Family, Gift, Guardian Angel, Heaven, Letters to Heaven, Love, Loved Ones, Medium

1986

The phone rings. It is the girlfriend. Not mine personally. This one is yours. The hospital bed is available here near where I live. It will be yours to live in for the next month. “When will you be down to visit?” she asks. “I am on my way now.” I state.

The bus takes me to the south side of town. Actually it was a number of buses to get to my destination. So long to wait for it to pick me up, to travel through the city, to get off and wait again. Truly impatient to get to your bedside. My throat is closing, my mind is racing, my heart…is breaking.

The building is the University Hospital. It is night when I come through the doors and state my business to the information desk. They tell me what floor you are on. Up the old elevator, out those doors and down the hallway to your room. It is semi dark in there, like an old time noir film. The nurse is behind the curtain that surrounds your bed with you. I wait until she is done. There is another person here. The girlfriend. Told to not take too long by her. That you require rest.

Isn’t that what you have been doing this past year? I don’t understand. I was told a year ago that you had suffered a stroke and there wasn’t anything I could do. But asked not to visit. I was a single woman with a toddler and no means to travel to the town where you were. So there it is.

The curtain opens. The nurse is gentle with me. She takes my hand and brings me to your side and tells me to talk to you. “He may hear you it’s just that he cannot respond.” she states. “The stroke was massive.” They both stare at me while I look down on you. Having a hard time to process all what is happening. Another nurse comes in and she shows me your feet, that they are turning in. I don’t see what they see. That you going into a fetal position. They are explaining that you will soon go. That your time is near and for me to prepare.

This I remember. I stand at the foot of your bed and try to memorize your feet. They look like mine. Not the dainty feet my mother has but the knobby toes that I would be teased about. My gaze takes me to your face. It is not the face of my animated father but someone else. You don’t appear to be there. You are sleeping. The machines are making you breathe. It is too much for one person to bare. If I ever felt more alone it is now with everyone staring at me. I leave and go home.

My visits to your bedside are frequent but kept to a minimum when the girlfriend is there. It is a feeling on her part, like you are not to be shared. I don’t get it. There is no one to fully support me on this end. Not the new boyfriend. He likes to party. How fully he was into it I did not comprehend. So naive to that way. His friend and him used my space to have their fun and I let them. All that noise if you will dimmed the hurt that was invading my soul.

The call came after 2:35 am. You had passed. My heart broke. You know that feeling. We all share that. The quiet dead in our body. The standing still in our mind. Nothing. I don’t recall anything after that. I do know that time takes care of all the details. There is work to be done. Where are you to be buried. How to get you to High Prairie, AB? The minute details with the funeral director here in Edmonton.

At this time days after I am beholden to strangers for a ride to your home town a few hours away. I take Colin with me. My boyfriend. The baby is kept by my aunt while we are gone for two nights. I am not me. Does this make sense to anyone? I am here but I am not. It is out of body. We arrive at a distant cousin home. Their last name is Cunningham. I am being introduced to people who I have no memory of but they do indeed remember me. I get a lot of, “I knew you when you were this small.” They kept remarking that I resembled my dad. It was so strange. I knew they cared but it felt so foreign. So thrust out in the spotlight.

Feb 28, 1986 It is cold this night. I am impatient to see you. It is the wake and I am seated next to your sister Margaret. She has taken her place next to me. She is my rock, my support. Where did she come from? This is all a blur. The small room is dark and very quiet with the roomful of people. I don’t know what to expect. All I want to do is to run up to your casket. My aunt takes my hand. We walk up to you. You are dressed in your army uniform. Wearing your medals. I say to my aunt, “I was promised those medals” Telling me not to worry that she will make sure that I will get them before he is buried. She does indeed keep her promise. I sit down and cry.

March 1, 1986 Oh it is cold. Biting cold. I stand by the hearse and wait. I stand alone, feet away from you by the back door of the dark green vehicle staring into the back window. Finally they open the door and presently bring you to your graveside. Standing next to you I want to once again hold you in my arms, to tell you how much you were loved by me. That winter day bites into my legs. I am handed a package. It is your medals.

