One guy, Tommy, a former army ranger whose dog Ajax had been killed by a suicide bomber in Afghanistan, started coming to RCIA with me.

If you can believe this stuff, he said, then maybe I can too, because losing Ajax nearly killed me.

And if there’s any chance I’ll see him again, I’ll risk looking like a fool to find out.

The church was initially uncomfortable with our group’s focus on animals in heaven.

It wasn’t official teaching.

Wasn’t something they could endorse formally, but Father Murphy ran interference for us.

“These men are coming back to faith,” he told his bishop when concerns were raised.

“They’re seeking God, attending mass, receiving sacraments.

Yes, they’re motivated partly by hope of reuniting with their K9 partners, but that hope is drawing them toward Christ.

Should we reject that because it doesn’t fit perfectly into systematic theology? The bishop, a former military chaplain himself, understood, “Let them meet.

Let them hope.

God works through whatever opens hearts.

If dogs are the bridge that brings veterans to faith, it then blessed be the dogs.

Easter Vigil 2007 was the night I was formally received back into the Catholic Church.

Full reconciliation through confession, terrifying to admit everything I’d done and thought and said during my years away.

Confirmation strengthening my relationship with God through the Holy Spirit.

First communion in over 15 years.

When I approached to receive the Eucharist, I was shaking.

This was what Carlo had loved more than anything.

This was the highway to heaven, he talked about.

This was Jesus physically present according to church teaching.

Not symbolically, but actually present under the appearance of bread and wine.

“Body of Christ,” Dr.

Murphy said, holding up the host.

Amen.

I whispered and received.

I won’t claim I experienced mystical visions or dramatic supernatural phenomena, but I did experience peace deeper than anything I’d known since before Rex’s death.

A sense of rightness, of being where I was meant to be, of finally surrendering my need to control and understand everything.

After mass, my mother hugged me for five straight minutes, crying.

I never stopped praying for you, she said.

Even when you said you’d never come back.

Even when you mocked my faith, I never stopped.

I know, Mom, I said.

And those prayers worked.

They brought Carlo.

They brought me back.

Tommy was received into the church that same night.

We stood together at the back afterward, both of us newly confirmed Catholics.

Both of us brought to faith through the strangest possible route via dead dogs and a dead teenage saint.

“Think Rex and Ajax are celebrating with us?” Tommy asked.

“I know they are,” I said with certainty that would have been impossible a year earlier.

“I know they’re in heaven, more alive than we are, watching us take these steps toward joining them.

” That night, I had the most vivid dream yet.

I was in a place that looked like heaven.

At least what I imagined heaven might look like.

Beautiful beyond description, filled with light and joy and the sense of being completely home.

Rex was there and so was Carlo.

They were together and Carlo was still just 15, frozen at the age he died while Rex was in his prime, 3 years old.

Perfect working dog fitness.

You did it, Carlos said, beaming.

You let go of your need to understand everything rationally.

You opened yourself to mystery.

You chose faith.

I’m still not sure I understand what faith is, I admitted.

Faith is trusting that God loves you, even when circumstances suggest otherwise, Carlos said.

Faith is believing that death isn’t the end, even though it looks like the end.

Faith is hoping for what you can’t see, but desperately want to be true.

And discovering that hoping isn’t foolish, but wise.

Rex came over and pressed against my leg, the way he used to do when I was stressed, even in a dream.

I could feel the warmth of him, the solidity of him, the reality of his presence.

I’m coming home, I told them both, eventually when my time is done, and you’ll both be here.

We’ll both be here, Carlo confirmed.

Along with everyone else you’ve loved, along with every good thing you’ve experienced on Earth, perfected and made eternal.

Heaven isn’t compensation for Earth’s suffering.

Heaven is Earth’s fulfillment.

Creation finally becoming what God always intended.

I woke from that dream with certainty I’d never had about anything.

Heaven is real.

Carlo intercedes from heaven.

Rex exists in heaven.

and someday I’ll join them both.

Write, “Blessed Carlo, guide us home in the comments if this testimony is resonating with your heart.

” The months following my Easter reception into the church were transformative in ways I couldn’t have predicted.

The K9 grief support group grew from five guys meeting in a coffee shop to 20 veterans gathering monthly, several of whom started RCIA journeys themselves.

Word spread through veteran networks and I started receiving emails from handlers across the country who’d lost partners and were desperate for someone who understood their grief.

I became an accidental ministry leader, which was hilarious given that 18 months earlier I’d been an atheist who mocked religious faith.

