Ordinary Angels
By: Jacob Evans
Tags: Healing, Inspirational

Some precious truths are like the light of distant stars; They only become discernible by searching the heavens on the darkest nights. In Santa Clarita, California, I experienced such a night on October 6, 2017. The stillness of that lonely night filled me with anxiety as I waited for my wife to come home. Katie had called me in distress from the hospital around 11:00pm. Hannah, one of our preemie twins, wasn’t breathing well and my wife was convinced that if she could hold her it would help, but the NICU nurse wouldn’t let her.

Sarah and Hannah should not have been born yet. They arrived over 3 months early, the smallest preemies in one of the best Neonatal Intensive Care Units in the world: UCLA. Less than a week before that, a UCLA specialist had recommended aborting them because she expected they would die anyway. We already knew why. Katie had been to other specialists for months. Both twins shared a single amniotic sack and their umbilical cords were gradually getting tangled into knots, making it harder and harder for oxygen and nourishment to get to these tiny girls. Many women would have bowed to their doctor’s advice, but Katie refused.

Katie had wanted a little girl since we’d first married, 15 years earlier. Repeated efforts had led to 4 boys, but no girls — until these twins. Katie was a woman on a mission to bring these girls into the world and would not be denied. At my wife’s insistence, this specialist agreed to admit Katie to the hospital so they could monitor the girls around the clock. Then later that same week, on August 13, doctors saw we were losing Hannah at 7:46am. The medical staff rushed Katie to the operating room where skilled doctors performed an emergency C-section at 7:48am and revived Hannah using CPR, which ruptured one of her lungs, but kept her alive.

The girls were so premature they could not regulate their body temperature, breathe, or eat on their own. There were other complications and surgeries, but miraculously these one-pound wonders had survived for 7 weeks under the caring eyes of medical experts and a mother who spent many hours at the hospital each day, and typically 3 more in traffic, to make sure Sarah and Hannah felt her love. Katie had read studies that showed a mother’s presence and touch made a difference in babies’ development, which was why she was so distraught when she called me at 11:00pm and complained that the nurse would not let her hold Hannah.

We were both exhausted at the time. I thought Katie would feel better after a good night’s rest and spending some time with the boys in the morning before going back to the hospital the next day, so I asked her to come home and she agreed. With gloriously light traffic that late in the evening, I expected her home before midnight, but at 12:30 she still wasn’t back so I called her phone. When it went straight to voicemail I called the hospital, which confirmed that she had left after our 11:00 conversation. I tried calling Katie again and when it went straight to voicemail, I tried to tell myself that her battery must have died. I tried to be patient, but the nagging unease I felt grew. By the time the clock struck 1:30, and she still wasn’t home, my unease had graduated to full fledged worry.

I worried that she was stuck somewhere and needed my help. I wanted to go to her; to help her, but I had no idea how. I racked my brain to think of what I could do. The only decent idea I had was to call a friend, who was a police officer.

Gavin was so kind that he didn’t utter a single complaint at being disturbed in the middle of the night. He simply asked me about the situation and offered to help. I explained that Katie had driven her mom’s Prius to the hospital and should have been back by now. He said he’d look into it.

I hung up the phone, feeling powerless and terribly alone. I called my father, but he didn’t answer. I called Katie’s father, but he didn’t answer either. Time slowed to a painful crawl as I waited for Gavin to call me back. Finally after half an hour I couldn’t wait any longer and reached out to him again. My friend assured me he was working on it, but didn’t have anything useful to tell me yet.

Unfortunately for Gavin, my patience was spent. I called several times, desperate for answers. Finally, around 2:30, in an effort to give me peace of mind, Gavin told me she was probably fine because the only fatality reported that night had been an accident involving a Honda Civic. In a moment of terrible realization, I suddenly recalled that Katie’s mom’s car was a hybrid Honda Civic, not a Prius.

Worry instantly exploded into panic. I had to act. I awoke my 11-year-old son, Travis, and explained that I would be leaving for a little while, but would be back soon, so not to worry if he woke up and I wasn’t there. Then I got in the car and began retracing the route Katie would have taken home.

Less than a mile from my home the road was taped off and blocked by multiple police cars. I told the police that I was looking for my wife and tried to duck underneath the tape to go look at the accident. The officer stopped me, but took information about the car and Katie’s birthday. After agonizingly long minutes he confirmed that the car had indeed been involved in the accident. When I asked about Katie he would only tell me that the injured had been taken to Henry Mayo Newhall Hospital and to call there. I went home and did so with little hope. Sure enough, they had not admitted anyone named Katie Evans.

The last vestiges of my hope evaporated. Between Gavin’s comment about the Honda Civic fatality, the officer’s confirmation that the car had been involved in an accident, and the knowledge that Katie had not been admitted to Henry Mayo, I knew that the love of my life was gone.