There is the standard luncheon soon after and there are many people brought to my table. Long lost relatives I was kept away from by my mother. They tell me stories about you dad. Still I sit there and it is almost that I cannot hear them. There is white noise in my head. The close relatives we stayed with overnight decide to go to the local bar. There is a country jam and I cannot comprehend that we just buried you and you want to what? go to a bar?? Because we are beholden to these people for a ride back to the house, we go.

The locals in this town all seem to know one another. They know each other’s business for the good and the bad of that. I listen to the gossip, some funny stories some sad and disturbing. I have that respectful demeanor happening right now. So timid. So afraid. One after another many acts come on the stage and it is the last that breaks me. He is a gapped tooth man. The town drunk I am told. Straggly hair tucked into a baseball cap. He saunters onto the stage. It is as if the crowd hold their breathe. And then he sings, “Honey, honey, honey won’t you open that door, this is your sweet baby, don’t you love me anymore, honey won’t you open that door?” But he presents it in a humorous manner that everyone breaks our laughing. Even me. I let loose, laughing loudly. My aunt smiles at me. I cry and laugh. Even through tears I laugh. It is that release, that sweet release I needed.

Dad it is Feb 2, 2019, almost 33 years since you passed on Feb 23, 1986 at 2:37 am. I miss you like crazy. Like now as I write this. I may have you energetically but it is not the same. I want to feel your hugs. Your kisses. The tug of your fingers on my nose as you try to pull it off. Those funny things that daddies do that love their little girls.

P.S. The image of this watch that belonged to my father was worn by me for close to a year when it suddenly stopped on the anniversary of his death, date and time. I woke the next morning and put it on and then seen the time. It has been that way since then.

#333 #Dreams #Visit

Family, Love, Loved Ones

The Accident

I was newly married to a man that not only was loving and respectful but also took my son as his own when the accident happened and fully altered our lives. We had been friends for a few years before he professed his love to me. I was floored and never expected this at all. We dated for two years before he popped the question to me in April 1995 and then I was to hop on a plane along with my son and my fiance to meet his step-father and step-mother in Montreal, Q.C. in August and took our vows on September 16, 1995.   I shall call him Gavin to protect his identity.

Gavin loved his busy life. A self made man he was always making opportunities for him and others. That man had a brilliant mind for business. He also made time for his friends and a usual night was spent with them dining at the finest restaurants here in our city. It was never a dull moment. Travel was always scheduled on a daily or weekly basis. His work/personal time made for interesting trips to the coast or a planned vacation to the states. Sometimes it was on a whim. I would get a call and asked to be ready and waiting in 15 minutes as we making a trip to the west coast. He would pull up on his bike coming in from work and off we would go. Either with a group of people or just us two.  It was that fateful weekend when I was asked to go. It sounded like a good time and then an argument arose. At this pivoting moment I was to re-think my marriage to him. Truly.

August 28, 1997

Gavin was to arise early Thursday morning bike all packed for his week long trip. I, on the other hand was getting reading for work at the bank. My husband and I were not communicating. He did however ask before he walked out the front door if I wanted to go and I declined. He walked out the man I knew and loved. His essence. His personality.

I am at work the next morning and having my coffee before the doors open to the public. All that is on my mind is this man. I cannot function till all is right. But is it really? Will we hit another bump in the road. Can I outlast this? I pick up the phone and place a call to his cell. It goes right to voicemail as he is on the road. I think he will receive my msg and all will be well with us. I apologize..somewhat. I go back to work mode. Today is Friday.

5:00 pm

I am at home after a long day serving the public. Bank work can be demanding as time frames must be embraced. Problems solved.  I would wear different hats all day long. I also have not heard from my husband.  I think that no news is good news. Still.. It is after supper late Friday when I receive a call from Howie who is one of Gavin’s best buddies. Joined at the hip. A good friend to me as well.  Kind, considerate, humorous as he is to his wife Diana who compliments him.  He had made the trip with Gavin to the coast. He tells me that Bill, another close family friend will be coming over to see me in person. I know something is not right as I see Bill walk into my home as I scream into the phone, “Tell me!! Is he dead?? Tell me now Howie!! I need to know!!”

Bill catches me as I fall.