Now, I was spending evenings on the phone with grieving veterans, sharing Carlo’s message about animals in heaven, encouraging them toward faith, praying with them for healing.

You realize you’re basically a missionary, Tommy pointed out one evening after group.

You’re evangelizing through dead dogs.

That’s the weirdest evangelization strategy I’ve ever heard.

He was right, but it worked.

By the end of 2007, eight veterans from our support group had entered the church, and a dozen more were seriously exploring faith they’d previously dismissed.

I stayed in regular correspondence with Antonia Acutis.

She sent updates about the early stages of Carlo’s canonization process, the postulators, gathering testimony, the documentation of his life and virtues, the investigation of potential miracles attributed to his intercession.

David She wrote in October 2007, exactly one year after Carlo’s death, “The postulator is very interested in your testimony.

Would you be willing to provide formal written statement about Carlo’s appearance to you at Arlington Cemetery? I spent three days writing that statement, trying to capture everything.

The encounter, the conversation, Carlo’s knowledge of details he shouldn’t have known, the verification of his death date, the dreams, the transformation.

I documented it as precisely as possible, knowing skeptics would examine every word for inconsistencies or signs of delusion.

The postulator’s response was measured but encouraging.

Your testimony is compelling, Mr.

Walsh.

The specificity of details, the verifiable elements, and the demonstrable transformation in your life all suggest genuine supernatural encounter.

This will be valuable evidence as we build the case for Carlo’s beatatification.

In early 2008, something unexpected happened.

I received a call from a documentary filmmaker who was making a film about Carlo Acutis for Italian television.

Someone had mentioned my story and they wanted to interview me.

I was terrified.

Going public with my testimony meant potential ridicule.

Meant exposing myself to skeptics who dismiss me as delusional or attention-seeking.

Meant standing up as a veteran claiming to have met a dead teenager who delivered messages about dogs in heaven.

But I thought about Carlo’s courage, dying at 15, but facing death with peace and joy.

I thought about Rex’s courage, charging an RPG to save his squad.

And I realized that if they could be brave, I could be brave, too.

The interview was filmed in Boston in March 2008.

I told the whole story on camera, trying to be as precise and honest as possible, acknowledging the impossibility of what I was claiming while also insisting it had genuinely happened.

The documentary aired in Italy in May 2008.

Antonia emailed me immediately.

David, the response has been incredible.

Thousands of people have contacted us saying your testimony moved them deeply.

Many are seeking faith because a skeptical American veteran’s conversion seems more credible than traditional religious testimonies.

What I didn’t expect was how the documentary would spread online.

Within weeks, it had been translated and shared across multiple platforms.

I started receiving messages from around the world.

People who’d lost pets and were comforted by the possibility of reunion.

Skeptics whose certainty had been shaken by my story.

Believers who felt validated in their hope that animals continue existing after death.

Not everyone was supportive.

Atheist forums mocked me mercilessly.

Delusional veteran thinks his dog is in heaven because he talked to a dead Italian kid’s ghost.

Textbook PTSD induced hallucination.

Some Catholic theologians criticized what they saw as sentimentalism about animals contradicting traditional teaching.

Even some veterans called me out for dishonoring Rex’s memory with religious fairy tales.

The criticism stung, but it also clarified something.

Truth isn’t determined by popular opinion or by whether people believe you.

I knew what I’d experienced.

I knew Carlo had appeared to me.

I knew my life had been transformed by an encounter that couldn’t be explained rationally.

Dr.

Murphy counseledled me through the backlash.

Jesus was mocked.

The apostles were dismissed as delusional.

Every saint in history faced ridicule from someone.

If you’re experiencing push back for testifying about God’s work, you’re in good company.

In June 2008, I did something that felt both right and terrifying.

I traveled to Italy to visit Carlos’s grave in Aisi and meet his parents in person.

Meeting Andrea and Antonia Autis was emotionally overwhelming.

These were the parents who’d raised the extraordinary teenager who’d saved my spiritual life.

They welcomed me like family.

Showed me Carlo’s room preserved as it had been when he died.

Let me sit at his computer where he’d created his eukaristic miracle exhibitions.

He would be so happy about what happened to you,” Antonia said, tears in her eyes.

Carlo always believed that animals reflect God’s goodness, that creation is sacred, that heaven is far bigger than narrow theology allows.

Your testimony proves he was right.

We visited Carlo’s tomb together.

