Kaden’s Call
By Michael Pacheco
I gazed at my grandson Kaden and saw the striking yellowish hue of his skin, a telltale sign of jaundice. His tiny hands and feet flexed as if gripping the new air around him and stretching with the innocent curiosity of a newborn. Yet it was that unusual skin tone that set him apart, giving him a unique charm all his own. It was as if he carried a hint of sunshine within him, a reminder that even in moments of concern, there is beauty in every little soul that enters this world.
Just moments after the head nurse wiped the protective birth coating from Kaden’s tiny body, she looked at my daughter, the proud momma, with a reassuring smile. With a soft voice, she said, “It’s time for his routine shots. After that, he’ll need a little time under the lights.”
Kaden’s father and my wife stood close by, heard the nurse’s comment as they entered the room, and exchanged knowing glances. They smiled with excitement about the newest member of the family, tempered by concern of his jaundiced condition. Kaden would soon be placed beneath special lamps designed to help break down the bilirubin in his delicate skin. We all understood the warm glow of the lights would help him medically, but also serve as a hopeful symbol of his journey ahead. Even in these early moments of life, I sensed that Kaden would face the world with the strength of a fighter, surrounded by love and support from all of us.
My two-year-old granddaughter, Abby, sat wide-eyed, her little mouth forming a perfect “O” as she took in the spectacle. Her eyes sparkled with sheer wonder in her face.
Moments after the nurse made her pronouncement, Kaden began to fidget. He glanced around the room as if searching for something—anything—to anchor him in this new world.
Then, as clear as pealing church bells, Kaden communicated to me in a child’s voice. “What’s going to happen next?”
For several heartbeats, I was paralyzed. Had I imagined my newborn grandson talking to me? I looked at the others in the room, and no one else seemed to have heard the question. Despite the intriguing joy bubbling inside me, I tried to remain expressionless. If I said my newborn grandson had spoken to me, they’d say I was delusional. My wife stared at me. Her eyebrows furrowed, possibly trying to divine my thoughts.
“What’s happening?” I asked the nurse.
She gave me a rapid inspection as if she were seeing me for the first time, then looked away.
My recovering daughter caught sight of the nurse’s glance and looked at her newborn son in the plastic baby crib with concern. “What’s wrong, Dad?”
Her love for Kaden was palpable, but so was her anxiety as she rubbed the back of her neck.
“Nothing to worry about, honey,” I reassured her. But it was clear Kaden was worried about something, and he was trying to communicate that to me.
The nurse picked up a syringe from a nearby tray and approached Kaden. That’s when he began to wail.
A mix of fear and anger flashed across my daughter’s face. I nodded at her to suggest that I’d do something. Exactly what I’d do, I wasn’t sure. I approached the crib and positioned myself on the opposite side of the nurse. Without asking permission, I reached out and extended my left pinky into the palm of the baby’s tiny hand. To my relief, he grasped it tightly, as if drawing strength from that simple connection.
“Hold on, buddy. I’m right here with you,” I whispered, hoping to reassure both him and my daughter.
As the first injection pierced his skin, Kaden let out a scream that sent a shiver through me. His tiny fingers tightened around mine. I closed my eyes and willed my thoughts to reach him, transcending the pain and the chaos of his new world. Though I’ve never been keen on engaging in philosophical rhetoric even as an attorney, the moment inspired me. A torrent of thoughts of resilience, love, and the fragility of life overwhelmed me. I opened my eyes as our spirits fused in a way I never anticipated.
“Easy, son,” I said in my mind. “That sting is just the pain of the flesh. Remember, our spirits are stronger than this moment. You’re awakening to this temporary body, but within you lies the promise of eternity. Soon enough, you’ll return to the boundless vastness from where we came. But for now, take a deep breath and welcome yourself to this beautiful world.”
His eyes glimmered as he began to calm. The light in him never faded.
I caught myself thrusting my chest out with pride without intending to do so. After the last injection, I smiled at him. “It’s okay, Buddy. You can relax now.”
And he did.
It was just the two of us in this special connection. And though Kaden would have a natural bond with his mother, I sensed Kaden knew he and I would take on the world together.
Once we brought Kaden home, both he and my daughter recovered well. In less than a week, he was as healthy as most newborns his age. It wasn’t long before the little guy became a cute butterball of love.
When he took his first steps, I was there to catch him. Talking came soon after, especially when he visited my wife and me. The sounds he made were gibberish to everyone else, but me. He was sharing what he’d heard and seen that day. He especially liked his momma’s voice and the music that played when she opened her jewelry box. Soon enough, they called him Papa’s Yaketty Buddy.