Gavin and another rider had been on the Coquihalla and he was clipped making a lane change at the same time as another vehicle as he was on her blind side. She never seen him. With the speed and momentum his bike slid and he flew 90 feet in the air. They were far from help. They would have to wait. The ambulance that came to his aid was not life supported and they sat on the highway doing what needed to be done in the back to keep him alive as they waited for the full life support system to show. A surgeon who happened on the accident was vacationing from New York state assisted the paramedics and told them that time was of the essence for their patient and directed them to take Gavin quickly to the nearest hospital. The Royal Inland Hospital in Kamloops.

This is the story I hear from my friend long distance. Is he alive? That is the question. Everything is up in the air. He is currently in emergency. They are working on him. That is all the guys know at their end. That is all they can tell me. I need to know that he is alive. Did my husband know that I was sorry. I was full of sorrow. Was he going to die? Oh please God, help me. Oh God help me! Oh God.

 

 

 

Family, Love, Loved Ones

Son

If you only knew how hard it was for me. If you only knew that this decision was made with hours of hours of thinking. I was 17 years when I became pregnant with you. I loved your father. He was so handsome. My heart broke when he left me. Being a single parent had many challenges and there were many. I didn’t know the first thing about mothering. Nothing. No nurturing. I didn’t know what that was. My parents did all they could to help with financial ends and the baby sitting as I worked. Food was put on our table. Sadly though I suffered from debilitating migraines and panic attacks. There would be days that I could not get out of bed and begged for my suffering to be over. You would be picked up and left to stay at mom and dad’s. It would be for a couple of days till I got over the pain in my head and those days turned into a week. The weeks turned into a month at the most.

It was talked about many times by my mother that they would take you to live with them. I didn’t want to. I didn’t. I had loved you so much. You were just learning to walk and find your character. You were so happy. My heart breaks. They came one morning, my step dad and my mom and took all your stuff, your crib, your clothes, your many toys. It was agreed upon that I would have no contact. That is crazy that is how it came to be. I suppose they were afraid I would change my mind and snatch you away. I knew you were in the best possible place but I thought I would be able to see you. It became nasty.  This situation. The last I heard from them is the day I signed over a government check, a tax return and thus that was that. My baby was gone.

I was lost with out you. Lost. The love that I had was not near me. I was alone and on the streets. Truthfully I do not remember that time so well. I do know that I continued to work at the dry cleaners where I excelled. Party was my major thing to look forward to on the weekends. In spite of all what happened I managed to break free of my carefree ways. I was able to become stable and with monies to purchase my first home. This was the home I would provide for me and my second son and to help him grow. It was also a learning time for me. How to parent. It wasn’t easy but I really tried. My second son was to replace the love I had lost in you.

I know your life is not easy. My heart breaks once again. To have you phone me for money again and again and for me to say I could give you none but only wanted you to know how much I loved you. I need you to know this. I want only the good for you. You don’t need the money. Know that.

gaildd
Those carefree days

Family, Gift, Guardian Angel, Love, Loved Ones

The Last Time

I am in the hospital and giving birth to you. I have made the decision  to give you up for adoption. It is by far the hardest thing ever for me to do this but it is the right thing. I have nowhere to go. There is no support. None.

I lay on a stretcher in a quiet room and it is now after the pushing, the noise in the birthing room. I ache. I cry. I lay there and think, “What now?” Have the nurses forgotten me? After a time I am wheeled into a four bed room and the nurses pull the curtain around me for privacy. I cry some more. I hear the other three mothers talking quietly among themselves as they feed their babies. I am to stay here for a week to convalesce. I do what I want and I ask for my child. The nurses ask me if this is a good thing for me to do. I want to hold my daughter in my arms. To remember her sweetness. If I do not do this I know that not doing it will kill me. She is brought to me and still the curtain surrounds my bed with us two in there. A cocoon. I feel safe with her. When I leave I will have nowhere to go. But for now I am safe with her. I stare at her fingers. Her eyelids and I noticed a long blood vessel and I try to memorize what it looks like. This will be the identifying feature when I go searching for her. This is the plan. She is such a good babe. I rarely hear her cry. She is with me almost 24/7. The staff is concerned. The welfare worker is concerned. I tell them not to worry. I will give the baby up for adoption. I will not change my mind. They are concerned for my welfare though. I lie to them. All is well I say to them. All is well. The days pass and I know the countdown comes. I cry when she is not with me. I cry out loud one night that one of the mothers from the other bed comes to me and hugs me tight. I sob more now. A dam that has been broken. I ask her to leave. I will be okay. I am already grieving my girl. Danielle Lise.

