faith

#trauma#forgiveness#Faith

When COVID came, my ex-husband got very, very sick. They took him to the hospital, and he was in critical condition. At that time, they did not let anybody inside. No visitors. No family beside the bed.

By then my children were grown. Shqipa — my miracle girl, the one I carried through nine months of sickness and prayer before she was born — had become a nurse. She called me and said, "Mommy, I have to go to Dad. Dad is very sick. He's in the hospital."

Even now, when I speak about this, I get very emotional. I was so scared for my daughter walking into that hospital, and I was scared for him too — because no matter what I went through, he was the father of my kids.

When she got there, he was in very critical condition. He could not talk anymore. He was on oxygen, and his oxygen was going down.

Then he asked my daughter to FaceTime me.

When I saw him on that screen, it was the hardest thing on earth. The father of my children, between life and death. He could not speak. But with his eyes, and with his hand, he was telling me something. I understood him. He was saying, "Pray for me."

I did not cry. But inside of me, I was breaking.

So I spoke to him. I said, "Listen to me very carefully. I want you to be strong. I want you to believe in God. In this sickness, you cannot get scared." I told him that people die because they are scared. "Don't be scared. Fight the fear and believe in God."

I told him to remember his father — a very, very good man who prayed a lot. I said, "Pray with your heart. I know you cannot move. Pray with your eyes. Pray with your soul. And God will be there. You are going to survive."

My daughter kept telling me, "Mommy, please pray for him." I said, "I promise, I am going to pray for him."

And it was not only her. All of my kids started calling me, one after another. They were scared. They were crying. "Mommy, please pray for Dad. Mommy, please forgive him and pray for him."

Even though he had been abusive with them when they were little — even though they carried their own painful memories — they did not call me with anger. They called me with tears, asking me to forgive him and pray for him.

That broke my heart in a deeper way. I had taught my children to pray. I had taught them that nothing can beat the prayer. Nothing. And in the scariest moment of their lives, I saw that they had learned. When fear came, my grown children did not reach for hate. They reached for prayer — the way I had taught them when they were small.

When I hung up the phone, I talked to God. There was no time to pray the way I usually pray. I just talked — with my soul, with my heart, with my mouth. "God, You know what to do. You know how to heal him. I cannot do it. No one in this world can do it — only You. I cannot see him dead. My kids need him. You have to heal him."

Then I called my older daughter. I said, "Listen. Go feed the poor, and make intention for your father to get better."

Within three or four hours, my daughter called me back. His oxygen was going up. He was going to be fine. They were going to move him out of the ICU.

After that, he recovered. And he changed. He started turning his face toward the kids. A few months later, he helped me get the apartment.

He told me later that when he was very sick, he thought he was going to die. And he asked God, "Give me another chance, so I can do for my kids." God gave him that second chance. And he kept his word.

I prayed for the father of my children when he was between life and death. And God answered. Sometimes the person you cried over in your hardest years becomes the person you pray for. That is what forgiveness looks like. That is what God can do.

)

When COVID came, my ex-husband got very, very sick. They took him to the hospital, and he was in critical condition. At that time, they did not let anybody inside. No visitors. No family beside the bed.

By then my children were grown. Shqipa — my miracle girl, the one I carried through nine months of sickness and prayer before she was born — had become a nurse. She called me and said, "Mommy, I have to go to Dad. Dad is very sick. He's in the hospital."

Even now, when I speak about this, I get very emotional. I was so scared for my daughter walking into that hospital, and I was scared for him too — because no matter what I went through, he was the father of my kids.

When she got there, he was in very critical condition. He could not talk anymore. He was on oxygen, and his oxygen was going down.

Then he asked my daughter to FaceTime me.

When I saw him on that screen, it was the hardest thing on earth. The father of my children, between life and death. He could not speak. But with his eyes, and with his hand, he was telling me something. I understood him. He was saying, "Pray for me."

I did not cry. But inside of me, I was breaking.

So I spoke to him. I said, "Listen to me very carefully. I want you to be strong. I want you to believe in God. In this sickness, you cannot get scared." I told him that people die because they are scared. "Don't be scared. Fight the fear and believe in God."

I told him to remember his father — a very, very good man who prayed a lot. I said, "Pray with your heart. I know you cannot move. Pray with your eyes. Pray with your soul. And God will be there. You are going to survive."

My daughter kept telling me, "Mommy, please pray for him." I said, "I promise, I am going to pray for him."

And it was not only her. All of my kids started calling me, one after another. They were scared. They were crying. "Mommy, please pray for Dad. Mommy, please forgive him and pray for him."

Even though he had been abusive with them when they were little — even though they carried their own painful memories — they did not call me with anger. They called me with tears, asking me to forgive him and pray for him.

That broke my heart in a deeper way. I had taught my children to pray. I had taught them that nothing can beat the prayer. Nothing. And in the scariest moment of their lives, I saw that they had learned. When fear came, my grown children did not reach for hate. They reached for prayer — the way I had taught them when they were small.

When I hung up the phone, I talked to God. There was no time to pray the way I usually pray. I just talked — with my soul, with my heart, with my mouth. "God, You know what to do. You know how to heal him. I cannot do it. No one in this world can do it — only You. I cannot see him dead. My kids need him. You have to heal him."

Then I called my older daughter. I said, "Listen. Go feed the poor, and make intention for your father to get better."

Within three or four hours, my daughter called me back. His oxygen was going up. He was going to be fine. They were going to move him out of the ICU.

After that, he recovered. And he changed. He started turning his face toward the kids. A few months later, he helped me get the apartment.

He told me later that when he was very sick, he thought he was going to die. And he asked God, "Give me another chance, so I can do for my kids." God gave him that second chance. And he kept his word.

I prayed for the father of my children when he was between life and death. And God answered. Sometimes the person you cried over in your hardest years becomes the person you pray for. That is what forgiveness looks like. That is what God can do.