I want to share this with you so that you understand where I am coming from and my goal is to help people with their grief by sharing what I know.
This is my truth, proven to me again and again in my life. Its not philosophy nor am I trying to convince anyone. Its what I know to be real.
I learned through a series of visitations from so called “dead people” that they are far from dead. I have had conversations, been given gifts and seen them. I finally realized that the fear of death that I carried since I was a child only existed because I had not had the experiences to prove otherwise and that, like most people, I had bought into the lie that we are mortal beings. We are not, we are immortal and will never and can never die. I am a spiritual being on a journey. Not just a human living a life that comes to an end.
About 3 years ago I made a commitment to myself that when someone died I would honor their lives with truth and not, “oh how horrible and tragic”. It’s not. There is a very thin veil between here and the “other side”. Its just change and movement for the entity that leaves this consciousness and moves into another one.
I am going to post a few of my stories so you can see where I am coming from. But most importantly, please know that I am not in fear or see death as anything other than a transition of spirit from one plane of consciousness to another. I will post these stories soon. In the mean time, please feel free to write me and I will do my best to answer.
A Gift From Don’s Dead Mother
Don was my partner for 7 years in the 80’s. He is now considered a family member. He grew up in Bakersfield, CA where his mother and father remained until they died. Don’s mother was a real character. He had many stories about her crazy antics and that she had been a difficult person to deal with but I liked her and Don accepted and liked her also. I knew she loved her son and even though there was a lot of family history and pain that I became privy to I did not care. I got a kick out of the stories about her and her outrageous behavior. I knew she liked me by the way she spoke to me the few times I visited the family and I think because she appreciated me because she knew that I was good for Don, very much his opposite and therefore a compliment. She knew I had no judgment about her as I engaged her in conversation and listened to what I thought was a lot of crap.
When I met her she had already lost her nose to the disease and wore a strange patch over her face to hide the hole that was now where her nose used to be. While eating dinner she
would engage conversation like nothing was unusual even though she would take off her mask while we were eating dinner and just talk. Now, this was a sight to see. God bless her but she looked like a skull with some skin on it. A misshapen hole for a nose but bright engaging eyes in a clearly decaying and shriveled body. This woman was just full of herself and seemingly confident. I just thought she was a kick in the pants. I remember staying at Don’s parents house with him one weekend and trying not to look at her nose or lack of one. It was just hard not to look at.
She had been a very attractive woman that was evident in the many pictures of her. She had been ill for some time and on a number of different occasions Don was summoned to Bakersfield when the family was sure that she was dying. Twice it was a false alarm and when Don arrived she would be sitting up in bed ready to talk to him. He would call me and I would chuckle at the recognition of someone seemingly playing with people. She was playful and that is what I liked about her.
I could not help but think of the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf whenever he would travel there and have her be aware and at least alive and communicating. I knew it was stressful on Don to have to rush down there during these emergencies to find a very much alive person who was not going to die at least in the immediate future. But during her last year of life Don was always ready to travel at a minutes notice if his father summoned him.
Don and I used to spend a lot of weekends at my families home in San Anselmo, California where we would spend these relaxing weekends swimming and playing cards for long hours during the day and night. Swimming and playing cards are a family tradition in the Holcomb house. It was one of these hot weekends in August somewhere in the mid 80’s when Don’s mother actually became deathly ill. Don and I had just gone to bed at my Mom’s house when the phone rang and it was his father saying that their mother had just passed. Don decided to leave immediately to support their Dad and help him make funeral arrangements. It really happened this time. I sat with Don for a short while after he heard the news and then he hightailed it to our apartment in San Francisco to get his clothes and make the trip to Bakersfield. I stayed at my Mom’s house. It was about 11 pm and as soon as he left my mother came out and asked what was going on. I told her, we talked for a few minutes and then she and I both went back to our beds.
