turned the stack of albums over, turned the lights out and laid down on the bed. As hard as I tried not to think about could possibly be wrong at home one image after another passed before my mind's eye. The last thing I remember thinking was that I really should call home.



The next thing I knew, I was walking down what seemed to be a darkened corridor. At first, my mind was hazy and I wasn't able to think very clearly.



I was aware of the total darkness that engulfed me and the sound of my own footsteps echoing in my ears. . .



As the fog began to clear in my mind my first thought was "Where the heck am I?" I could remember everything that had taken place during the day, and the frustration of not being able to shake that feeling was still haunting me.



At one point I tried to stop walking, but found I couldn't. It was as if something else had control of my legs and was forcing me on. . . on to what I didn't know.



Fear began to slowly creep into my soul, and it became a battle to try to stay calm. The sound of my footsteps echoing started fading away. They seemed to be far off in the distance, and faintly resembled the sound of a tiny heart beating very slowly. I strained, desperately, to hear every one of those little thumps, as it was the only company I had in that span of darkness.



Just as it reached the point where the echos were so faint they were hardly audible I noticed a tiny speck of light up ahead. Even though it was only about the size of a pin head it was a relief to think it could mean the end of this darkness that surrounded me.



I wanted to quicken my pace, but found that I still had no control over my legs. They continued on at the pace that had been set for them from the beginning. I was resigned to the fact that I had to wait, patiently, for the end of the darkness.



As I watched the speck of light grow larger, many things began to run through my mind. I remembered the stories that I had heard and read about, where different people had claimed to have died and traveled up a tunnel to some brilliant light before returning to their bodies.



I began to wonder if, perhaps, I had died.



"Maybe that's the meaning behind that feeling I had all day." I thought to myself. "Maybe that's why I couldn't bring myself to call home."



Oddly enough, I found I no longer was experiencing any fear. Instead, I found myself wondering what it was going to be like. . . . this place that I was going to, in death.



As I watched the light continue to grow larger and larger, I began to notice that I could make out a shape. It was rectangular shaped, taller than it was wide, and it took me a little while to realize that it was a door. One of those big double doors with glass panels. I was puzzled to think that there might be a glass paneled door for an entrance to heaven.. or hell for that matter. That's when I began to wonder if I wasn't just dreaming.



Finally I came to stop a few feet from the door. I had control of my legs once again. I lifted first one leg and then the other, twisting my ankles as if to prove to myself they were still mine.

The thought crossed my mind that I could now turn and walk away if I wanted too, but then where would I go? Back into the darkness? Besides, something had brought me to that point and I assumed it was for a reason.

Stepping closer, I peered in through the glass doors. Inside, I saw four people in what appeared to be a waiting room. The furnishings were like those I had seen in some old movies made back in the fifties.

There seemed to be something familiar about this setting and the people inside, but I couldn't quite figure out why. So I opened the door and stepped into the short corridor. It was dimly lit by two small wall lamps over the pay phones hanging on the wall to my left. I hadn't seem payphones like that since I was just a kid. They had the three different sized slots on top for nickels dimes and quarters.

Just then a man came through a pair of swinging doors on the opposite wall of the waiting room. It was obvious by the sterile garments he was wearing that he was a doctor.

The four people quickly moved to face him in the center of the room. "How's Robert?" the two women asked simultaneously.

"That's my name." I thought to myself. "Maybe I did die, and now I'm back to re-enter my body. But who are these people?" I still couldn't make out who they were. Even though I could see their faces better I still couldn't figure out why they seemed so familiar.

"He made it through surgery and the blood transfusion." the doctor said, "But I'm afraid it's up to him now. . . and the Lord."

"What does that mean?" the younger of the two men asked. I was sure that I recognized his voice, but that man was far too young to be my dad.

"Doug." the doctor started, confirming my suspicion that this man was my dad. "The blood poisoning had spread through his entire system which had already put him in a coma before we started working on him. Even with the complete blood transfer there's no promise he will ever come out of that coma."

He turned and took the hand of the younger woman, "Pat." he said

"Mom!" I wanted to scream and my heart went out to her.

"We're doing all we know to do to bring down his fever. He's been moved to the intensive care and is still comatose. If we aren't able to bring his fever down to an acceptable level...." he pause and I could see the sadness in his expression.

At that point I knew the doctor was, in fact, talking about me. But it was me at 2 years old. Somehow I had stepped back in time to the day of my first operation. And those four people, that seemed so familiar, were my parents and grandparents. I just hadn't recognized them because of their age.

"There is a chance, isn't there, that he will be alright?" I heard my mother's voice. It was much younger sounding than I could remember, and broken by her emotions, but it was unmistakably her.

