Things of a metaphysical nature and how I got to this place...

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January 2021

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People who are interested in the subject matter at hand, naturally go searching for information of this type. Some people stumble upon it after a loss, looking for answers. Some people may find it by accident, consider it interesting and delve further. Some people may stumble upon it and ridicule those who strongly believe or even question the potential.

I've always been a little curious about things metaphysical or seemingly supernatural or just plain weird. 

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It actually started for me, as a child. I "sensed" things that other people didn't, or couldn't, or wouldn't. 

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I was very quiet as a child. As young as four years old I found myself reading the emotions of other people quite easily. I just knew (now I know the word should be "sensed,"), when something was wrong or "off" or strange. Death was one of those "things."

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I remember understanding the meaning of death at that young age. I knew it meant finality. It was not reversible. It meant that the end had arrived for someone. But I didn't understand what "the end," was.   Why was there an end?  Was that it? What was the purpose of this life? Where did the person inside go?

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I was around five years of age when I attended my first funeral. The wake was held at the home of the deceased. I asked my parents many times, later in life, "whose funeral did I attend?" They couldn't remember ever taking me to a funeral at that age. Back then, in the mid 1960s, children weren't typically allowed into such emotional situations. However, I clearly remember, walking up to a casket that was higher than my head and having to tip toe to see what was in it. I remember a man, dressed in a dark suit, The casket was against the wall with his head to my left shoulder. He looked very peaceful, as if he were asleep. I remember wondering how can he be so peaceful? He's DEAD! I found it odd that such an old man, with all those years experience would succumb to something and then just "be dead." I found it fascinating, but everyone else seemed quite devastated.

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I still find it fascinating, but life has seen fit to give me much more experience in this department than I ever wanted. 

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I'm completely alone now, save one person.  All my closest friends are deceased. I've lost all my family. I lost my partner in crime, in this life, and I've been lost without her ever since. 

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Most recently I lost both my parents, whom I cared for for the last years of their lives. Dad didn't need a lot of care, but his heart was bad. Five heart attacks and triple bypass limited his ability to do a lot of household tasks, so I stepped in where he would allow. I lost my Dad on April 14, 2016.  I understood what "devastated" means to those who are left behind. In the ensuing years I was my Mother's primary caretaker. She suffered from congestive heart failure, kidney disease and a multitude of other illnesses that would have easily killed a man. She was all of 4'9" tall and a whopping 90 pounds, but I swear she was made of concrete and rebar. She was one of the strongest people I've ever known. I had only seen her cry twice, once when her Mother died and the last was when my Dad, her husband of 56 years passed. 

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I never really got a chance to know my Mother's parents. They passed very young and there was a little animosity between my Dad and his in-laws. However I was extremely close to my Dad's parents. Especially my Grandmother. Even into her last years, though we lived a distance away, I spoke to her quite frequently. This was all before cell phones, so calling long distance then, was fairly expensive, but I ALWAYS phoned her on Sunday and chatted for a while. She too was a very strong woman, surviving her husband, my Grandfather by twenty one years. She also struggled with kidney failure and it eventually took her on September 11, 1999.

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Her death is important in my story. I was 38 years of age when she passed. Although her passing was expected, it was still shocking to us all.  I lived approximately two hours away from my beloved Grandmother when she passed. My Dad and Mom were at the hospital and had just stepped out of her room, to get a cup of coffee. Upon returning, the nurse approached them and explained that my Grandmother had coded in the fifteen minutes they were gone. Two hours and 140 miles away, I was sound asleep when I heard my Grandmother whisper in my right ear, "Rick, I've got to go," as if she was hanging up the telephone. I bolted from bed, realizing that I had been asleep. I clearly heard her voice, but only in one ear.  I was laying on the left side and my left ear was buried deep in a pillow. It was 2:35 am.  A few minutes later the phone rang. My Dad said "Rick, I'm calling to let you know that your Grandmother didn't make it."   I said "I know Dad."  We hung up.  Years later my Dad recalled the conversation on that awful morning and asked me, "how did you know?"  I told him, "Dad, she told me herself.  She came to me, as she left, and told me she had to go."  Years later, that would have meaning the day my Father passed.

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Fifteen years later, in 2016, my cell phone rang.  I was at work. On the other end of the line all heard was my Mom screaming "I need you."  I nearly broke the sound barrier getting to her, twelve miles away. I was running red light and stop signs.  I had to get there. I knew why. I arrived and threw the front door open calling her. There was no answer. I ran through the house looking for her, but I was frantic and not finding her. Finally I went into their bedroom. She was sitting on the side of the bed. The lump on Dad's side of the bed, beneath the covers was unsettling. It was a little after noon.  Dad never overslept. Everything was running through my head all at once, trying to access the situation and understand what was happening.  My Mom looked at me and said, "He died." I reached for her and held her and we both sobbed. I could see my Dad over her shoulder, appearing to be sound asleep. This wasn't fitting in my head. It just wouldn't fit. The only man I ever respected laid dead before me. How could that be? I just wouldn't fit.