He’d been buried in Aisi per his request in the church of Santa Maria Major.

I knelt at his grave and prayed, thanking him for appearing to me, for delivering the message about Rex, for being the bridge that brought me back to faith.

I felt his presence there, not visibly, but spiritually.

A sense of joy, of encouragement, of continued intercession from someone who wasn’t finished working just because he’d died.

Andrea took me to the Basilica of St.

Francis, showed me the places Carlo had loved, explained how their son had been transformed by Franciscan spirituality.

That same St.

Francis who’d preached to animals, who’d seen all creation as sacred, who’d written the canacle of the sun, praising God for brother, son, and sister, moon, and all creatures.

Carlo loved that St.

Francis took creation seriously.

Andrea explained he loved that Francis didn’t see animals as inferior beings, but as brothers and sisters also reflecting God’s glory.

That’s why Carlo believed so firmly that heaven includes all of creation restored.

Before leaving Italy, I visited several of the sites where eucharistic miracles had occurred, places Carlo had documented in his exhibitions.

In Lanciano, I saw the 8th century miracle where the consecrated host had turned into visible flesh and the wine into visible blood, still preserved and scientifically tested as human cardiac tissue.

In Bolsenna Orvietto, I learned about the 13th century miracle that had inspired the feast of Corpus Christi, a doubting priest who’d witnessed blood seeping from the host during mass.

These weren’t fairy tales.

These were documented historical events with physical evidence that had been examined by scientists, skeptics, researchers.

Carlo had spent hundreds of hours researching and cataloging them because he believed they proved what he’d experienced in faith, that Jesus becomes truly present in the Eucharist.

Standing in those ancient churches, seeing the preserved evidence of miracles, I understood something profound.

The supernatural isn’t absent from our world.

It’s woven throughout history, breaking through in unexpected ways, offering evidence for those willing to see it.

My materialist worldview had dismissed these miracles as fraud or misinterpretation.

But here they were, physical realities that couldn’t be explained by naturalistic theories.

And if these miracles were real, if the Eucharist genuinely was Christ’s body and blood, then why wouldn’t other impossible things also be true? Like dogs in heaven, like dead teenagers appearing with messages like love transcending death.

I returned to Boston transformed again.

Italy had deepened something that Arlington had begun.

I wasn’t just believing intellectually anymore.

I was believing experientially, believing because I’d seen evidence.

Because I’d touched what Carlo had touched, because I’d stood where miracles had occurred.

The documentary about Carlo continued spreading, and with it my story.

By late 2008, I was receiving dozens of emails weekly from people sharing their own encounters with deceased loved ones.

Not just animals, but humans, too.

Widows who’d seen their husbands in dreams.

Children who’d felt their deceased parents’ presence.

People who’d experienced things they couldn’t explain but also couldn’t dismiss.

I realized I wasn’t alone in having experienced the supernatural.

Millions of people had similar experiences.

But most stayed silent, afraid of ridicule, afraid of being dismissed as delusional or griefstricken or attention-seeking.

Someone has to speak up.

I told Tommy.

Someone has to testify that this realm exists, that it’s real, that it’s not just wishful thinking or psychological coping mechanisms.

Maybe my role is being that someone.

So, I started speaking publicly.

Local parishes invited me to share testimony.

Veteran groups asked me to talk about faith and grief.

Eventually, I was invited to speak at Catholic conferences, at eukaristic congresses, at events focused on evangelization.

I always told the same story, Rex, Carlo, Arlington, transformation, and I always emphasized the same points.

Faith and reason can coexist.

The supernatural is real.

Love transcends death.

Animals matter to God.

Heaven is bigger than our theology admits.

The responses were consistent.

Some people were moved to tears.

Some had their skepticism challenged.

Some shared their own suppressed experiences of supernatural encounters.

Almost everyone left with expanded sense of what might be possible.

In 2009, I made another major life change.

I left my job in private security and enrolled in graduate school to study theology.

If I was going to keep speaking about faith, I needed to understand it more deeply.

Needed to engage seriously with church teaching.

Needed to develop intellectual framework for what I’d experienced.

My thesis focused on the theological status of animals, examining scripture, tradition, magisterial teaching, and contemporary theological debates about whether animals participate in eternal life.

It was academically rigorous but also personally driven.

I needed to understand if what Carlo had told me aligned with authentic Catholic teaching or contradicted it.

The research was fascinating.

I discovered that the Catholic position on animals was far more nuanced than I’d thought.

