I was raised in a strictly Atheist, intolerant-to-anything-spiritual family. My parents prided themselves on their brilliant scientific minds, and on being above other peoples’ childish need for religious comforts.
In fact, when my father was dying in 2011, he made us promise that he would not be subjected to a funeral where people would make ludicrous pronouncements about a pretend God welcoming him “home”. He wasn’t going to be an unwitting accomplice to such a farce if his frail, cancer-ravaged being could avoid it. Averse to any ceremonial pomp-and-circumstance, my sister and I granted his wishes without difficulty.
Interestingly, at the very same time, throughout his last few days at home in bed receiving hospice care, still unbending in his There’s-No-God convictions, he acknowledged that he was witnessing people whom he had known gathering all around him in a circle. None of us had any idea what this was about at the time. His mind was perfectly lucid, his intellect was intact. And prior to this happening to him, my father would have deemed someone’s deathbed visions as a cut and dry case of delusions caused by cerebral hypoxia. Yet he was not experiencing any issues with brain function. He also reported viewing his own body from an elevated vantage in a high corner of the room- a concept known as “astral travel”. (My father would shudder to read such “woo-woo” sounding words associated with him- I’m sorry Dad!)
My sister Lisa and I were both by his side at the end, and I felt so lucky to be there holding his hand. I was surprised later to discover that our togetherness had failed to create a shared experience, however. Lisa told me later that in his last moment, she registered fear in my father’s eyes.
Not me. No way.
Without question, I saw Awe.
This experience was the first time I had considered that there might actually be more to life than what we can account for with a materialistic view of reality. I didn’t know what to think but it kicked the door of my metaphysical mind open just a bit.
Years later, when my mother died in June 2020, Aunt Marjory reached out expressing condolences and the sentiment, “Grief can be complicated.”
It prickled me considering the relationship I’d had with my mother. I resented pressure to jump on the grief-bandwagon with the rest of normal society who hailed from healthy, loving families- (and were thus disqualified from commenting in any way on my existence.) Inwardly I scoffed,
“Don’t assume I’m grieving. I never said I was and I’m not. I’m glad my mother isn’t suffering anymore. I hope she has peace, but I am fine. Trust me.” I had my experience with her at the end, she’s gone, and that’s that.
Or, so I thought.
2 months later:
August of 2020, in the midst of the pandemic- as a single parent and psychotherapist with a full caseload of clients who required a high degree of support, I was highly stressed, but as usual just pushing through. I was overwhelmed by spending so much of my life at the office. I was struggling to let myself take a break and explore my desire to offer a more spiritual approach to serving clients. I finally took a much-needed trip to visit my best friend Alisa in Chicago- and after talking to her about my workaholism, the pressure I was feeling, and my lack of clarity about what to do next, she breezily made a suggestion that would change my entire life:
“You should ask your mom for help.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, legitimately baffled. (She knew damn well my mom was dead.)
Crazy “coincident”: Alisa’s mother died on the exact same night as my mother: (Someone please tell me what that means…)
Alisa then informed me that her mom was assisting with her very successful interior design firm.
WHAAT?!?
Her demeanor was so matter-of-fact that I wondered how I’d never known she had this kind of (suspect) belief system where you can (and should) be asking for support from dead people. I’d never fathomed asking my mom for help- even when she was alive. I rarely ask for anything from living people… But Alisa was serious and I am intrigued by strange experiences, so I thought, “Why not?”
So one day, after my morning meditation, I made a quick, unassuming little request: “Mom, I don’t know if you’re out there hearing things, but if you are, maybe you could send me a sign…?” and I trailed off awkwardly because I felt like a complete idiot doing this- even in the absolute privacy of my own 99.9% skeptical mind. And I had no clue what that “sign” might even look like.
But then, the most peculiar thing started to happen. All the lights in my home, my garage and even my office started to blink off and on throughout the day, every day- for 2.5 months. And, even more baffling, they blinked most insistently when I played Julio Iglesias- my mom’s all time favorite artist.
All the light bulbs in my life suddenly going nuts all at once was certainly interesting, considering the timing. My boys and I laughed and kind of marveled about it, but none of us knew what to think. It felt like there was an intense message trying to come through, but I had no way of interpreting it. Friends suggested I sage my home- another thing I couldn’t quite reconcile my mind to at that point. But these blinking lights were over the top and I was tired of having to replace bulbs, schedule electricians and still be left wondering what it all meant. So I thought, “What the hell, I’ll do my own little voodoo science experiment and purchase some sage.”