I layed in bed and began to drift off to sleep and immediately I felt that familiar feeling of very loud buzzing sound and sensation, not being able to move. I was in infrared frequency. An experience that I was having more regularly that I was learning to come to terms with but had always frightened me. I decided not to be frightened this time and just allow it to happen. It was not easy as it felt repressive. I was aware that I was awake and I moved my eyes around to prove to myself that I was not sleeping. I said to myself, “You are awake. This is happening.” I could not move my body and as I was moving my eyes around, proving to myself that I was awake, I noticed a woman standing at the end of my bed. I was not frightened. She was white and glowing and I recognized that it was Don’s mother, all in one piece and looking very good, nose and all. Just like the pictures in her house. I kept saying to myself, “ I am awake. This is not a dream. This is happening”. She was peaceful and smiling and moved around the bed and walked towards me. I was trying to remain cool and I noticed that she had something in her hand. As she moved towards me I was a little taken aback and was trying to shake myself out of this experience as I was becoming nervous. She leaned over my bed and held a white bell with little flowers on it over my head. I saw it clearly and after I looked at it I looked at her beautiful face smiling down at me and then jolted my body with a forced cough and she slowly faded away.
I immediately got up and went in and woke up my mother so that someone could hear my expereince. I told her the story. My mother, drowsy and somewhat shocked by this, asked me why I thought she would be doing this and I replied that I had no idea but it has something to do with the bell. I looked at the clock and Don had only been gone 20 minutes so I watched TV for a while, as I knew it would take about 30 minutes to get home. We did not have mobile phones at that time so I had to wait until her got home. At the 30-minute mark I called our house and Don answered and was out of breath. He had just arrived and had run up the stairs to get the phone.
Poor Don. He was always putting up with one thing or the other with me. I said, “Don, I know you wont believe this but I need to tell you something. Your Mother was just in my room.”
He was quiet for a second and then said. “Really’?
I said, “Yes. I know this is weird for you but she was holding a bell over me. Does that mean anything to you?”
He replied, “No, not that I can think of”.
I apologized for blurting this out but I was compelled to say something. I knew I was pushing it as his Mom had just died so I said, “Just do me a favor. When you are cleaning up your Mom’s house please look out for some kind of bell and let me know when you find it.” He agreed.
Don spent almost a week with his father and sister cleaning out his mother’s things and attending to funeral details. Every day when we would talk I ended the conversation by asking him if he had found a bell and every day he said no. After the funeral was over he finished cleaning out her stuff and the night before he was set to come home he called me. At the end of our conversation I asked him one last time if he had found a bell.
“Oh my God”, he said. “ I forgot to tell you. In the very back of a cabinet I found a little box and in it was a bell.”
I stopped him and said, “Don’t tell me what it looks like or anything. When you get home I will describe it in detail before you show it to me. I know exactly what it looks like.”
I was so excited that I could not wait until he got home. I had never told him what it looked like. Because it was an emotional time for him all I did was tell him that it was a bell and left it at that.
Don arrived home the next day and I barely hugged him, as I wanted to get to the bell. Before he opened it up I described it in the best detail I could. It was whitish and had little flowers all around it. Bumpy exterior and very dainty. The bell looked like it was 4 or 5” tall. Don took out a very delicate Irish Belleek China bell decorated with very tiny flowers and clover. It was exactly what I had described.
I told him that I thought that his Mom just wanted him to have it and that is why I think she showed it to me. He explained that he was done with all the cleaning and as he was doing a final check of the cabinets he noticed this little box that had fallen way in the back of one of the cabinets and in it was the bell. It turns out while his mom was convalescing she bought quite a bit of china on QVC so that her children would have them after she died and this was one of the smaller pieces.
The bell sat on Don’ desk until 1995 and every time I was at his desk I dusted it, held it and looked at it. That year he put all of his belongings in storage while he prepared to spend a year in Cameroon on a field study project. He brought the bell to me a few days before he left on the trip and said that he wanted me to have the bell and did not want it back. I was surprised at this gesture and in that moment I became very aware that the bell had been meant for me, not him. He then said to me, “This was meant for you”. I knew also it as sure as I knew my name and I realized that it was a gift to me probably for loving and being kind to her son. Her face when she was holding the bell over my head came into view in my mind and now, many years later, I finally knew that this was about. That beautiful little bell remains on my bookshelf to this day as a reminder that death does not exist.