November 11, 2017.
It's my mother's day of death.
For years, I've been reading about death and dying, grieving and souls, near-death experiences, and those who communicate with the "dead."
I still can't comprehend where or who my mother is right now.
Some of the last words she said to me were:
"The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak."
It comes from the New Testament, when Jesus was referring to his disciples who fell asleep when the Romans arrested Jesus, later to be crucified on the cross.
The disciples had been so tired, even though they wanted to stay up/awake/alert to protect Jesus, if and when Romans came for him.
My mom was very religious in her own private way, as were all things to my mother. She was extremely private -- which made her that much more authentic. She didn't need to show off or explain her feelings to anyone. She just felt a certain way. And that was good enough for her.
She rarely went to church. But she had mini-Bibles and New Testament books tucked away in her end table by the bed. She prayed before every chemo appointment. She spoke in Biblical phrases every now and then. But not often.
When she did, it reminded me of how religious she was.
She didn't preach much, but she did give her opinion occasionally on "how to be a good Christian."
Mom has appeared a few times since she has passed.
The first time was the day after she died. In her house, my childhood home, in New Rochelle. I was in the downstairs bedroom looking for photos of her in closets and old bureaus, and I suddenly saw a hand print, part of one, on the mirror that was laying on top of one of the bureaus.
It was a clear signal ... Had I placed my hand on that mirror? Was that my handprint?
It was as if someone fogged up the mirror, with their hand. And then I watched is slowly, so slowly, disappear.
No fingerprints left.
Just a feeling that she was trying to say, 'Hello my love, I'm here. With you."
Just a week or so prior to her death, I was crying to her, very frightened she was close to the end.
I cried, "Mama, I'm so scared to lose you. I don't want you to go."
She said, in her typical no-nonsense manner, almost agitated that I was thinking so negatively--"I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to be right here with you. God told me so."
So I held on to that--that was my hope. She saw something. But then again, my intuition told me, yes, she will be with me---but only in spirit.
And so it is.
I see her in photos I take. Just days after her passing, on my birthday, there are reddish-pinkish lights around my shoulders/back. I swear it is her spirit.
I see her in lights that blow/flash on and out. I ask that she comes to me when I sleep. But so far, I haven't seen that. Or at least, my brain won't recall--even if I did.
It is possible she wants me to grieve and cry and yell and get angry first... let it out. So then maybe after years pass, I could accept and allow her to be truly gone.
For now, I look at at the lake, through the branches of the trees in front of the house, and I look at the birds fluttering about, and look up at the pale blue sky in early December, and feel the cold air settle in my bones. And for now, she's energy. She sees me, and feels me and she still loves me.
That's the most I can ask for now. And I feel like it's going to be OK.
After all, someday, I will die, too. And then, I'll get to see what all the fuss is about.