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Homesick

 

My mother and I had a special symbiotic bond full of the only unconditional love I have experienced. She was an ER nurse and, when I was a child, she used to tell me stories of unusual occurrences in the ER, of unexplained things. She shared these with only me, since my father and brother were closed and not curious. I realize now that these moments with her would prepare me for life's experiences later on.
At age 55 my mother was diagnosed with aggressive lymphatic cancer. The doctors prepared my brother and I for a decision that would need to be made soon about taking her off the resuscitator. I knew my mother's wishes, but the reality of making that decision is harder than I ever imagined. The doctor told us he wanted to go into my mother's room and let her know her prognosis as doctor to nurse—that nothing more could be done. Afterwards, as we walked into her room, she had broken her restraints and pulled out the breathing tube and so was able to speak. She had made the decision so we wouldn't have to.
We were put in a private room with her, both my brother and I, as her life ended. It was excruciating. When her breathing stopped, I instinctively looked upwards.
The year after her death was brutal. I had never felt so alone, like a piece of me missing. Every night, I would remember the last minutes of my mother's life, the physical body struggling to survive. I couldn't believe she had felt no pain, even with morphine. I felt overwhelming grief and guilt that I might have been able to do something to relieve her suffering. My husband was terrified that I would join her. I could not get out of bed each day.
He finally got me out of the house to a lake for Memorial Day. I felt like a zombie, so unconnected to this world. Suddenly everyone noticed there was blood in the boat and then that it was coming from me! I was white as a sheet they said.
They rushed me to the hospital where I learned I was 8 weeks pregnant. But there were complications and I would need surgery. Out in the hall, my husband asked if I would be able to have more children, and the doctor said he was concerned that I would even survive. If I did, he said, I probably wouldn't be able to have children. For the first time in my life, I cried hysterically, thinking that I had wasted my life.
But then something happened. Right before they wheeled me into the operating room, I felt suddenly surrounded with a great warm peace. Then I came from a dark place into a garden of lilies in colors I had never seen before, colors not in our human color spectrum. The lilies were transparent and I could see them growing before my eyes. There was a high tinkling sound like wind chimes. The purest, brightest light, which didn't hurt my eyes, felt like a warm blanket around me.
As I walked forward, I saw my mother's mother and father standing on either side of another figure who was facing away from me. As I came closer, the person turned around, and it was my mother! She was a thousand times more luminescent and glowing than I could ever have imagined her to be. There was no trace of the "death grimace" she had worn the last time I had seen her.
"Mom," I said, "am I dead?"
"No, honey," she said, "you're just dreaming. You're going to have a child and a wonderful life. I'm OK, I'm always with you."
Then my grandparents and I talked for a while. I can't remember the details of what they told me, but the words that come close are that they "downloaded information" to me.
Suddenly I awoke in the hospital bed with a euphoria and glow that everyone who visited my room noticed. They said I looked different but couldn't put their finger on it. After my slow recovery, people who hadn't seen me in some time mentioned I looked different, too, though no one could say how. They either wanted to get closer, like warming their hands to a fire, or were afraid and spooked away.
It's now been four years and my experience has given me heightened abilities that I could never have dreamed of. I understand things in a new way and continue to learn how to balance what I need to finish here in life with wanting to return to my heavenly home. For some time after my experience, I thought I had been "sent" back by God, but it has been revealed to me while in prayerful meditation that I chose to come back. There were things to finish here on earth before returning to my heavenly home. Through all my increased challenges, I feel so blessed with God's message of unconditional love here on earth.
On a personal note: I thank Betty for sharing her experience with us all. It has helped me to cope with my periodic "homesickness" and to continue on with my mission until my graduation and return home.

Kim E.

 

 

 
   
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