Some of you know that my mother passed away last November 11th. It is now almost a year. I miss her so much. Sometimes I feel she is right here still with me. One example is when I sit down to write my latest book, a romance-mystery novel for women, I feel often that she is helping me write it. She was a wonderful writer and much more into fiction than I. Most of her life she read two or three books a week. I thought it would be interesting to share with you a story she wrote about her own mom’s passing. It is a magical story. You can decide for yourself how you would interpret what she experienced. I would love to hear from you as to whether anything like this has ever happened to you.
Stranger Than Fiction
* by Bernice Becker
My mother was gone. She would not come back. She could not come back. She had passed on in Noble Hospital in Westfield with me, unbelieving and distraught, at her side. There was a sad, dignified funeral because Uncle Dave, her brother, would not have it any other way. He was a strong, good, and domineering man whom she had respected and adored. She was buried next to my dad and close to her very caring and devoted family.
Here I was, sitting in her favorite outdoor chair, near the front stoop of our house, looking up at the clear blue sky and pleading with God to let me see her even for a little while. I needed to tell her how important she had been in my life and how much I missed her. Her passing had been quick and unexpected in spite of health problems.
I believed that if I concentrated enough and prayed fervently, I might see her walking towards me in the driveway, where she often strolled on bright, sunny days. She had lived with us during the last two years of her life, while her heart weakened gradually until it gave out. Harry and I had promised Uncle Dave we would keep her with us instead of in a nursing home. He hated nursing homes with a passion.
Finally, I decided this was not the day she would come home—maybe next time. Reluctantly I entered my home to prepare dinner and spend time with our ten-year-old daughter, who needed my attention as well as my love. She felt the loss but not to the extent of my understandable grief.
A few months later I began to dream frequently that I was with my mother. She appeared as herself, except more cheerful than in life and not aware she was deceased. I was afraid to say, “Mother, do you know you are dead?” That’s a delicate subject even in a dream for me. However, the time finally came when I dared to use those words.
She argued with me and scolded me for making such a foolish remark to a person who was alive.
I dropped the subject.
In my dreams we walked and talked, shopped and spent time in the restaurants I had often taken her to for her favorite dessert, warm apple pie and ice cream.
Then something began to happen that I could not fathom. I was in a deep sleep in the double bed I shared with my husband. It seemed every time I started to bring myself out of that state my mom was lying next to me. Harry was not there. I could see her blue dotted Swiss nightgown. I felt the soft material next to me. I touched her wavy silver hair and listened to how softly she breathed. She smiled at me. Logically I knew she wasn’t there. When I finally forced myself fully awake, Harry was beside me and everything was back to normal.
This unusual experience was repeated countless times, not for days, weeks, or months but over a period of at least five years. I mentioned this only to my husband and a close friend. The response was “You’re dreaming. You are imagining. Don’t dwell on it. Let her go.”
I implored her, “You must leave. You have to join papa and your family who love you and are expecting you.” She said, “I can’t leave until my brother Dave is there too.”
About six months after those words, Uncle Dave died of a complication following surgery. The next time I was with my mother I stated emphatically, “Your time has come to leave. Your dear brother died, and he is waiting for you. He was always so good to you, you must not disappoint him.”
She inquired, “Are you positive he is dead?”
“I would not lie about anything like that. Believe me.”
“All right, I will go. I don’t want Dave to be angry with me.”
We were in a large, unfamiliar bedroom where sheer white curtains were blowing gently next to an open window. She was sitting in a chair wrapped in a lightweight blanket. She asked me to carry her over to the window. She was almost weightless in my arms. I felt as though I were the mother and she the child. She told me “I love you, but now I must go away.” She floated out of my arms. It was a balmy night and the midnight sky was lit with brilliant stars. She kept looking back and waving.
I waved back and called out, “I love you; be happy.”
She called out; “I love you, too, dear.” She slowly disappeared from my view. I was happy for her.
That morning when I woke up, I felt free, as though a weight had been lifted. Harry was beside me. Those dreams stopped, never to return. Now I am able to have the normal dreams one expects.
More than twenty years since, I still wonder what it all meant. Was my mother’s spirit wandering between heaven and earth? Was she unwilling to leave Uncle Dave and me, or did my subconscious mind refuse to let her go? It is a mystery that may never be solved. Perhaps in many years, I will have my answer, but I’m not in any hurry to find out.
Your Space: Have you any magical and/or strange tales to tell about your life? Now is a good time to jot them down and don’t forget to share them later!
*This story was taken from my mom’s book, Feel Good Stories which can be purchased on Amazon.
