LOSING MOM - Part 41

True confession: I believe in angels. And spirit guides. And that our loved ones who have passed on are still all around us even though we can’t see them. I didn’t always believe these things and, in fact, had no idea what a spirit guide even was until my dad, who had been such a strong, guiding force in my life, died suddenly at age 66. His loss left me reeling, but somehow, in the chaotic days that followed his death, I could still feel him around me so strongly that it didn’t seem possible he was really gone. That even though I couldn’t see him anymore, I was so sure he was still there. 

But where?

Losing Dad was the worst thing that had happened to me in my young life. 33 years old, married with 3 young children under the age of 5, I was overwhelmed with grief, and it was months before I could make it through a whole day without dissolving into tears. It got to the point that my husband, walking in from work to find me sobbing over my childhood photos for the umpteenth time, said sternly, “Peg, you have got to pull yourself together!” 

At first John’s reprimand made me angry because, really, how could he possibly understand what it was like to lose your father when his father was still very much alive? But something in his tone gave me pause and I realized with a start that Dad would have said the exact same thing to me, in the exact same tone, if he’d caught me wallowing in grief day after day. John had been my rock of gibraltar since the night Dad had died and if he was frustrated with me, I needed to pay attention.

So I put away the photo album, my sadness becoming somewhat more manageable without its constant reminder of what I’d lost. And though I couldn’t feel Dad’s presence as strongly as I had just after he’d died, I knew he was still there and I wanted, more than anything, to understand how.

A year or so later I read about a book in the NY Times called Embraced By The Light, written by a woman who claimed to have had a near death experience, something I had never heard of before. But the review promised exactly what I was searching for - ‘astonishing proof of life after physical death” - I couldn’t get my hands on it fast enough.

The woman’s story was so reassuring, her words falling on my grieving heart like a warm salve. She clearly remembered ‘dying’, and looking down at herself in the hospital bed, before being pulled down a dark tunnel toward a bright light where she was met by her spirit guides, angels, and even God, who reminded her that our human experience is just a blink in the big scheme of things. We come into the world, she was told, to learn certain things to help our souls grow, and once learned, we go back to where we came from, still very aware of who we are.

Reading her words, I was so relieved. I wasn’t crazy! Dad was still out there somewhere and, at least according to this woman, as aware of me as I was of him. And not only are we surrounded by our loved ones who have passed, I learned, but by our angels and spirit guides as well - all just waiting for us to remember that they’re there. 

When I was little, maybe six years old, I remember having a distinct, but vague, feeling someone was watching me when I played in my room by myself, kind of like I was in a movie, performing for an invisible audience. It wasn’t scary, in fact it was really quite the opposite. I liked the idea that I was being watched, that I wasn’t really alone. 

I  wonder now if my six-year-old self was still remembering what my older self would soon forget. Maybe the unseen presence I felt watching me while I played wasn’t just my imagination. I’ve read that we don’t lose the connection with the other side until around age 7, so maybe I was still young enough to feel my angels and guides around me, but old enough that I couldn’t hear or see them anymore, slowly forgetting them completely until my 35-year-old self came across a certain NY Times bestselling book that would remind me they were there.

But though that book offered me an enormous amount of comfort and reassurance at the time, it wasn’t long before I found myself wanting more - more reminders, more answers, and above all, more proof. I was like a junkie searching for another fix, always hoping that the next high would be even better than the last.

So I set off on a journey to find it, but like most addicts, kept what I was doing mostly to myself, at least in the beginning. Not that my family wouldn’t have been supportive, but because I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, I didn’t know how to explain the urgency I felt to find it. 

I started reading more books on near death experiences, which led me to other books on spirituality, and energy, and then the connection between the two. I talked to psychics, and astrologists, and tarot card readers, which led me to webinars and classes on how to become more intuitive myself. I discovered energy healing, and became a Reiki practitioner. I volunteered at Hospice. I meditated, and tapped, and practiced yoga.

Every direction I went looking for the elusive ‘more’ led me somewhere else, and no sooner would I think, ‘This is it! I’ve found it!” then I’d realize that no, I hadn’t found it, and would head off on a different path.

And there was always a different path. 

Now, so many years later, and on the brink of losing Mom, my search became even more obsessive. I started to look for signs everywhere - in my dreams, on my walks, driving in the car - for something, anything, that would assure me that my mom would continue to be my mom even after she died. That I wasn’t really losing her because she was just going to the other side, where I couldn’t see her.

And then on a quiet Sunday evening, as I sat holding Mom’s hand after giving her a little sip of water, I got just such a sign.

It had been a long day. Mom had had a couple of breakthrough episodes that morning requiring extra doses of pain medication, but when it came time for her regular dose in the afternoon she couldn’t be woken up enough to safely take it, which was a first. Looking at me with sympathy, the nurse gently suggested it may be time for subcutaneous ‘butterfly’ injections, allowing them to give Mom her medicine without disturbing her.

“I guess so,” I agreed hesitantly, part of me scared that such a move meant Mom would never wake up again. Somehow, even though I had been preparing myself for just such a reality, often even longed for it, I didn’t feel ready for it yet.

The afternoon had given way to evening, and though I normally headed back to the apartment after talking to the night nurse who came on duty at 8, no one had been in yet, so I’d decided to stay. Turning the lights down so only the bedside lamp was on, I curled up with a blanket in the recliner. I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew Mom was calling out for water...at least I thought that’s what she wanted. It was getting pretty hard to understand her.

She took a little sip when I held the straw to her lips, but then lay back, so I leaned over to give her a quick kiss on her forehead, resting my hand on top of hers. Suddenly her eyes popped open, and looking right past me toward the end of her bed, she said, as clear as day, “Bill, is that you?”

I froze, scared to move and interrupt what I couldn’t believe might be actually happening. Was Mom really seeing Dad? As a Hospice volunteer I’d been told that dying people often see and talk to passed loved ones as if they’re right in the room with them, but I’d never witnessed it. 

Holding my breath, I watched Mom’s face, her eyes fixed on something only she could see. And then, glancing slightly to her right, she whispered her brother’s name, “And Bobs?”

Oh my god. My heart raced, tears welling up behind my eyes as I looked toward the empty space at the end of Mom’s bed. Were Dad and Uncle Bob really there? I waited, not moving a muscle, hoping she might say something more, but Mom stayed silent, the hum of the oxygen and ticking from the wall clock the only sounds in the dimly lit room. When I finally dared move again, I saw she’d fallen back to sleep.

And though I wasn’t able to see what my mother could see that night, I knew without a doubt that Dad and Uncle Bob were there in that room with us, making sure Mom knew they were waiting for her, and making sure that I knew they were waiting for her, too.

To be continued...