His first memory after surgery was music. Not from the monitors or the hallway, but from his own mouth. He woke up singing a worship song he had only heard once. The nurses glanced at each other because he kept singing through the fog of anesthesia.

The lyrics were simple: God is near, God is kind. He did not know why those words came out, but the melody felt planted deep. The song steadied his breathing. He says it felt like someone else started it and he simply joined in.

Family visited and found him humming. He told them he felt watched over, as if someone had waited at his bedside while the machines did their work. The ICU is not a quiet place, yet he remembers peace sitting heavy on his chest, more solid than the oxygen mask.

“I woke up singing, and for the first time in weeks, the room felt gentle.”

When he went home, the song stayed. He hums it doing dishes, in traffic, and when fear creeps back. He believes Jesus gave him a melody to hold onto, proof that even in the loudest rooms, heaven has a way of being heard.