The worker comes with the long document and carefully goes through it me to make sure I understand it. I understand more than she knows. I know that Danielle’s parents are in the building waiting. Hoping. Scared that I will change my mind. I am resolute. I will not. I do not. I sign the paper. I have written my baby a letter and it is attached to the document. This document I will not see again until Danielle turns 18. The childish writing of a skinny, scared girl not knowing where she will go in the world. I spend the last hour with my girl and my heart breaks. It breaks. Shatters. Then she is gone. It is fast. The signing of the paper and so soon they take her. She is no longer mine. But I know in my heart she has gone to her mom, the woman who will teach her to love, to know joy, to watch her grow. I cannot think about that anymore as I dress and walk out of the hospital into the day.aha-moment-insight

Author, Family, Heaven, Letters to Heaven, Love, Loved Ones, Medium, Psychic

Sorry

It was that word I was not to understand when I had my own mediumship reading given to me by a mentor. She was bringing in my father and the one word that stuck out was, “Sorry” It took me days to get my “AHA” moment as it is when you go to a session. This word was given to me a few years ago. It was today that I had a heart to heart talk or the start of one with Dad. If you know my story, then you know he passed away in 1986. I asked him why he would leave me when I needed him the most. I remember those phone calls begging him to take me to his house hundreds of miles of away. I begged him.

My family life was shaky at the best of times and I am being nice for there sake. What was it that my own blood took her anger out on me. I will never know. But I found my dad’s number and phoned him, crying to him, to help me. It was not to be. The only times I was allowed to see him were a couple of weeks in the summer time as I was needed at home to babysit my step brothers and sister. If he came to town which was rare I would sit in his hotel room with him. One of those moments stands out as he was staying at the Cecil Hotel. He shows me his bullet wounds. The old scars on his body. He shows me his medals he received. He tells me that when he dies that I will receive those medals.

When he did pass away and I made my way up north, I talked to his sister Margaret and told her as I looked down on dad in his casket dressed in his uniform and wearing the medals that they were promised to me. It was to be presented to me when they buried him in the cold ground that wintry day. The priest put them in my hand. I felt utterly alone.

But the years pass and all I knew of what I felt of my father was the deep love for him, his essence. The word sorry came to me that day in that reading when I realized what he was saying that for. I told myself at that time it was not needed. But indeed it was. So to get back to that conversation with dad. The deep realization that he knew now what has transpired but had deep sorrow for that. “Where were you when I needed you. Where? Did you not believe me when I told you my stories? Did you not know I was the truth teller?”

Well dad the time has come to now truly forgive you. To let go. This has all come to pass and for all those experiences my body, mind and spirit took I am the better person for it. I only wish you were here physically by my side. You would be 93 though. And I am glad to have heard that word. It means so much to me now.

Much love and huge hugs and lots of kisses to you Dad!

Family, Guardian Angel, Letters to Heaven, Love, Loved Ones, Story Teller

Grief

It starts as a rip.

It is subtle.  It is to the core. This madness. This, I would do anything to have you back, once again. I would do anything for a do over. Please. Are you listening?

I want, I desire to hear your voice again, your laughter, your wisdom, your touch..your touch. Do you hear me? I cry. I cry again. I miss you like you don’t know. I cry until my eyes hurt. I cry to my inner soul in so much anguish.

And it passes.

I laugh. Did you just make me laugh? I thought of something that you did. You know, that mannerism of grabbing your chin and your tongue pops out and you would grab my chubby hand and make me tug your ear and your tongue would pop back again. Crazy.

Thank you..spirit.

