Advantages I need to believe
Disadvantages I'm afraid not to
A year ago, I would have empathetically said yes, life goes on after death, many things happened in my childhood that I could not have put down to mere co-incidences. Over time, my beliefs have been questioned over and over again, leading always to the same conclusion. Today is the 1st anniversary of my mother’s death, mostly spent crying on my own and thinking back, but I am left without comfort. I need to explore this in stages.My Childhood.
My mother was very physic and a practising medium at the Spiritualist church, only giving up when she was eight months pregnant with me. In later years, she often told me that in the early stages of labour, she was calm and happy; she used to see little spirals of light in the room. When the nurse came in, the spell was broken, it was a difficult birth and I nearly died. I was born with severe damage to my neck and a wound from the placenta. After two weeks, I was still not getting any better, mum signed herself out of hospital and took me home, despite the doctors saying I would die. It was two years before I could stand, my head was wobbly and my balance poor. Yet at eighteen months old, I could sing all the nursery rhymes and make clear sentences.
Many of my earliest memories were playing with the spheres of light that danced around my bed. I never questioned their appearance and it was years later that mum told me about them.
My mother had lots of bad dreams; sometimes she would speak about them, as we got older. Other times she only told me. As I got older I knew she was a genuine physic, she never asked for the dreams and never made any money from it, in fact, they disturbed her so much, she was frequently in tears,
I remember her crying over a little boy who was trapped in a dark place, it was a kidnapping that went wrong. A submarine went down with a total loss of life. Mum heard them calling out for help and shouting numbers she could not understand. I wrote them down and begged her to tell someone, but who would listen to an uneducated women? Towards evening she gave a long sigh, her message was, it’s okay now, we are home." The next day it was in all the papers, a last message from the doomed men was the co-ordinates, they matched mums perfectly. Many other things happened until mum became to tired to take any more, she never changed the destiny, just suffered.
Often, mum and me shared the same dreams, some good and some really bad, though mum helped to keep the violence from me.
Years passed by and as mum got older, the dreams were easier, almost as if her health could not stand them anymore. . Meanwhile, my own became worse; I had vivid dreams and even waking ones. Once, in work, I found myself telling a colleague, her baby would be born before the years end. She and her husband had been trying for a baby for eight years. David was born in November; she never spoke to me again.
My dreams continued, but I never spoke of them again.
My mum died of a stroke on 27th May last year. I started writing this on the same day.
She passed away in my arms. We had always had that physic bond between us, I waited in vain for the same comfort I had from my dad, to no avail. The only comfort I had was on the day of the funeral, I woke up to the sound of a very old song, running through my head.
It was called Scarlet Ribbons, an old song by Harry Bellefonte, my mum’s favourite song.
Somehow I got through the day, an orphan at 51!
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