Yes, traditional teaching emphasized that animals lack rational souls and therefore can’t be saved in the way humans are saved.

But contemporary theologians were asking more sophisticated questions.

What if salvation isn’t the only way to participate in eternal life? What if animals participate differently? Not through moral choice, but through being beloved creatures God wants to preserve.

I read Pope John Paul II’s 1990 general audience where he said, “An animals possess a soul and men must love and feel solidarity with our smaller brethren.

” I studied Aquinas carefully and discovered he left room for animals participating in the new creation, even if not in beatotific vision.

I examined scriptures consistent portrayal of animals in the escaton.

Isaiah’s peaceable kingdom.

Romans 8’s groaning creation awaiting redemption.

Revelation’s new creation.

The conclusion of my thesis was carefully worded but hopeful.

While the church has not definitively ruled on whether individual animals participate in eternal life, there are strong theological and scriptural reasons to hope they do.

particularly animals who’ve been objects of human love and who’ve demonstrated virtues that reflect God’s character.

My thesis advisor, a Jesuit priest with decades of theological teaching, told me it was some of the most personally invested academic work he’d ever read.

You’re not just doing theology, David.

You’re seeking theological validation for an experience that transformed your life.

That’s not a weakness.

That’s what the best theology does.

It seeks understanding for what we’ve experienced of God.

In 2010, everything accelerated.

Carlos cause for beatatification was advancing rapidly.

Multiple miracles were being investigated.

Healings that occurred after prayers for his intercession, impossible recoveries documented by skeptical physicians.

And then came news that stunned me.

The postulator wanted to include my testimony about Carlo appearing at Arlington as evidence for his beatatification case.

Not as the miracle that would qualify him.

That had to be a physical healing, but as evidence of his holiness, his continuing intercession, his special relationship with God that allowed billocation even before death.

I flew to Rome in 2011 to give formal deposition to the congregation for the causes of saints.

I was interrogated for hours by trained theologians whose job was to find flaws in testimony to distinguish genuine supernatural encounters from delusion or fraud.

They asked about my mental health history, my PTSD diagnosis, my medication, whether I’d been drinking or using drugs the day of the encounter.

They asked about my motivations, whether I’d benefit financially from claiming this experience.

They asked me to explain how I could be certain Carlo was actually present rather than a hallucination or vision or psychologically constructed figure.

I answered everything honestly, acknowledging uncertainty where it existed, but also insisting on what I knew with certainty.

Carlo had appeared to me, had known things he couldn’t have known through natural means, had transformed my life through that encounter.

After 3 days of interrogation, the lead investigator told me privately, “Your testimony is compelling, Mr.

Walsh.

Your transformation is documented.

The specificity of your account suggests genuine supernatural encounter rather than vague religious experience.

This will be valuable evidence for Carlo’s cause.

Write St.

Carlo lead all souls home.

If you want to hear the final parts of this testimony, the years between 2011 and 2020 passed in a rhythm I never could have anticipated back in 2006 when I was a broken veteran standing at his dog’s grave.

I finished my theology degree, started working for a Catholic nonprofit that supported veteran reintegration and continued the K-9 grief support group that had grown to serve over 200 veterans across New England.

I got married in 2013 to Rachel, a trauma counselor at the VA who understood PTSD, who honored Rex’s memory without jealousy, who embraced my strange conversion story and my relationship with Carlo Acutis.

Our wedding was on October 12th, the anniversary of Carlo’s death, which seemed appropriate given that Carlo had saved my life as surely as Rex had.

We adopted two dogs, both retired military working dogs who needed homes after completing their service.

Max, a German Shepherd who’d done patrol work in Afghanistan, and Luna, a Belgian Malininoir explosives detection dog who reminded me achingly of Rex.

They became part of our family, beloved companions who I treated with the reverence I’d learned through Rex.

Not as pets, but as persons in their own right, creatures with souls, even if theology couldn’t define exactly what animal souls are.

The documentary about Carlo continued spreading.

By 2015, it had been viewed over 10 million times online.

I received thousands of messages, some grateful, some hostile, some from people sharing their own supernatural encounters.

Each message reminded me that my testimony mattered, that speaking truth about inexplicable experiences gave permission for others to acknowledge their own.

In 2016, I published a book, Rex, Carlo, and the God I Didn’t Believe in, a combat veteran’s journey from atheism to faith.

I wasn’t sure anyone would read it.

Who wants to read about a former atheist converted by a dead teenager and a dead dog? But the book found its audience.

