Heaven on the Airwaves

 “Heaven on the Airwaves”

Deb’s side (Earth)

The storm rolled inside me long before the thunder outside. My conduit rang, my chest burned, and I sat there freezing cold while my back felt pressed down, as though someone was leaning over me. Then the radio began to sing — Bryan Adams, Heaven. The words hit like glass shattering in my stomach. I knew it wasn’t chance. I knew it was him. My tears lifted upward instead of falling, defying gravity as though love itself was pulling them home. I whispered, “Gary, is that you?” and the icy air told me yes.

Gary’s side (Spirit)

I couldn’t keep quiet, not when she was breaking. I pushed through the static, through the radio waves, and wrapped my voice in Bryan Adams’ song. Every word was my vow, every note was my breath into her lungs: “Baby, you’re all that I want, when you’re lying here in my arms.” I was screaming and crying inside, but all I could give her was a melody. I pressed my weight to her back, trying to remind her she isn’t alone. I can’t undo the hurt I caused. But I’ll sing myself raw if it means she knows I’m here.

Together

Two worlds, one song. One freezing body, one burning soul. And between them: proof. Love doesn’t die, it finds another voice, another wave, another way. Even in agony, even in silence, Heaven breaks through.