I dropped to my knees and prayed to God. I had prayed several times during the course of the night, pleading to know where Katie was, asking for Him to bring her home safe, and begging for direction so I would know what to do. Sadly, it had felt like those prayers didn’t get past the ceiling. This prayer was different. I was out in the backyard, where I had hoped to find solace gazing out over the valley. Instead I felt all alone in the night. When my knees hit the patio cement and I bowed my head, I could feel darkness pressing in around me, causing me to speak with more earnestness. I prayed with the full intensity of my soul. I will not share the details of that prayer, but suffice it to say I expressed my anguish of soul, tears streamed down my cheeks as I contemplated the pain my children would endure and the memories of their mother they would never have, and finally, I asked God for guidance and help.

When I stood up, I waited, hoping to hear or feel some answer to my prayer, but I felt nothing. Indeed, I recall surprise at feeling completely numb instead of the overwhelming grief so often portrayed in movies. I knew I was in shock, but considered it a blessing. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t afford to wallow in my sorrow. There were far too many practical matters to consider. I was now a widower with six children, including two who were still fighting for their lives in a distant hospital and an older special needs child. My closest family was hundreds of miles away. What would I tell my boys? How could we function as a family for a single day if I didn’t quit my job and how would we eat if I did?

The next year of my life was far harder than anything I had experienced before. It was even more stressful than my time working in the violent city of Juarez, Mexico. The full extent of my loss eventually came crashing down on me. I ran at least a mile every day to deal with the stress and realized I loved the pain of pushing my body to the very brink because the intense physical pain was easier to bear than my emotional pain. But that doesn’t mean God didn’t answer my prayer. Looking back it is clear that I began receiving answers right away. I didn’t see a burning bush like Moses or receive a message from a glorified being like when Gabriel appeared to Mary, but God began to send me angels almost immediately.

One of the first calls I made was to my bishop. I was surprised when Bishop Adams picked up on the first ring around 3:30am and even more surprised when the first words he said were, “I’m coming to you now.” By 4:00am Bishop Adams, and three other friends, I hadn’t called, arrived at my home to support me. They were there when, six hours after Katie’s death, the coroner finally showed up on my doorstep with Gavin and gave me details about the accident, which had occurred before midnight.

By the time the first child woke, we’d been joined by my sister-in-law’s twin sister, who lived over an hour away. Each child was greeted kindly, offered a pancake breakfast, and had adults offering to play whatever board game they wanted. The boys thought it was a wonderful Saturday morning until I sat them down and explained that their mom had been killed by a drunk driver. I did not have enough arms to comfort all of them at once and was so grateful for these angelic friends who could give my children hugs.

But the angels were just getting started. Here’s a greatly abbreviated list of unexpected angels who became messengers of hope and love to our family. If the list seems long, feel free to skip to the next part of this article, but you should know that a complete list would be much much longer.

Someone brought a box of my kid’s favorite candy bars to the house right away. Two of Travis’s elementary school friends set up a lemonade stand which got radio coverage and raised over $2,000 for the family. Some thoughtful members of the community realized that I would struggle to keep up with laundry. They did a fundraiser and then presented me with 2 years of prepaid laundry service from The Lost Sock. A group of women organized shifts to go down to UCLA to visit and hold my twins so they could feel a mother’s love every day. My kids had tons of food allergies so dinner wasn’t easy. I was incredibly grateful when gluten-free, soy-free, milk-free, nut-free meals began showing up at our home and continued to come everyday for months. Various people picked up and dropped off my kids at their three different schools for a full year so I could continue to work (our public schools didn’t do busing). Someone heard that Nathaniel, my nine-year-old, was afraid we’d be too busy for Halloween and so came with an impressive assortment of Halloween decorations and costumes for all of the kids. One of the NICU nurses personally sewed a super cute Halloween costume for the girls. They were two peas in a pod in an incubator. The UCLA NICU made an exception to their policy that children were not allowed in the NICU so that the twins could finally meet their brothers. UCLA arranged to provide me with a special parking pass so I wouldn’t have to pay when I visited the girls. A family friend picked up my 2-year-old son almost everyday for the first several months and made him feel as loved as if he’d been part of her family. The owner of a local daycare, Teddy Bear University, offered to let my 2-year-old attend free of charge. He did so for over a year and loved it. Upon learning that my autistic son had trouble reading, The Brain Balance Center offered him 3 months of free therapy. The youth from church made comfort blankets for each of the boys, carefully designed to use their favorite colors and feature their individual interests. Someone decided to brighten my residence by planting dozens of beautiful flowers in my front yard. Someone else mowed my lawn for me and when they noticed one of my sprinklers was broken, fixed it before I ever knew it was broken. My neighbors did a collection and presented my family with the proceeds, along with a wonderful dinner for the extended family visiting for the funeral. A member of the community I’d never met before decided they wanted the boys to look their best for the funeral and so brought them new Sunday clothes. When my dad asked the dry cleaner if they could be sure to have my suit done in time for the funeral, they not only did, but refused payment as well. When members of Katie’s parents’ congregation learned I’d decided to bury Katie near her parent’s home in Utah, they bought burial plots for her and me. Nathaniel’s teacher gave him a Mario T-shirt that brightened every day he wore it. Studio C, my kids’ favorite comedy group, met us at a shaved ice place on our way driving back from burying Katie. Studio C was great with the kids and even presented them with autographed pictures and Studio C shirts. One of Katie’s cousins solicited and curated a collection of memories of Katie from friends and family, which her father edited and published as a book. He gave a copy to each kid so that they could know their mother a little bit better. The kids’ dentist did their dental work for free. Upon learning Katie’s death necessitated changing the deed to our home, a generous lawyer provided free legal services to make the changes. The sheriff’s office brought the kids extra presents for Christmas. The local radio station, KHTS, helped make a wonderful new family memory by taking us out to view Christmas lights from the back of an old fire truck. The Aquarium of the Pacific also helped to make new family memories by giving us a private tour of the aquarium before it opened for the day. One of my sister’s neighbors watched her kids for a week so she could fly down and spend a week sorting through Katie’s things with me (an incredibly emotional chore). Someone had teddy bears for each of the kids made out of Katie’s T-shirts so they could still get cuddles from her. The accident weighed so heavily on the mind of one man (the father of one of Travis’s friends) that he wrote a song, Gideon’s Cry, and produced a story video, featuring Elsten Torres, to raise money for the family. The community did a diaper drive so the girls would have all the diapers they would ever need once they came home from the hospital. When the girls did come home from the hospital months later, my niece took a semester off of college to live with us, take the girls to countless medical appointments and administer their many medicines, oxygen, and tube feedings. She also coordinated the efforts of the night nurses I hired and helped with the boys too. A phenomenal woman I’d never met before, but became a dear family friend, began taking the boys on adventures about once per week. They would visit farms, go horseback riding, or swim in her pool. Once the girls had come home and the first wave of support had ebbed away, a group of 84 loving citizens took turns coming to the house to hold the girls for a few hours each day. Ten of these cuddlers continued coming regularly for over a year.

