Beyond the Veil

We struck a deal, my mom and I. We knew our time together would be limited, and I could sometimes almost feel the clock ticking. I’m sure she could, too. There turned out to be about six years between the day we discussed the following details until the one when she moved from this realm.

She said she’d visit me from the beyond, if she were able. We both felt certain she would be. She’d read enough copies of Fate Magazine to confirm her belief that the connections we make here remain forever and that it’s absolutely possible to reach across that invisible line. I was young, ten-ish, and had read some of them, too. Stories of people who’d wake to find a loved one seated beside them on their bed, looking lovingly at them, maybe resting a soft hand on their shoulder. They’d note the time on their nightstand clock and in the morning would remember their lovely dream. Only, it would turn out, the day would bring news of the passing of their loved one and the time of death would match exactly the time they’d noticed on their bedside clock. Not a dream, they’d then know. It had been a visit.

Because I was so young, I was uneasy with the idea of such visits. Too there, I remember saying. So, we decided on lights. She’d turn my lights off and on to let me know she was with me. Not flicker them, I insisted. Off and on. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. She agreed. She also said she’d try to come to me whenever I needed her. “Bring me into your heart and I’ll always answer,” she said.

She kept her promise.

There have been countless times over the years when I’ve felt my mother’s presence. Many when my lights have done just as we’d discussed. And a number of times when she’s made her presence known in other ways, which I’ll get to in just a minute. As far as the lights, I’ll tell you about a few of the many.

I was in labor with my first child. It had been a long labor, as is the case in many first pregnancies. I was close to 24 hours in and the time was drawing near. The lights in the delivery room went off, then on. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Deliberately, with a space between the offs and ons, just as we’d discussed and just as I’d already experienced a few times before. My doctor and the nurses were a little frazzled by this. It brought me a great sense of comfort.

The table lamps in my living room sometimes do the off-on-off-on-off-on thing, and have for decades. It’s important to note that over that period of time, I’ve lived in three different houses and have had a handful of different sets of table lamps. The only thing they’ve had in common was the off-on-off-on-off-on. Maybe a year or so ago now, one of the lamps in my living room did the thing. I said aloud, “Mom, if that’s you, do the other one.” The first lamp then remained on while the other one went off and on.

There’s more.

A few years ago, on the anniversary of my mom’s death, I was playing a game on my phone. It’s called Upwords. My mom had been close in my heart all throughout that day, and as I played, I thought Oh Mom, you would love this game. All those word games we used to play! I wish you were here to play this.

The way the game works is after you’ve played your word, you get new letters to replace however many you used. The other player takes a turn and then your letters reappear. I’d played a word while thinking of my mom. When my turn came again and my letters appeared, well, just take a look at the screenshot I took. My mom’s name was Louise. Everyone called her Lou.

Stunned, I showed it to my husband, who was beside me on the couch. Happy tears.

I finished the game and started another, still feeling wonderfully filled up. Partway through the second game, the following letters came up. As before, I didn’t have to arrange them—they were delivered exactly how you see them. And yes, correct last name initial. This one made me laugh. “I know which Louise,” I said into the room. I’m pretty sure she was laughing, too.

Just one more for now.

I was in my late forties. My hormones were doing double backflips and I felt like crap. They’d been rockin’ and rollin’ for a handful of years and throughout, I’d been assuring myself that the end was in sight. But instead, everything was growing increasingly unbearable. I was overheated all the time…like I just might spontaneously combust overheated. I couldn’t eat much of anything, yet I was packing on the pounds. And sleep was elusive, which made everything exponentially worse. On top of that, there was a person who was involved in every part of my life who was taking their own troubles and unhappiness out on me. That second part would have been terribly painful on its own, but I was in no condition to, as Taylor Swift would say, shake it off.

I’d been and remained determined to maneuver that part of my life naturally, without hormone replacement therapy. There are certain risks associated with hormone replacement and really, estrogen taking a powder is every bit as natural as when it ramps up in puberty. I went into it with a glorious naïveté. I’d known only two women who had experienced an especially difficult transition (though in both cases, “difficult” was a wild understatement—both had such a hard time that their stories became legend in their families), so I expected to breeze through.

That’s not what happened. Looking back, I think the inability to sleep was the root of the worst parts. Sleep deprivation can kill you, and after a while, I was thinking it was going to do just that. But only after driving me full out mad. Rock bottom.

Then one night, I had a visit from my mom. Some might believe it was a dream that my poor exhausted self created as a mode of survival, but I knew then and will always believe it was a visit, just as real as when she and I had been together, flesh and bones.

My mother came to me, as good moms do when their child is hurting. She sat with me and showed me, with her words and with images from my childhood when she’d gone though what I was currently experiencing. She too had had a very hard time. She held my hand and listened. When I told her I thought I was going to go mad and then die, she assured me that neither were going to happen. She said, and this is an exact quote, “You aren’t going to go crazy, and you aren’t going to die. You’ll get through this and after, you’ll to be more yourself than you’ve ever been.” I woke sobbing, and all of my worries (well, except for those about the person I mentioned above) melted away. It wasn’t a magic ending to the hormonal roller-coaster, but my mom’s visit (and it was a visit, of that I have no doubt) provided me exactly what I needed to move through it. And she was right. Post-menopause, I’m more myself than I’ve ever been.

A few weeks ago, I was getting ready for work. There’s a sketch of my mom in my office that my oldest granddaughter drew for me a few years ago. As I gathered the things I’d need for the day and before I headed down to the kitchen, I said good morning to my mom as I passed the sketch. I added, “Hey Mom, it’s been a while since you did the light thing. Maybe today?”

Downstairs, I set my stuff down on the table as I always do and went into the kitchen to make my breakfast. When I returned to get my things, I found my water bottle perched upside down. I carry it the same way all the time, by the lid, so I’m certain I didn’t place it that way. I love when my mom pops in, and I love her sense of humor.

~*~*~*~*~*~

GBE #22: “AFTERLIFE” or “Have you had any experiences with a loved one who has passed on?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

https://youtube.com/watch?v=jJ6LZRmXS38%3Fsi%3DY65WOdrdnnQCaxs7

~*~*~*~*~*~

Please leave a comment. This isn’t a “me” blog. It’s a “we” blog and I love hearing from you. Oh, and if you comment anonymously, please let me know who you are in your comment.