Ian is only three or four years old. He does not remember what happens first. There is no memory of falling ill. No memory of his body shaking. No memory of the frightened faces around him.

Something happens. But that part of his life is missing.

Then there is his mother. He is lying in her lap. Her arms are wrapped around him. His small body rests against her warmth.

It is a familiar place. The safest place in his world.

There are people around him. None is talking, some moving nearby.

He does not pay attention.

He is in his mother’s lap.

That is enough.

Then comes the water.

It falls onto his head, spreading across his scalp.

He feels its touch and contrast temperature.

And he hears it.

The sound is sweet. Wonderfully sweet.

Somehow, the feeling of water touching his head makes the sound even sweeter.

A beautiful sensation spreads through his entire body.

He lies quietly.

His mother’s arms hold him close. The water keeps falling. Its sound fills the little world around him.

There is warmth. There is comfort. There is something playful and delightful in the touch of water.

He feels happy.

Not the happiness of receiving a toy or getting something he wants.

He wants nothing.

He is not waiting for anything.

Everything he needs is already there.

The warmth of his mother. The gentle touch of water. Its wonderful sound.

There is nowhere else he wishes to be.

If heaven has a feeling, perhaps it is something like this.

Years pass.

Ian grows older.

He remembers very little of that day. He does not know exactly what happened or why people were gathered around him.

But the water remains.

And his mother’s lap.

The feeling is so clear that it seems untouched by time.

Much later, Ian becomes a doctor.

He learns about febrile convulsions, seizures that can happen to young children during illnesses accompanied by fever.

He learns that during a generalised convulsion, consciousness is usually lost. The brain continues to function, but normal awareness and memory formation are disrupted.

A person may wake afterwards with no memory of the seizure itself.

Now he understands.

Something happened to his little body that he could not consciously witness.

The people around him may have been frightened. His mother may have been terrified.

But he remembers none of that.

His memory begins somewhere beyond the frightening event.

In his mother’s lap.

With the water.

He sometimes wonders about this strange contrast.

An event that may have brought fear to everyone around him leaves no clear picture in his mind.

Yet the comfort that surrounds his return to awareness remains extraordinarily vivid.

The sound of trickling water and it’s cool touch. The warmth of mother’s lap.

The happiness of life.

It is as though an unknown darkness has left behind a diamond memory.

The years continue.

Ian grows into a man. Life brings its ordinary troubles and its unexpected sorrows.

There are days of anxiety. Days of fear. Days when he feels exhausted, lonely, or overwhelmed.

And there are days when nothing is wrong, but he simply wishes to feel good.

On such days, he knows where to go.

He plays the sound of water.

Not a river or a waterfall, but a narrow stream breaking into countless little drops. They fall one after another, each landing on water below, creating a soft, delicate sound that only water meeting water can make. Together, the drops form a gentle, almost musical rhythm.

Then he closes his eyes.

Almost at once, something familiar begins to return.

The sound becomes sweet.

His body relaxes.

The world around him slowly disappears.

He is no longer thinking about his worries, his work, or the things he cannot control.

There is only the water.

And with it comes that wonderful feeling.

The warmth. The comfort. The happiness. The complete sense of being safe.

For a while, nothing is missing.

He is in another world.

A quiet, beautiful universe where he does not need to ask for anything, where there is nothing to fear and nowhere else to be.

Almost like heaven.

He is no longer a child.

His mother is no longer holding him in her lap.

But somewhere within him, that little boy is still there.

Listening to the water.

Safe in his mother’s arms.