Lights flashed. Sirens wailed. People in white uniforms hurried around. The stretcher carrying eight-year-old Jimmy was rushed by ambulance to the hospital.
Before long, Jimmy was in the Intensive Care Unit. Tubes ran from his body to the big monitoring screens showing his progress. There were IV’s in his wrists and nurses hovered around, checking each screen and murmuring to themselves.
Jimmy’s mother was escorted in and offered the chair next to his bed. She gasped when she saw her baby’s face. It was ashen and the blue veins seemed to protrude. His eyes were closed. She whispered a prayer and sat down in a chair and held Jimmy’s hand.
She remembered all the times when Jimmy had touched her heart. From the minute he was born, she’d known he was going to be a very special baby.
He had required more attention and care than most children. But although Jimmy was affected physically, it didn’t harm him emotionally. He was the sweetest child she could have asked for, reaching inside and touching her heart.
He seemed to treasure everything twice as much as other children.
She wished she had brought along his favorite book. It was one about mountains, his most favorite thing on earth. From their backyard, you could get one of the most tremendous views of the Rockies. Jimmy’s parents had bought him the book for his fifth birthday. It held a collection of beautiful photographs, ranging from the mighty Mt. Everest to rugged Mt. Rushmore, as well as the Rockies and Appalachian Mountains.
Jimmy had fallen in love with the mountains from the minute he laid eyes on them. He loved the tall peaks and rocky sides. He said the snow on top looked like melted ice cream running out of an upside-down ice cream cone.
There was only one thing about the mountains that Jimmy wished would be different.
He would never would be able to climb them, for the sickness had taken over his whole body, and Jimmy would never walk again.
Jimmy’s eyes fluttered. His long eyelashes covered beautiful, big, blue eyes. The hand that his mother’s held quivered. She glanced around for any nurses. Jimmy was coming out of his coma! But before she could get up to tell someone, a small, weak voice said, “Don’t go,... Mommy. I need to... tell you... some...thing.” The short pauses in-between his words told her that it was taking most of Jimmy’s strength to say this.
“Go on, Darling,” she prompted.
“Mom,” he whispered, “I’m not... going... to be here... very much... more. Pretty soon... Jesus is... going to... come get... me. Don’t cry.” He reached up and brushed away the tears rolling down his mother’s cheeks. “I told... Jesus that... when He comes... I want to... go up... on my... m-m-mountains. Jesus is... going... to take... me... on top... of the... mountains,... Mom.” His words brought fresh tears to her eyes. This time, he didn’t wipe them away. His next words started a stream of tears that would never stop.
“Mom,... when... Jesus... takes me... away,... go look... on top... of the... mountains. I’m gonna... be there... with... Jesus. And I... won’t be... in my... wheelchair. Any... more. Wave to... me, Mom. And then... when we... go on... to... Heaven... I’m going... to live... on the... mountains. Hurry up... and come,... too, Mommy. See you... on the... mountain.”
With Jimmy’s last words and a little gasp of breath, he departed. Mandy’s little cry brought nurses and doctors to the room. Everything was done to try and revive the boy, but it was useless. The child was gone.
Mandy’s heart was drenched in sorrow. She had lost her precious little angel. She felt so lonely; nothing seemed to comfort her. That’s when she recalled Jimmy’s last words, “See you... on the... mountain.”
She stood on the backyard patio, gazing upward at the tall peak of the mountain that seemed to loom in their backyard. Jimmy’s mountain.
She sheltered her eyes with her hand. Then she saw them. At the peak, holding the hand of Jesus, her little boy stood and waved his hand. She gave a cry of delight and waved back. Then just as soon as they appeared, the wonderful sight was gone.
But as long as she would live, her precious little boy’s last words would ring in her ears, “See you... on the... mountain.”