My wife and I checked in on our grandchildren at least once a week until Abby began preschool at three and a half years. That left more time for me to spend with Kaden. His father was a workaholic, so he didn’t spend a lot of time with the little guy.
With all the cupboards and electrical outlets childproofed, we let him waddle anywhere in the house his little feet desired. Our backyard pool, of course, was off limits until he, too, turned three years of age.
On one warm summer day, I was helping a young attorney strategize for an upcoming personal injury trial. My volunteer legal work kept my mind active as my retirement slid into a second decade of occasional pro bono projects.
Minutes after meeting with the attorney, a bright light flashed in my mind. Something tugged on my left hand, followed by a sharp pain in that arm. For a moment, I thought something had crawled up my nose. I feared I might be having a heart attack. I paused midstride as I strolled back to my work area. I must have wobbled or weaved because the attorney and a secretary rushed from behind and grabbed my arms to steady me.
“Are you okay?” the attorney asked.
In the time it took to ask the question and for me to respond, I saw and felt myself whirling through a sideways vortex to a place of long ago. I was back in my mother’s womb.
I had shared that prebirth experience only with my wife, not childhood friends, not my priest, only her. In the womb, my mouth took in a big gulp of water or some form of liquid. I was immersed in the liquid I had swallowed and choked on. I was in a tight enclosure, but apart from the surprise of choking, I was warm and comfortable.
I’d had several flashbacks of that experience, and it always ended the same. I slid into a slumber and awoke when a nurse was cleaning me off on a table next to my mother.
Why was I having this vision now, here in the attorney’s office? My thoughts quickly shifted to Kaden. A distinct sense of Kaden in distress came over me. Was he calling me? Like a triage in my mind, I pushed away thoughts of my own health, issues with the legal cases before us, and focused on receiving mental messages.
I smiled at the attorney and secretary. “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy. Thank you.”
When I regained my composure, I headed directly home. After pulling into the driveway, I rushed to the pool without bothering to go through the house. My instincts were correct.
My wife was sopping wet in her street clothes. She sat poolside on a lawn chair, holding Kaden in her arms.
My shoulders fell, and my chest caved in. “Is everything all right?
Kaden looked up, broke free from Grandma's embrace, and ran to me. “You came, Pappa. You saved me.”
“Yes,” I said. “I felt your call, but you saved yourself. You’re a brave boy.”
I kissed his chlorine-soaked forehead. Without any more words spoken between us, we were alive to the resonance of our focused connection.
During his initial year in middle school, Kaden experienced the first tragedy of his young life. The leaves turned red and floated down like giant snowflakes, covering his front lawn.
He and I were preparing to rake the leaves when my daughter called us into the house. She looked distraught, her eyes swollen and teary-eyed.
She sat us on the couch, and by the pallor of her face, I knew it was bad news.
“I just received a call from Jimmy’s family that he was in a serious car accident,” she said.
“Is he all right?” Kaden asked.
“I don’t think so, honey. They’ve called a priest to give him his last rites.”
Kaden sucked in a deep breath and sat up straight. He raised his chin and stared into the distance through the living room window. We weren’t devout Catholics, but he knew the significance of the last rites practice.
Jimmy was one of the few close friends Kaden had. Two hours after the first call, we received a follow-up call. Jimmy had passed.
My wife and I decided to wait for Kaden’s father to come home before leaving for ours.
The leaves sat ungathered as Kaden and I gazed at them from the back patio.
He looked at me with a certain tranquility. “He spoke to me today, Papa.”
I was mildly surprised but not shocked. “Jimmy?”
“Yes. He said, I’ll see you on the other side.”
We sat in silence for a long time. He reached for my hand, and I tried to explain what likely happened. “I think Jimmy was referring to the universal mind when he said, the other side.
“So he transformed rather than died?”
I grinned. “He’s definitely not alive in the usual sense of that term, but he’s disappeared only to the human eye.”
Kaden’s eyes gleamed like mother-of-pearl. “But how did he know that?”
A mild breeze blew the leaves that covered the walkway to Abby’s play bridge at the far end of the yard.
“Do you remember your birthday?” I asked.
“You mean the actual day I was born?”
“Yes, that first day.”
“I’ll never forget it. My entry into this vessel of flesh.”
“Right, but you stayed synchronized with the universal mind.”
He looked in my direction, but past me, lost in thought.
I placed my arm across his shoulders and pulled him close. “I believe Jimmy was on a bridge crossing the gateway to the infinite.”
