Going Home

We were sitting in what appeared to be a church basement.  There was a stage with metal folding chairs setup.  It was sunny outside.  We were sitting on two adjacent chairs in the first row while my son Henry was playing on the floor nearby.  He appeared to be about three years old (in waking physical reality he is 12). We were talking about nothing in particular.  My attention was immediately drawn to what she was wearing.  At home she almost always wore a “house coat”.  This particular one she had for a number of years during my childhood and seeing her wearing it, I could remember it quite well.  A few days before this experience, I found some fabric from this house coat in one of the quit bags and although I recognized it, I wasn’t sure where from.  I thought maybe it was one of my old dresses.  But seeing her wearing this garment, the memory came back with utter clarity. Then I noticed her face, her skin, her hair – all of it is such perfect detail!  Far more detail than I could remember in waking reality.  It totally blew my mind.

So finally I said, “You know, I guess I just really don’t understand enough about how this whole being dead thing works.”

“Oh!” she said.  “Well, I can go home as often as I want!  And I can also help people!  I can draw off their negative energy – emotions and all that – and take it upon myself.  Then I can connect to a positive source and clear it away.  And I can merge my energy with that of an animal and communicate with it.”

Right then the 3 year old image of my son butted in.  He pushed between us and held his arms up, as if he wanted my mother to pick him up.  I picked him up instead.

“Henry,” I explained.  “Grandma died.  She doesn’t have a body anymore so she can’t hold you.  But I can hold you on my lap and you can talk to her.”

He leaned over and whispered something in her ear.  She smiled and whispered something back.   Then I woke up. A few days later I got a phone call from my friend Lisa, who grew up across the street from me.  Her brother Keith bought my parents’ house after my mother died.  He moved in with his girlfriend and had been living in the house for several months by this time.

“My mom made me swear not to tell you this,” she said, “but I feel like I have to.  Kayla [Keith’s girlfriend] was talking about the ghost in the house!  She told us SHE is friendly.  She is never afraid of HER.  We never told Kayla anything about what happened in the house.  My brother was afraid she would refuse to move in with him if we did.  But now Kayla says she can hear footsteps in the house when nobody is home.”

“Well, I have to tell ya, I just talked to my mother a few days ago and she told me she can go home as often as she wants.  And that is a direct quote.”

Lisa was quite freaked out.  “Kayla says there are several of them though!” “Remember – my mother hangs around with her sisters.  It wouldn’t surprise me if The Aunt Farm Aunts are going back there with her.”

I also reassured her that my mother was in the light, and being visited by dead people who are in the light is a very different thing than being visited by earthbound dead people, which is why Kayla is comforted by the presence rather than feeling creeped out or afraid.

I also began to notice my mother “helping” me in the way she described.  I was angry one evening (I can’t remember why) so I went to my sewing studio alone to sew.  It was very late but I was too ticked off to sleep.  After a while I started to notice the anger draining away, and I felt my mother’s presence.  My skittish cat was suddenly all over me wanting petted.

That was my first clue that I needed to develop psychically for my own good – it isn’t really fair to expect my mother to absorb my bad moods, especially since she has to experience them to do this.  I felt kind of guilty afterwards for putting her through that.  As I was soon to learn, my mother and I were not the only ones adversely affected by my bad moods, making it even more imperative that I learn to control my “gift”.

3 thoughts on “Going Home

  1. Pingback: How I Stopped Hating Christmas Revisited – Shitmas May Yet Come | Life After Death Communication

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