Friday, 22 September 2017
Friday, 10 February 2017
When my mother spoke to me, she always began the conversation with "Have I told you yet today how much I love you?" The expression of love was reciprocated and, in her later years, as her life began to visibly ebb, we grew even closer.... if that were possible.
At 40 she was ready to die, and I was ready to let her go so that her suffering would end. We laughed and cried and held hands and told each other of our love and agreed that it was time. I said, "Mom, after you've gone I want a sign from you that you're fine." She laughed at the absurdity of that; Mom didn't believe in reincarnation. I wasn't positive I did either, but I had had many experiences that convinced me I could get some signal "from the other side."
My mother and I were so deeply connected I felt her pain in me at the moment she died. Later I mourned for months n years in the sterile wisdom, had not let me hold her hand as she had slipped away. Day after day I prayed to hear from her, but nothing happened. Night after night I asked for a dream before I fell asleep. And yet four long months passed and I heard and felt nothing but grief at her loss.
One day, when I returned home from work tired and exhausted, to my surprise I saw that my entire house was neat and clean. Cooking,cleaning and Laundry was all done. I was wondering and plus I was shocked and scared as to who came into my house, who did this ? Many questions flashed through my brain. The answer was standing on stairs. My Mom, she came down the stairs, had lunch with me, rolling her hand on my head, making sure I finished everything on a plate. I kept eating, sobbing like a kid and asked her if she can stay with me forever. Of course not cuz she cleaned and cooked but ...
She took a promise from me that I wont tell anyone that she comes to see me everyday, have lunch with me and helps me with my house chores. I promised I won't. I said, "Oh, Mother, I'm so sorry that you had to suffer with that horrible disease." She tipped her head slightly to one side, as though to acknowledge what I had said about her suffering. Then she smiled—a beautiful smile—and said very distinctly, "But all I remember is love." And she disappeared. It was a DREAM. I knew in my bones that the love we give and receive is all that matters and all that is remembered. Suffering disappears - love remains.
Her words are the most important I have ever heard, and that moment is forever engraved on my heart.
I have not yet seen or heard from my father, but I have no doubts that someday, when I least expect it, he will appear and say, "Have I told you yet today that I love you?"