Karen Baldonado-Hensley had loved Ronnie for
fifteen years, although he had emophilia
and life was difficult. “His life had been racked with illness and
operations,” Karen says, “and he was HIV positive too. In 2000 he got
extremely ill and we knew that the end was not far away.”
In January of 2001, Ronnie entered
in
would be the last time. Family members gathered, taking turns visiting Ronnie
in the Intensive Care Unit. At one point Karen left his side, walked down to
the waiting room and said goodbye to his brother and sister-in-law, who left on
a brief break. There was only one other person in the waiting room, Karen says,
an African-American man dressed as a minister. Their eyes met, Karen’s worried,
the minister’s serene. “I see that you are a very religious person,”
the minister said to her.
Karen had always tried to be religious. Now, of
course, she felt abandoned, but that didn’t mean that God had forgotten her.
“Yes,” she told the minister, wondering how he knew, “I am
religious.”
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he went on,
“but I heard you say that your loved one is dying. Would you allow me to
come into his room and pray for him?”
“Oh, yes,” Karen answered. “I would
very much like you to do that.”
The two walked back to Ronnie’s room where the
minister took out a small bottle of oil, made the sign of the cross with it on
Ronnie’s forehead. Then he placed his hand on Ronnie’s head, reached across and
took Karen’s hand and began to pray.
Karen had been in the Army, exposed to many
languages, and she recognized quite a few. But this was a language she had
never heard. It seemed beautiful, almost heavenly. When this prayer ended, the
minister prayed another, this time in English. Karen hardly absorbed the
comforting words, but she felt a heavenly peace settle over her, all around
her. Her sorrow seemed to have receded in some way. Instead, she felt joy in
the room.
The minister ended his prayer, then smiled at
Karen. “You know, I don’t have anyone here in the hospital,” he said.
“I was just looking for a place of peace and quite and somewhere to rest
today.” He smiled at Karen, and then quietly left the room.
“Thank you,” she whispered to him. His
simple prayer had somehow given her the courage and peace she had longed to
feel.
When Ronnie’s brother and sister-in-law, Frances,
returned to the waiting area awhile later, Karen told them how much the
minister’s prayer meant to her.
“What man?”
“The gentleman who was sitting on the sofa in
the waiting area when you left. You must have seen him.”
“Karen, there wasn’t anyone in there but me
and Ricky,”
said. “You know I would have noticed a man.
“Yes there was…” Karen insisted, but her
brother-in-law Ricky broke in. “I was here too, Karen,” he pointed
out. “And there was No One in the waiting room but us.”
Today Karen believes that the minister was an
angel sent to her from God to let her know that Ronnie was going to be going to
heaven, and that he was going to be just fine there. (Perhaps the beautiful
prayer was spoken in tongues, God’s heavenly language.) “For several years
after he passed on I would have ‘dreams’ where he spoke to me,” Karen
says. “I don’t think they were dreams at all—I think he was contacting
me to let me know he was just fine and I could move on with my life and quit
grieving.” Eventually she was able to do that. “I miss Ronnie very
much and always will,” she says. But with the help of a special angel,
Karen is doing fine.
