She was stuck in a hospital bed, feeling more alone than ever before. Then came a sunbeam…

I was 20, newly married and making the long drive to Camp Pendleton to visit my husband Jimmy, who was stationed there for infantry training. As I crested a hill on the two-lane highway, a car came straight at me.

I later learned a drunken driver, trying to pass six cars on a blind hill, had hit me head-on, causing my car to spin around. Then I got hit again and the gas tank exploded. I awoke in the hospital with legs and an arm broken, third-degree burns over 20 percent of my body and a severe head injury.

My left ear had been burned away and one hand was so badly mangled that it might have to be removed.  Doctors had little hope for my survival. My family came from all around the country, expecting a funeral.

When my condition stabilized, one by one they had to return to their homes and jobs.
About a month after the accident, Jimmy who had been by my side every day, also had to leave. I was still in intensive care in traction and the damage to my eyes meant I could only see shadow and light.

Recovery would be a long and painful process, especially without Jimmy there. "This is too much to bear," I cried out to God one day. "Please let me know that you are here. I have never felt so alone in my life."

Almost instantly I noticed a bright sunbeam sweeping across the sheets next to my face. It seemed to quiver with energy and radiate peace and reassurance. The light remained with me all that day. It was a simple thing, a light from a window, but it gave me comfort.

After I was released from the hospital, I told Jimmy the story of how that ray of sunlight had consoled me during the time he couldn't be with me. When I finished, he had a puzzled look on his face.

"Pam, you were in intensive care," he said quietly. "There were no windows."