Corey came to me twice in the past week. The visits are always a surprise: sometimes set off by what I now call random-not-random events.
Yesterday I hauled down from the attic books of Corey's and of my mom's, preparing to make a run to the local used bookstore and leave them.
From the pages of one of my mother's books fell a program from a Unity Church service years ago. When I lived in Winston-Salem, I played guitar and sung there on special occasions. The strange thing about this Unity minister is that she has always had a connection with the dead and dying, from the time she was a teenager. In 2003 when my mother was passing through the gates of death, I called this minister.
Now, ten years later, I leave a message at the church--yes, she is still ministering at the same church. Three days later she calls me back and I tell her what has happened with my daughter. As we are speaking, she says, "May I tell you what is coming through?"
Oh yes, please....
"Corey is right here. She is excited about the possibilities of communicating with you now, and she is beginning to understand what you always told your children: Remember, when I am dead you can still talk to me. But the cloud of grief is so thick now that she can't get through.
"Corey is saying, 'I just want everyone to be at peace with this. All is well, all is well, all is well."
It is the hardest thing that God, or my sweet baby girl, could ever ask: to be at peace with her forever-after absence. My only solace is the possibility that she is still here...on the other side of the doorway. As the poem says, "Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep."
And so I reach with everything in me towards the possibility that Corey is here, and that when I and others hear and see and feel her, it is true and right and God-given. That when the butterfly lights before me and pulses its wings, that when the bat lands in my yard and sleeps for the day, Corey is there. That when I hear her voice as I did last night in my waking-sleeping time--clear as a bell Corey's voice was excitedly talking to me last night about Mary Sims and Debbie and Heather and Kate--that real communication is taking place, with the help of the angels. And with the help of the angels, I will get through this.
Yesterday I hauled down from the attic books of Corey's and of my mom's, preparing to make a run to the local used bookstore and leave them.
From the pages of one of my mother's books fell a program from a Unity Church service years ago. When I lived in Winston-Salem, I played guitar and sung there on special occasions. The strange thing about this Unity minister is that she has always had a connection with the dead and dying, from the time she was a teenager. In 2003 when my mother was passing through the gates of death, I called this minister.
Now, ten years later, I leave a message at the church--yes, she is still ministering at the same church. Three days later she calls me back and I tell her what has happened with my daughter. As we are speaking, she says, "May I tell you what is coming through?"
Oh yes, please....
"Corey is right here. She is excited about the possibilities of communicating with you now, and she is beginning to understand what you always told your children: Remember, when I am dead you can still talk to me. But the cloud of grief is so thick now that she can't get through.
"Corey is saying, 'I just want everyone to be at peace with this. All is well, all is well, all is well."
It is the hardest thing that God, or my sweet baby girl, could ever ask: to be at peace with her forever-after absence. My only solace is the possibility that she is still here...on the other side of the doorway. As the poem says, "Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep."
And so I reach with everything in me towards the possibility that Corey is here, and that when I and others hear and see and feel her, it is true and right and God-given. That when the butterfly lights before me and pulses its wings, that when the bat lands in my yard and sleeps for the day, Corey is there. That when I hear her voice as I did last night in my waking-sleeping time--clear as a bell Corey's voice was excitedly talking to me last night about Mary Sims and Debbie and Heather and Kate--that real communication is taking place, with the help of the angels. And with the help of the angels, I will get through this.
RSS Feed