Moving tasks are all consuming in this week before I’m scheduled to scoot off to Atlanta, leaving Tulsa after 39 years. I was running around town this morning when I heard a siren and saw an ambulance with lights swirling in my rear view mirror.
I pulled over to allow passage and as I watched it speed on, down Harvard, I burst into tears.
The flood of emotion was one of those wretched waves grieving people know too well. I don’t often have them these days, but this summer has been a lot to deal with. I’ve been more prone to them of late.
The memories were instant, vivid, and overwhelming. Over a decade of my husband’s illness, there were many terrifying crises in our house: an ambulance in the middle of the night, Mike being rushed away, me following, never knowing if he would still be alive by the time I got to the hospital.
My thought was, “Oh Mike, I need you to send me a sign.” I am so aware of his presence, so certain in knowing he is with me the vast majority of the time that I don’t ask for him to show me much anymore (and still he sends me things periodically). I know he’s got things to do and I’ve made peace with being here to live out this life on my own, however long that takes. He’ll never be lost to me and I know that.
But today? I needed a sign and fast. “C’mon, baby. Send me something.”
I recovered quickly, the benefit of the life-changing spiritual path I’ve come to know since he left seven years ago. The stellar medium and teacher, Suzanne Giesemann, with her transformational The Awakened Way, has helped me move beyond suffering and misery to a place of joy and peace and gratitude.
But still, just a little something, Mike?
I’d barely been home a few minutes when I got a text from a dear friend, another superb medium who has trained with Suzanne, Sandy Soulsister. The readings Sandy has given me have been life changing. Forty five minutes with her in 2016 resolved all of the turmoil I still felt about my mother’s disappearance fifty years ago. It was far more effective than decades of on-and-off therapy for that old, foundational heartache.
From bringing through my mother with what has become a mantra for this life (“even in the hard times my soul was rejoicing”) to bringing through the children I worked with and loved in child welfare, replete with orbs and sparkles and swirls of light providing stunning evidence of love, Sandy’s connection with my people is something special.
Twenty five minutes after I asked my husband for that sign, there’s Sandy:
“So I’m sitting doing documentation in Walmart parking lot… And I see this guy walk past. Sure looks a lot like Mike! And guess what truck he goes to — this white one, a Laredo… Pics aren’t good – I didn’t want him to notice the stalker LOL! [but] I’m taking it as a “hi” from your sweetie.”
And the pictures? Minus 20 pounds, this guy is Mike. Cap, silvering beard, glasses, tee shirt. Truly, it could be him.
And the white truck. The only reason Mike invited me on what turned out to be our first date in 1992 was because he’d gotten a new truck, a white one. He told me later that if he’d still been driving the worn out Datsun he had when he first sobered up, he’d never have thought of going to Eureka Springs, never have invited me to the Springtime in the Ozarks AA conference. That trip was the beginning of our life together, soulmates of a thousand lifetimes reunited.
Really, you can’t make this stuff up.
And the Mike sighting?
You can see for yourself. There’s Mike’s doppelgänger loading groceries in a parking lot in North Carolina less than thirty minutes after I asked my dead husband for a sign that he’s with me in Tulsa. And it happens right in front of someone who could relay the gift, someone who’s seen dozens of photos of my sweet little husband, someone who would recognize him despite never knowing him in life.
I know pretty much how these things work, the way spirit sets up snags in consciousness and uses those to send a message. And still I find it fantastic and awesome and joyful.
Mike’s been around A LOT because of this summer-long moving ordeal. He’s wanting to reach out and the ambulance and my weepiness are the perfect opportunity to do so. He plants it in my mind to ask him for a sign, already knowing he can nudge Sandy to look up from her work just in time to see his body double getting into a white truck.
Snag me with the ambulance. Snag Sandy with random Mike look-alike guy. Message created, delivered, and received. Though I do understand it, it never gets old. Our people in spirit are always with us. They want us to heal and to be well, and to know that only the dense insulation of the body gets in the way of our knowing they are still. right. here. I would say it takes faith, but the bountiful evidence that life is eternal makes it a certainty. Faith is not required once you know.
If we’re here without the ones we love, it’s for a reason. I’m finally at peace with that but when I get a breadcrumb — one of those “come on, I really am right here” signs — it’s a bonus.
Stay the course. We are never alone. Love, like life, is eternal. And we all go Home in the end.
A little magic with this post: as I was proofing before turning in for the night, I got to the paragraph that begins with, “Snag me with the ambulance…” and there was the most vivid full color image in my mind of Mike and my sweet Brenda laughing and high-fiving each other. I heard her deep voice. “Good one, Mike.” And this message, too, is clear: we are never separate from them (we can’t be; it’s impossible), and we are so very deeply loved.