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I eventually got Mom to leave him and I took her into the kitchen.  I got her something to drink and we sat there for a few minutes in silence.  I heard the front door open and I knew it was my brother. He found us sitting in the kitchen.  I had called him en route to the house, telling him something was wrong, but I wasn't sure what it was and that he might want to leave work and be on his way as well.  He agreed.  We had been in the kitchen for a few minutes when I phoned him told him to drive carefully, that there was no need to hurry.  He knew what that meant without me having to say.  When he came through the door he had somewhat prepared himself. He came into the kitchen and found us sitting at the table, still tearful.  I nodded toward the bedroom hall and he walked that direction.  After a few minutes, he returned and sat down with us, trying to sort it out in his mind. No one spoke. 

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After a while we realized that there were things that needed to be done.  As the eldest son, I took control and phoned the funeral home.  My parents had pre-planned their final arrangements and the funeral director advised me how to proceed.  I phoned non-emergency fire and rescue number and told them of a "death at home."  Several police officers came, a couple paramedics and a detective. They questioned us and phoned the coroner who provided further instruction.  The funeral home sent the hearse to the house and took Dad away. 

This is where I made the connection between my Grandmother telling me "Rick, I've got to go," and my Dad's passing.  My Dad was not too terribly fond of my sister-in-law.  My brother had phoned her and she was coming to the house to offer her support.  When  she arrived we milled about the great room.  The great room has a twelve foot wide door between the living and dining area. As my sister-in-law was coming through that doorway, I was walking the opposite direction through the doorway at the same time, Suddenly, both she and I, instantly as we passed, looked down and acknowledged each other as if we had bumped into each other.  Then we looked at each other and realized we were a distance apart and couldn't have run into each other. We were both a little taken aback. My brother and Mother both looked at us inquisitively.  My sister-in-law and I  both realized that something had touched both of us as we passed, as if someone had walked between us. I knew it was my Dad.  He knew I wouldn't be afraid of sensing it, and that she would.  It actually made me chuckle.  Dad had a great sense of humor and it would be so like him to push a button or two, especially hers. It freaked her out. I still laugh about it today.

Almost four years later to the day, I lost my Mom, I was staying with her, at her home and she was becoming more weak by the minute. Her breathing had begun to become labored and her oxygen saturation was dropping quickly. I had seen this before and she had always pulled through. She asked me not to call for an ambulance, but I finally persuaded her that she needed intervention that I couldn't provide. The paramedics arrived.  Her oxygen saturation had dropped to 60.  It looked bad.  They called me from the hospital and had admitted her.  When the doctor called he suggested in-hospital hospice and told me that it would probably be a good idea if I came to see her. I did. I had been there for about 15 minutes, standing at her bedside, holding her hand, while she kept removing the oxygen mask with the other hand.  I kept telling her to "please leave it on."  It didn't matter.  She wasn't listening. Suddenly she took off the mask and as weak as she was, raised her upper body on her elbows and looked directly at the wall in front of her and appeared to be squinting, seeing something that wasn't there.  When I asked, "Mom, what are you looking at?"  She squinted even harder and said, "It's so bright!" She looked for a few seconds and laid back down. The hospital staff advised me that it was time to go (this was during the height of Covid-19),  I said "I love you," to her and she said "I love you too." 

 

That was the last I saw my Mother alive. She passed the next morning at 4:30am.  The nurse rang my phone and explained that she had passed quietly in her sleep. Devastation set in again.     

 

The information you'll find on the pages herein serve two purposes. One, to help me in the grieving process and two, to share my information and search for answers.

 

I have no confirmed religion.  I am not religious at all. My Father was perhaps the most religious of all the family, but he was inquisitive by nature and questioned everything (that's where I got it from). My Mother was really anti-religion. She considered it "silly," but she didn't fault anyone else for their beliefs, so long as they didn't try to push it on her. I can't say that I'm Christian, because what I know of  typical "Christians" disappoints me. I am not agnostic and certainly not atheist.  I believe very strongly in a creator. I cannot look at a human body or a even a single leaf and not revel in the magnificence of its ability. In my opinion, it required an intelligent designer to make it all work together. No force on earth can shake my faith in that creator. 

 

Regarding the imagery and videos herein, I've heard everything from "it's dust," to "it's demons," or "it's spirits." 

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I get it. It's your opinion, but I'm hoping for something more. Please help me if you can. 

 

                

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