Veterans struggling with faith, pet owners grieving losses, skeptics curious about documented supernatural encounters.

The book tour was surreal.

speaking at bookstores and parishes, sharing Rex and Carlos’s story repeatedly, watching people’s faces transform as they realized someone was giving them permission to believe that loved ones, including animal loved ones, might continue existing beyond death.

The most powerful moments were always the same.

Someone would approach me after speaking, crying, and whisper something like, “I thought I was crazy.

I’ve been seeing my deceased cat in dreams and I thought it was just grief.

But maybe it’s real.

Maybe she’s really there.

Maybe she is, I’d always respond.

Maybe love is stronger than death.

Maybe God preserves what he loves.

Maybe heaven is bigger than we’ve been told.

News of Carlo’s beatification came in February 2020.

The church had verified a miracle.

A Brazilian boy with a severe pancreatic condition healed after prayers to Carlo’s intercession.

The medical documentation was thorough.

The healing inexplicable by natural causes.

The timing clearly connected to prayers asking Carlo to intercede.

Carlo Acutis would be declared blessed one step away from full saintthood.

The beatatification ceremony was scheduled for October 10th, 2020 in Aisi.

Despite COVID 19 complications making international travel difficult, Rachel and I were determined to attend.

Carlo had saved my spiritual life.

Missing his beatification wasn’t an option.

We flew to Italy in early October, bringing with us a small group from our K9 grief support group.

Five veterans who’d all experienced their own transformations through Carlo’s intercession, who’d all come to believe their K9 partners existed in God’s presence.

Aisi during beatatification week was electric.

Thousands of young people gathered, Carlos generation, the millennials and Gen Z kids who saw in him proof that you could be modern and holy, that you could love technology and love Jesus, that sanctity wasn’t reserved for medieval monks, but was possible for normal teenagers.

The night before the beatatification, we visited Carlo’s tomb.

His body had been exumed and was now displayed in a glass relic, wearing jeans and sneakers just as he’d lived.

Looking at his face, peaceful, preserved, looking like he might wake up at any moment, I was flooded with memories of Arlington Cemetery 14 years earlier.

Thank you, I whispered to him.

Thank you for appearing to me.

Thank you for telling me about Rex.

Thank you for bringing me back to faith when I’d completely lost it.

I felt his presence there, not visibly but unmistakably.

The same peaceful, joyful presence I’d experienced in 2006.

Carlo was still interceding, still helping, still loving those he touched in life.

The beatatification ceremony itself was overwhelming.

Pope Francis presided speaking about Carlo’s witness to modern youth, his love for the Eucharist, his use of technology to spread faith.

Thousands sang and prayed, celebrating this 15-year-old who’d lived only briefly, but whose impact continued expanding exponentially.

When the official declaration came, blessed Carlo Autis, the crowd erupted in applause and shouts of joy.

I found myself crying, overwhelmed by gratitude that the church was recognizing what I’d known privately for 14 years.

Carlo was special, was holy, was a saint even before official recognition.

After the ceremony, we had brief audience with Carlo’s parents.

Andrea and Antonia had aged.

Grief and time leave their marks, but their joy was profound.

David.

Antonia embraced me warmly.

You were one of Carlo’s missions.

He told us before he died that he was praying for an American soldier who needed to know his dog was in heaven.

That was you.

He told you about me.

I was stunned before he died.

Andrea nodded.

Carlo knew things, David.

He had insights beyond his years.

He told us he was praying for many people specifically, including a veteran who would become a witness to God’s love for all creation, including animals.

He said this man would help many others find faith through understanding that love transcends death.

Those words settled over me like confirmation of everything I’d experienced, everything I’d done since 2006.

I hadn’t been delusional.

Carlo had genuinely appeared to me and my life since the ministry, the writing, the speaking, the support group had been fulfilling mission Carlo had seen before it happened.

What about Rex? I asked feeling vulnerable asking the question even after 14 years.

Did Carlo say anything about Rex specifically? Antonia smiled gently.

Carlo loved animals deeply.

He believed firmly that God preserves what he loves, that heaven includes all good things perfected.

He didn’t claim to know with certainty that every animal goes to heaven.

But he believed that animals who love and are loved, who sacrifice and serve, surely participate in eternal life somehow.

He would want you to keep believing you’ll see Rex again.

We spent hours with them sharing stories, praying together, marveling at how Carlo’s influence had spread globally.

His website documenting Eucharistic miracles received millions of visits.