Adventures, Family, Gift, Guardian Angel, Higher Self, Intuition, Loved Ones, Medium, Slightly Burnt

Guide Me

There have been times in my life where I knew not where I was going. One minute I found myself wondering how I came to be here on earth. And I asked myself why? Happy times spent as a family unit and then thrust into isolation without mother and father. Is isolation time spent with aunts and uncles? With grandparents? You know what I talk about when I say the love is different. They care about you but not on that level as you do when you love the smell of your dad and his smiles and silly talk. I knew my family cared about me but I felt so lonely growing up. That small girl who no one explained to, “Hey, we got to take care of business so we can live, you know! But we’ll be back for sure!” This was also the time of my first sexual assault as a very young child with no one to run to.

My first guide in my life besides my father was my maternal grandmother, Julia. I loved her with all my being. Totally. She died 3 days after my third birthday. One minute she was there, the next gone. It ripped me. My grandfather was desolate. He was to go shortly after, a few years but still. It has been said that the ages between 0-3 are the years that a child is nurtured and learns security, love, comfort, confidence and making choices. Thank goodness for grandma. Where would I be without her.

The years pass by me and it’s all learning as this girl doesn’t listen. Too much control going on with parental units in the way of my mother and my stepfather. Maybe I did listen to them when I was young but I grew headstrong and did what I wanted. After all did I not have the freedom to do that when I was with my aunts and uncles and roaming the countryside. I had so much trouble happening in my head and not having direction was to run away time and time again. I left home at 16 as I had a job and lived with my brother for a time. I became pregnant at 17 and left school. My one saving grace, school. I blossomed there. I excelled under the guidance of my psychology teacher, Mr. Bianchini and the art teacher, Mr. Zipp. I understood the mechanics of the mind and gained high marks for that. Mr. Zipp seen a spark in me and I was to become the class model for those years in that big old high school. Mr. Bianchini asked me why I wasn’t returning to his class the last year and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that there and now that I was pregnant. I wasn’t brave enough. Would my life been different then the path I decided to take and follow my choices. I do not know. I had the child but did not attain the mother of year award. My parents stepped in and took him. After a time they adopted him. My heart broke. It broke into a million pieces. It sounds cliche. I was to have no contact with him. None. This is the way they wanted it.

I became homeless. Depressed. I discovered there was another side to life that knowing now would never, ever enter. Ever. I stole to eat. Raiding gardens, going into stores and stuffing a bag with whatever I could get. That time was not a good time but I was not to stay in that space for long. Entering into relationships hoping for security and receiving nothing gave me disappointment. Finding a house to live in with five other young people my age was to present huge parties. Not a stable life. But it was so much fun back then. And then it wasn’t. There were problems and once again I was homeless. I persevered. I moved for a time with my friends and found a job. Good old 7-11.

Time passes and in that air I have two more children and one to give up for adoption as this was the time I was living on the streets, sleeping on friends couches. Aimless. The third child I took courage and wanted more out of life. My father was still alive and came to see us in the hospital. I so loved this memory. My father was to pass on my son’s 3rd birthday year. Abusive relationship were to follow for me. My self esteem in shatters. There had been no time to grieve any thing that had passed. No time to grieve the son that was taken, the daughter I gave up for adoption and then my father. No. Time. To. Grieve. But I did find the courage and strength to overcome that man. That man that yelled and hurled abuse on me. I was to find a letter the other day of him writing from jail. How he was so sorry for hitting me. I have no memory of that. Absolutely no memory. He was very graphic and gave so many details but nothing sparked in my memory banks. Now is that a saving grace. I say yes to that. I had to find this guidance on my own and crawl out of that hole.

Life does indeed go on and sometimes at a snail’s pace and sometimes in light streaming down the road. I have had trauma, but also joy mixed in with mine. It has not all been bad. There was the joy of having my children. The happiness of my heart seeing my 3rd child grow. It has all been an experience and for this life class I have been in to be used for people that are going through the same thing. It amazes me with the gift that I had had and how it came in handy for me through the younger days. It got me through so many good times too. I just didn’t know what it was.

I sit here in the morning sun and thank god for all that have some into my life to make in into what it is today. All those experiences that have made me a strong, confident, empowered woman. The guides now are spiritual and some earth based as in my friends or my tribe as I like to call them. They are all my touch stone. They ground me. I know that I am in safe hands. I know there is more for me out there and I can hardly wait!!