Because of all the medical problems I had gone through as a child mom and I had always been close, and it really hurt to see her in such grief. I wanted to rush out there and tell her that I was going to be fine, but I knew that even if they could see me they would probably think I was some lunatic or something. The Robert they were worried about was only two and half years old.... I was 22.

Even from the distance I could see the tear roll down the doctor's face as he leaned closer to my mom. "Pray Pat." he said, "Pray for a miracle." He patted her hand a couple of times as he pulled away then turned and walked back through the door from which he came.

My heart ached as I watched her break down and cry. And I cried with her, silently, in the darkness of the corridor. Never, in all my life, had I seen her cry like that. I felt so bad for her, and wished so that I could do something, anything to relieve her of that intense grief. But I felt pressed to remain in the shadows and watch.

I watched as my grandmother laid one hand on mom's shoulder and, raising the other towards heaven, began to pray aloud. My father just stood there, his gaze fixed on the floor in front of him, while my grandfather tried to console him.

After a few minutes of praying, my grandmother broke and told mom that she felt they should call "Brother Hobart" in Fort Worth and request prayer for little Robert. Mom wiped tears from her eyes and shook her head in approval, then they picked up their purses and walked toward the corridor I was standing in.

My first impulse was to turn and run out the door, but then I thought "What the heck? They probably won't be able to see me anyway." So I simply moved to the opposite wall and waited.

To my surprise, though, my mom looked straight at me and gasped as they stepped into the corridor. My grandmother had been digging in her purse for some change and hadn't noticed me. She glanced up at me, after hearing mom gasp, then went on to the payphones.

"Hi Pat." I said softly. It felt strange calling my mom by name.

"Hello." she replied, with a puzzled look on her face. "Do I know you?"

"Well, no, I don't think you do." I told her.

"How did you know my name?" she asked.

"I know quite a bit about you and your family." I informed her, wondering why I had even said hi to her. It was all crazy. Me standing there talking to my own mother, who wasn't but a year older than I was at the time.

"Who are you?" she asked, studying my face.

I almost blurted out my name without thinking, but stopped myself just before I did. I had to think fast and give her a name. "Bob." I finally told her "Bob Benwar."

"I don't recall ever hearing of you before." she said, "But yet you say you know a lot about me and my family. How is that possible?"

"That would be very difficult to explain right now." I told her, "But I can tell you that your son is going to be okay."

The expression on her face suddenly changed, and I saw a mixture of fear and anger in her eyes. "How can you tell me that?" she asked.

"I know what doctor Trimble said." I told her, "I heard ever word of it."

"Well then, how can you possibly expect me to believe that you know more than he does?" she asked. "I don't even know you!" She started to turn and walk away.

"Pat." I said, and she turned back to face me. "I really wish I could explain it all to you right now, but I'm afraid I don't understand it all myself." I told her. I was afraid my feeble attempt to raise her hopes was only causing more confusion in her already boggled mind.

My grandmother had started talking to Brother Hobart on the phone while my mother stood there studying my face again. She was telling him why she called and was requesting prayer. I also took advantage of the moment to look in to see what dad was doing. He had finally sat down and my grandfather was sitting beside him with his arm draped over his shoulders.

"It's funny." I heard mom say softly and I turned back to her.

"What's that?" I asked.

"I feel as though I should know you." she said.

I wondered if it could be possible she was feeling a motherly intuition about me, and became self conscious at the thought that she might figure out who I was. "That's impossible!" I thought to myself. "There is no way, in her wildest imagination, she could figure that out, much less believe it."

"There is something familiar about your face." she said, and it startled me that she would say such a thing. She must have noticed the startled look on my face for she asked "Did we go to school together?"

"No, we didn't know each other as children." I replied, not knowing what else to say.

"But...." she started then was interrupted by my grandmother asking for more change.

As mom dug some change out of her purse she kept looking up at me with an inquisitive look in her eye. I knew I was going to have to turn this conversation around somehow, but didn't know just how to do it. I'm a terrible lier.

"What the heck?" I thought to myself, "This has to be just a dream anyway." and I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet.

When mom turned back to face me I didn't give her a chance to say anything. I reached out and took her hand then laid my military ID in it.

"What's this?" she asked as she tried to hold it in the light so she could see what it was.

"It's my military identification card." I told her, then went on to say "It's the best support I have for what I'm about to tell you."

She looked at the card briefly before asking "What are you about to tell me?"

"You just asked me if we had known each other as kids." I started.. "and in a way we did, or rather you knew me as a kid."

"But you just said...." she started

"Please, just listen to what I've got to say." I pleaded.

"Okay." she replied, "Go on."

"You did know me as a child." I began again, "Or should I say you now know me as a child."

"Just what are you trying to say?" she said with a puzzled look on her face.

"My name isn't really Bob Benwar." I told her.

"So why did you tell me that it was?" she asked with a surprised look on her face.