He nodded an understanding as the mild hum of his father’s Mercedes pulled into the driveway on the side of the house.
In the years that followed, Kaden grew and grew until he was no longer a child or an adolescent. He was a young man. When he was a senior in high school, Kaden, Abby, and their parents came to our house for our weekly gathering. As we gathered in the rec room to watch TV, Kaden came to me. “Can I talk to you outside, Papa?”
It was an odd request because normally, Kaden and my granddaughter simply spoke when they had anything to say.
“Of course,” I said.
We stepped outside and plopped down on several Adirondack chairs next to each other. I looked up at the night sky, then reached and placed my right hand over his. “What’s on your mind, son?”
He glanced at me, then returned his gaze toward the heavens. “I got accepted into Georgetown University.”
My heart filled with pride and joy. “Congratulations!”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to go.”
“What?” His statement popped my big balloon of euphoria. I turned to face him. “That’s a chance of a lifetime. What’s the problem? Is it about the expense at that school? If it is, maybe we can help.”
“It is expensive,” he said with a sheepish grin, “but I received a scholarship and federal grant offers. Most of it’s covered.”
“What is it then?”
He looked at a loss for words. He swung his head away, but just as quickly back toward me. “I’m afraid I might fail. There’s a bunch of brainiacs in that school.”
I wasn’t used to seeing him so insecure. He’d shown nothing but confidence during his formative years. He’d always said he wanted a law degree to help people who couldn’t assist themselves in society’s legal maze.
I decided to inject some levity into our talk, but also some sincere advice. I placed an index finger to the side of my head. “Relax. There’s more than just what’s up here.”
And without another utterance, I said in my mind, “It’s also what’s in your heart, what you want to do versus what you think you’re supposed to do.”
He pulled his hand out from under mine and placed it over his heart. He grinned, and his shoulders dropped into a composed mode.
By the start of the next academic year, Kaden was enrolled at Georgetown. It was no surprise to anyone when he came home during Christmas break with near-perfect grades.
As weeks and months passed, I tried to hide my declining health. But my inability to engage in strenuous activities was painfully obvious.
On a hot day in the middle of July, my ticker almost stopped ticking. While I was gardening, my heart tightened painfully into a knot. My wife found me on the ground amongst the gardenias in time to call an ambulance before I lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes, I felt weak and realized I was in a hospital, but little else.
My wife leaned over me. “Thank God. You’re awake.”
I glanced around. “Are you here alone?”
She shook her head. “The kids were here, but they were tired, so they went home to take a nap.”
I was confused. “How long were they here? Come to think of it, how long was I unconscious?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Two and a half days.”
“No, that’s not possible.”
“I know,” she said, “but it happened, and the doctors say you’re not out of danger just yet.”
With a lump in my throat, I could barely utter the words, “Dear God.”
The shock of the news she gave me jolted me and made me shiver. The monitor next to my bed began to beep rapidly, in sync with my racing heart. My eyes fluttered uncontrollably before closing completely. The blood drained from my face, and my breathing grew ragged. I was conscious, but scared.
I must have lost track of time again because the next thing I heard was the sound of Kaden’s voice. But it wasn’t in my ears that I heard him. It was in my mind. I struggled to open my eyes to no avail. If I was dying, I wanted to see him and all my family one last time.
My body tightened in on itself, as if my skin wanted to push my soul out of it.
I struggled to stay focused and communicate with him in our own unique way, without spoken words. “I believe I’m leaving this realm, son. I’m sorry I can’t see you and the others, but those are the limitations of an old man who’s lived a long and beautiful life.”
Kaden reached for my left hand and placed his pinky in my palm. “I know, Pappa. But remember, you’re not breaking down, you’re breaking through to the infinite. We’ll miss you, but rest assured, we’ll meet again. This form of communicating with you is a gift I will cherish forever.”
After he spoke his last words, the room fell silent, and I floated into the depths of a peaceful sea. My next vision was from above the hospital room, where my family had gathered and was now crying. The monitor indicated I had flatlined. Kaden withdrew his finger from my hand, leaned over, and kissed my forehead. Everything went dark, and then, it was my turn to relax.
Michael M. Pacheco is a Latino writer living in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona. His work has been published in forty-six literary journals and magazines across the United States, Canada, South America, England, and Africa, including the Cutleaf Anthology of Rural Stories by Writers of Color (Eastover Press, November 2025). He received his BA from Gonzaga University and earned his Juris Doctor from Willamette University College of Law.