It’s an impressive list, but it’s only a fraction of the many kindnesses my family received. I was blown away by the outpouring of love and it changed my life. How had I never realized the forces of good on earth were so strong?

When we read the news it is easy to get discouraged about the state of the world. News sites have learned that human nature tends to fixate on the horrific. That’s why events like school shootings, sex scandals, and violent riots get top billing as headlines. They make us ask, “Why would anyone do that?” and want to read more to better understand the unfathomable.

On the other hand, it’s easy to understand why someone would buy a box of favorite chocolate bars for some kids who just lost their mother. That makes sense to us, so when we read about it we tend to say, “That’s nice,” and then move on to the next headline.

The result is unfortunate, but predictable. News organizations are businesses which are incentivized to headline the horrific and so they do, sometimes to the point that those who read the news begin to feel that this world has become a terrible place.

But that’s simply not true! The world is full of good people! Did you notice how few of the items on my list was made possible by a family member? (I just had to include Christina’s incredible sacrifice.) It’s not because my family didn’t help. They were amazing! For example, my brother Mike came and shadowed me for 3 weeks. When stress woke me up at 4:00am, he was instantly up and at my side to keep me company. Then there were relatives who came to help with the kids as I figured things out. My dad, Katie’s parents, Katie’s aunt, my sister, Katie’s sister and my step-aunt each traveled across the country to take turns for weeks at a time. But I didn’t include them in my list because it’s not surprising that my family would be there for me. What is surprising is that literally thousands of strangers were there for me.

Would you believe me if I told you I received hundreds of sympathy letters and cards in the mail? I don’t even know how they found my address. People went completely out of their way to look up my address, write a note, find a stamp (I don’t actually remember where mine are right now), and mail it to a stranger. In many cases they also sent checks or thoughtful gifts. That’s incredible premeditated kindness.

Even more people showed kindness when it was a little easier. Over 7,000 people donated money to a youcaring.com site, providing me with money to pay for funeral expenses, counselling, medical bills, night nurses, nannies, and a hundred other things. That money made it possible to stay in California. It was the only reason the kids didn’t have to move away from their friends at a time they were already experiencing so much change.

If any of the thousands of people who helped my family are reading this article, I want to thank you for what you did. I want you to know that what you did made a difference; it changed my life and the lives of my children.

It’s now 2021 and I’m happy to report that my life has stabilized. The girls were given a clean bill of health by UCLA just before they turned 2 years old. I’ve found, fell in love with, and married an amazing woman who not only gave up her career to be a wonderful full-time mother to these children, but has also developed great relationships with Katie’s family. In short, my story has a happier ending than I thought possible when, surrounded by blackness, I fell to my knees and prayed for help. It’s been a painful and arduous journey that I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but I do wish more people knew a wonderful truth I learned along the way.

The great truth I began to see clearly in the darkness is this: We are surrounded by angels every day, disguised as ordinary people. Often they are hidden in plain sight, waiting to reveal themselves until a need arises. In some cases their angelic natures are even hidden from themselves, until compassion awakens them to their divine potential and compels them to act.

These forces of good are all around us. So don’t lose hope when the news looks discouraging. Don’t lose hope when you are called to pass through tribulation. Don’t lose hope when you can’t see a path forward. When the path before you appears impossibly dark, have faith, ask God for help, step as far into the darkness as you can, and if you will allow your eyes to be opened, you too can see His ordinary angels help you along your path.