"Because I really didn't think you would believe me if I told you the truth." I replied.

"Just who are you then?" she asked, and I could see a trace of anger returning in her expression.

"My name is on that card." I told her, and pointed to it so she could see.

She immediately dropped the card and stepped back away from me. Her expression a mixture of shock, fear and anger.

"Just who do you think you are?" she demanded, "Making such a claim as at a time like this!"

"But Pat..." I started before getting cut off by her

"How dare you!" she said in a tone of voice that began to make me fear that everyone else would soon be drawn into the picture. "How dare you try to tell me such a thing, while my son is lying on in there in a coma!"

"Wait." I told her, bending down to retrieve my card. "Please, just look at it again." I was getting frantic.

Still holding my wallet in my hand I remembered the family photo that had been taken at my grandparent's house when I was fourteen, and I quickly dug it out and started to hand it to her.

She looked up with a confused look on her face and said "This card says your birthday was May 6th 1954, the same as my son's"

"Yes it does." I said

"That can't be possible." she said, "You're as old as I am."

"Look at the date the card was issued Pat." I told her as I extended my hand that held the picture.

"It says September 23rd 1979" she said staring at the card. "That's impossible."

"That card was issued to me the day I re-enlisted for a second term in the Navy." I told her.

"But this is November 9th, 1956." she said with a blank look on her face.

"I am truly sorry for the shock I've put you into Pat." I said, shaking the photo in front of her, "But if......"

"What is that?" she asked reaching for the picture.

"It's a picture of me and my family." I said, "Taken when I was fourteen years old standing in front of my grandparents house in Winnsboro Texas."

She took the photo from my hand and I waited patiently while she studied it.

"I look so much older in this picture." she said softly. "And so does your father." she added glancing up at me briefly when she realized what she had said. But she made no effort to reword her comment.

"Who is the little girl?" she asked.

"That's my little sister." I replied.

"Her name is Kathy isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes it is." I replied, then added, "You and dad were going to name me Kathy if I had been a girl."

"That's right." she said with a smile.

"And I take it this is your brother Danny?" she asked pointing at him in the picture.

"That's right." I replied.

"There is quite a difference in your sizes." she said

"I caught up with him before I graduated from high school." I told her with a smile.

At that she just stood there, studying first the picture and then the ID card. Finally, she looked back up at me with tear filled eyes. She seemed to be having trouble gathering her thoughts into words.

"How...?" she started, then paused. I knew what she wanted to ask so I answered the best I could.

"I can't explain how or why I am here." I told her. "All I know is that I am. This could even be a dream for all I know, but if it is it sure is the most realistic one I've ever had."

At that moment the door on the other side of the room burst open and a nurse rushed into the room.

"It has to be a miracle!" she exclaimed, "He just sat up in bed and started complaining about being hungry."

She looked deep into my eyes, and tears began to stream down her face.

"Go on mom." I told her, "There's a little boy in there that needs your attention."

My grandmother had already rushed past us and was now waiting at the door urging mom to hurry up.

"Bye son." she said softly, "Take care on your way home." she added before turning to run across the room and through the door.

"Bye Mom." I said to the empty room, and I started to cry as I turned to walk out.

Just as I walked through the door, I woke up and found myself laying in my bed in the barracks. I looked over at the clock and saw that it was 5:30 AM.

"Just a dream." I thought to myself, as I sat there crying.

It wasn't until I decided to go ahead and get started on my trip home that I realized that I had my wallet in my hand. I immediately started to open it and look inside for my ID card but I stopped myself. Maybe I didn't want to prove to myself that it was just a dream.

My father was up when I drove in that morning and he met me at the door. We talked for a while before he finally went to wake mom up to let her know I was home. Shortly after that he had to head off to work.

While she and I sat drinking coffee I couldn't help studying her face and thinking about how much younger she had looked in my dream. She too seemed to be studying my face. Neither of us were talking.

Finally, she broke the silence by asking me how my trip was. I had begun to tell her of the long drive home when she interupted me.

"That's not the trip I was talking about." she said.

"I don't understand." I told her.

"You have too." she replied, and waited for a moment for me to say something more before getting up and heading for her bedroom. A moment later she returned holding something in her hand.

She laid them on the table in front of me and remained standing by my side. I sat there stairing at my ID card and that photo in total disbelief.

After the shock finally began to fade, I looked up at her and asked, "It really happened?"

"Yes son, it did." she replied. "And I thank God that it did. I don't know what I would have done during those other surgeries you had to go through, and the problems that Danny had, if you hadn't visited me that night. I just wish we'd had more time."

The tears were streaming down both our faces as I stood and wrapped my arms around her.... "Maybe it was for the best we didn't mom." I told her.

"Maybe so son." she said as she hugged me. "Maybe so."