I was the youngest of three boys and a daughter, and I had a very good relationship with my mother. I was the only one of the kids that actually moved away from our home town. My family and I lived several hours away and didn’t get to go visit too often, but we typically talked on the phone every weekend (after all, I was the baby).
During one of those calls, she told me there was something she wanted to tell me. This is the story she told me…
A few days earlier, she was feeling tired and decided to lay down on the couch, not to sleep, just to stretch out and close her eyes for a few minutes. Her couch, recliner, and TV were in the den, and on the wall behind the couch was the typical collage of family pictures, showing all of us at different ages and stages of our life.
As she lay there with her eyes closed, she became aware of something, a glow maybe. As she opened her eyes, she realized there was a “being” standing over her, looking down at her. As they gazed at each other, she noticed it appeared to be tall, slightly illuminated, all light-colored like a pearl, with smooth flawless features, and not distinctively male or female. It appeared to have on a gown-like robe, also pearl-white, but it just seemed to be part of the whole; not distinctive; blended. She did not feel threatened. She wasn’t scared.
As she continued to lay there, it bent over her, and looked at the family pictures on the wall. Looking back to her, smiling, it told her that she obviously loved her family, and because of her, she did not have to worry about her family, they will all be saved. Then it was gone.
She shared the story with my oldest brother, who was living with her at the time, then with my sister. Then she called me on the weekend.
She relayed the whole story to me. Of course, like most, first I queried whether she was sure she hadn’t dozed off to sleep and had a dream? She adamantly responded “no.” She explained that she had just laid down when it happened. Next, I asked if any of her medications may have been a factor. Again, a resounding “no.” Now, my mother wasn’t a liar and wasn’t prone to hallucinations, etc. We discussed it numerous times after that and I have shared her story with many others. I still get goose-bumps when I’m telling it. When I discussed it with my oldest brother, whom I don’t ever remember going to church except to get married, he believed. Obviously, there are some that believe, and some that don’t. That’s okay. I believed her. Still do.
She had told me numerous times before that she knew that a guardian angel was watching over her, and she shared with me several occurrences that led her to believe that. Again, I believed her. Still do.
Now, let me clarify that my mother was not a religious fanatic. She was a believer in God, read the bible, and believed we would all be judged in the end for the life we lived. And like most of us, her religion and spiritual beliefs were private to her. She didn’t push them on anybody.
My mother passed away a few years after that. I still think about her story occasionally, and I still get goose-bumps. Last night I was thinking about it again, and I decided it was time to share her story with others via my blog. So, being an early riser, I started writing this morning. I called my sister, told her what I was doing, and asked if she remembered anything that I missed. I actually had more details than she, because I had more in-depth discussions with my mother about it than she did. However, she did provide me with the epilogue for her story.
My mother had multiple health issues that kept her from attending church, but she had kept her friends from church, they talked all the time and they would come by to visit. After this happened, she eagerly shared her story with them. However, none of them believed her. Nor did others from the church. As a matter of fact, she lost all her friends as a result. They stopped calling her; they stopped coming by to see her; they literally stopped having anything to do with her.
My mother passed away on April 7, 1998, and never shared this final part of her story with me. And knowing this now, just breaks my heart.
So rest-in-peace dear Mother, because I’m sharing your story with the world.
I believed her then. Still do.