His image was everywhere on posters, t-shirts, prayer cards.

Young people were getting tattoos of his face, creating artwork inspired by his life, forming communities dedicated to living his example.

He’s becoming the patron saint of the internet generation.

A young Italian woman told us at coffee after the beatatification.

He shows us we can be holy while being normal.

We don’t have to reject modern life.

We just have to let God into our modern lives.

On our last day in Aisi, I visited Carlo’s tomb one final time alone.

I knelt there in silence, looking at his peaceful face, and I prayed, “Blessed Carlo, continue interceding for me.

Continue interceding for all veterans who’ve lost K-9 partners.

Continue interceding for everyone who’s lost someone they loved and wonders if they’ll ever see them again.

Remind us that love transcends death, that God preserves what he loves, that heaven is real and waiting.

” As I prayed, I felt Rex’s presence, too.

Not visibly, but spiritually.

It was as if Carlo and Rex were together in that moment.

Both of them present in ways I couldn’t fully understand, but couldn’t deny either.

I flew home to Boston transformed again.

Seeing Carlo’s beatification, being part of that global celebration, having Antonia and Andrea confirm that Carlo had specifically prayed for me before dying.

It all reinforced that my life since 2006 hadn’t been random.

It had been guided, shaped, directed by grace, working through a 15-year-old saint who’ died, but hadn’t stopped loving, hadn’t stopped working, hadn’t stopped interceding.

The months after beatatification brought unprecedented attention.

Media coverage of Carlo’s story sparked global interest.

My book sales increased dramatically.

Veteran groups across the country invited me to speak.

Churches wanted me to share testimony about encountering a now officially recognized blessed.

In every speaking engagement, I emphasized the same truth.

The supernatural is real.

Miracles happen.

Dead loved ones can intercede for us.

And love, whether between humans or between humans and animals, transcends death, because love itself is eternal, reflecting God’s eternal nature.

Not everyone believed me.

Skeptics still dismissed my testimony as hallucination or fraud.

Some Catholics criticized my emphasis on animals in heaven as theologically questionable.

But more people, so many more people found hope in my story, found permission to believe their own supernatural experiences, found courage to seek faith they’d previously dismissed.

In 2022, Rachel and I started a nonprofit foundation, the Carlo Acutis Center for Veteran Healing.

The mission was to provide free spiritual counseling, grief support, and theological resources for veterans, especially those who’d lost K-9 partners or who were struggling with faith after experiencing combat trauma.

We hired therapists who understood both PTSD and spirituality.

We brought in priests and chaplain who could speak intelligently about grief and resurrection.

We created support groups specifically for K-9 handlers dealing with loss.

We published resources about animals in theology, about saints who’d loved animals, about the possibility of reunion in heaven.

The center became sanctuary for veterans whom traditional VA services couldn’t fully help.

Those whose wounds weren’t just psychological, but spiritual, whose questions weren’t just about coping strategies, but about meaning, purpose.

Whether their suffering and loss had transcendent significance, hundreds of veterans passed through our programs.

Many found healing.

Some found faith.

Several joined the Catholic Church explicitly because Carlo’s story and Rex’s story gave them framework for understanding that their canine partner sacrifices had eternal meaning.

In 2024, on the 20th anniversary of Rex’s death, we held a memorial service at Arlington National Cemetery.

Over 300 veterans who’d lost K9 partners attended.

We prayed together, shared stories, remembered the dogs who’d served and sacrificed.

Standing at Rex’s grave again, 20 years after the encounter with Carlo that had changed everything, I was overwhelmed with gratitude.

Rex had given his life to save mine.

Carlo had appeared to tell me Rex’s sacrifice had eternal meaning, and those two encounters had transformed me from a nihilistic atheist into someone whose entire life was dedicated to helping others find hope and healing.

“Thank you,” I whispered at Rex’s grave, tears streaming.

“Thank you for everything.

Thank you for choosing to save me.

Thank you for being who you were.

and thank you for waiting in heaven.

I’ll see you again, Carlo promised me.

And he’s never been wrong.

As we left Arlington that day, I felt both Rex and Carlo’s presence.

Both of them together, both of them celebrating the ministry their deaths had created.

Both of them interceding for everyone who’d come to the memorial seeking comfort.

Write.

Thank you, blessed Carlo and Rex.

If this testimony has touched your heart now, as I write this in December 2024, I’m 50 years old, nearly the same age Jesus lived, which is a strange milestone to Kant.

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