On Father's Day, I need to make this story known--one more time.

I must admit that after watching "Heaven Is For Real" I felt very down. Undoubtedly, it's an uplifting movie--but what made me feel down is the thought that I do have a true, real, inspirational story to tell the world--and my telling never went past my own limited social circle and social media network. This is not about a near-death experience but about an indisputable intercession from Above. And, as such, is also a clear testimony that Heaven does exist. It's clear testimony that my Dad was watching over us. It's clear testimony that he was heard because he's really close to God.

My Dad, Armando C.E. Godone-Signanini, was called by Jesus on November 1, 1993. Coincidentally, it was on the Day of All Saints. The same as about my Mom, if there is anything slightly negative that could be said about him, it was to have been too overprotective.  By profession, he was a C.P.A., with a Ph.D. in Economics and an unusual gift for mathermatics. He was very serious, a little bit of a perfectionist, but he had a heart of gold, loved children, had a deep interest in all cultures, and a zeal for equality and social justice. He enjoyed traveling and trying anything new. Most importantly, he cared about making his family travel and try new things. He was a fervent, practicing Catholic, and, precisely as such,  was also open to people from all walks of life. He was used to the best but never really cared much about social prestige or profile. He was just a family man to the fullest extent of the expression. I still remember one Father's Day many years ago when the card I gave him made him cry.

Around late May of 2008, after the Haitian government had granted the adoptions of Thomas and Nicholas and they were legally mine already, the U.S. Consulate in Port-au-Prince came up with a nonsensical issue that could have jeopardized everything.  Basically, my sons' files were randomly selected for a third-degree scrutiny that could have delayed their homecoming for months, maybe years--and maybe could have held them and us in limbo forever.

My Mom, then still on this earth, my three biological children, and I were in sheer agony.  All doors seemed to be locked. Our senator's office in San Diego didn't even seem to be accessible within any reasonable timeframe.  Our local representative's office promised to get in touch with the Consulate--but their promise didn't sound very promising either.

My Mom, my children, and I were praying together. Still, there seemed to be little hope--if any at all. Then, one night I had that dream that will stay with me for as long as I live . . . until that day when I too will be called and will then see my parents again.  Well . . . I'm basically a good person--but not even remotely as good as they were.  Without keeping on digressing on what my ultimate destiny will be, I'll go basck to my dream. Someone was knocking at the door.  It was my Dad, carrying both Thomas and Nicholas in his arms. He smiled at me and told me, "I went to Haiti myself as the only way to bring them home." He added that he had filled out all the missing documents, having only left their middle names blank because he was not sure which ones I wanted for them. That was the only little detail that was not totally fitting with the reality of the situation because, at least ten years ago, an adoption decree from Haiti meant the change of the adopted children's family name but not of their first or middle names. That would need to be done once in their new country.

I tried to hug my Dad in my dream but he vanished. Thomas and Nicholas stayed--as real as if physically there, next to me.

in the morning, I called the Consulate one more time--and couldn't believe my ears. The same female officer who had told me that, even if unfair, the situation was beyond her power, apologized to me and told me that my boys' files, which apparently were already in route to the mainland, had been pulled back. Tbeir visas would be issued within the following few days--and I could go ahead and purchase the plane tickets to pick them up and take them home.

After praising Jesus, His Blessed Mother, and all the saints all together, after the hugs and the happy tears, I called our local representative's office and asked for the person who had promised to call the U.S. Consulate in Port-au-Prince. Without telling him that the problem had been miraculously resolved, I pretended to be still worried and asked him whether he had had any chance to contact the Embassy. He honestly replied that he had been swamped with lots of different issues--and promised to email the Consulate as soon as he got off the phone with me.  Then I told him that there was no longer any need for him to contact theVisa Unit. The seemingly unsolvable problem had been solved. It had been solved through a much more powerful kind of intervention than any political one can be. It had been my Dad's intercession from very near God. It had been exactly as he had told me, "I went to Haiti myself as the only way to bring them home."

Thank you all for reading this story. Please feel free to share it. You may want to think about it to help yourselves in keeping your faith strong and keeping up your hope or you may want to use it to help someone else to recover their fairth and/or hope. God bless.