On an early October evening, I lit the sage, inwardly questioning my sanity as I roamed around my home like some reluctant paranormal priestess and sent out a thought message:
“Mom, if this has been you with the lights etc., thank you for responding. I really appreciate it and it’s been cool to see. But at this point, I want you to be free to go and just enjoy your existence now. I forgive you for everything and just want you to be happy. I send you love.”
And then.
It all stopped. All at once.
The lights never blinked again after that night. For months, there was no strange activity happening any more at all. It was like it had never happened.
UNTIL
January 2021.
My friend Malia posted on FB about watching the Netflix show, “Surviving Death”. This piqued my interest so I binged it that Sunday January 17th- watched all the episodes back to back- uncharacteristic of me who can barely watch one episode of anything. Some of it was compelling, other parts exposed charlatans who make the whole prospect of connecting to souls beyond the veil just feel like a seedy exploitation of vulnerable, grieving people. But overall, the scammers couldn’t spoil it for me. This show, coupled with my own unusual experiences, was opening my eyes in ways they had never been opened before.
At that time, I was also working through the book, The Artist’s Way. In one of the journal prompts, the author Julia Cameron suggested writing about my favorite childhood toy- a little stuffed Tiger I named Tigger who made me incredibly happy. I used to wash his fur with neon green “Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific” shampoo and then sniff him all day long, feeling proud of my loving devotion and grateful to have his cute little self in my life.
This was present in my mind when some After-Death expert on the show suggested that if you really want to receive contact from a deceased person, you have to reach out with intention and ask them for a specific sign. Part of me felt the lights were significant- and it was compelling that all activity stopped when I let my mother know I’d received her blinking lights as a message of connection and that she could stop now. But this was a mind-blowing implication to a person like me who’d been raised to think that there is absolutely nothing beyond the physical life we lead on earth, and that when we die, we simply become a banquet for maggots. That is it. End of story. To think anything else was blasphemous.
So, I had to reach out one more time to see what in the world would transpire next. Without considering how easy or difficult various signs might be to send, I sat down to meditate that Monday January 18th, and at the end added, “Well mom, I don’t know if all those blinking lights was you, but if it was, and you’re still around, maybe you can send me a Tiger.” I wasn’t attached because I honestly didn’t believe anything would happen. It was just a fun little experiment with life.
I left for work, saw a few clients and then took my lunch break. Instead of going out to eat as I normally would, I decided to stay at my office and watch a NARM training video. I clicked it on and sat back to soak in the wisdom. Then, as I took in the scene in front of me, I stopped short. My arms tingled and my eyes narrowed as I leaned close to the frame to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. In between the clinician and the client sat a little stuffed tiger. My head tilted. I looked closer. Yes. That is a tiger. “Ok. That’s crazy,” I thought as I smiled suspiciously. “But is it really?” I followed. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Even though I don’t actually believe in coincidences... But then, what would this mean…?”
Back home that evening, I told my kids about requesting my mom send me a tiger and how one showed up within a few hours. They were intrigued but getting used to these strange synchronicities. That evening, I was rushing to finish preparing dinner while my boys hung out together, laughing, baiting, and roasting each other at the table. Spotify began playing a song I love but is kind of a downer for kids, so I skipped it. The next song that came on “randomly” was one by my mom’s favorite artist, Julio Iglesias: “Me Va, Me Va”, a super fun and up-tempo number, and my boys and I all started singing and dancing enthusiastically. It was quite a shift in energy and it made us all really joyful. Then, at the exact moment the song ended, the lightbulb in the kitchen directly above the music went out- for good. The boys and I looked at each other like, “Can you believe this sh**?”
Later that evening, I went downstairs to spend some time with my little beloved Rainer., my favorite time in any day. He was lamenting about his adorable, thick-ish build, so I innocently remarked, “Well, I think you’re perfect, but if you want to change your body, you have to devote some energy to that. Why don’t you do some push-ups right now?”
He politely declined.
I became annoyed and delivered a “Don’t complain about things you’re not willing to change” sermon. (The kind everyone enjoys.) The night turned dark from there as he accused me of being too hard on him, pointing out that his father has a superior way of motivating him, and finished by saying I make him feel “small”.
Something about that word “small” hit me like a sledgehammer. The horrific pain I felt in hearing it rerouted me to a whole new timeline at that moment. Knowing that my life revolves around trying to elevate my kids to feel so loved, adored, admired, precious, irreplaceable…I could not compute how this torrent of deep love could be experienced as something so demoralizing instead.
I became lost in a labyrinth of my own inner time-travel. Disbelief about what I was hearing made me think about my own mother and what her experience must have been like. I thought, “Here I am utterly devoted to these kids, sacrificing so much of what I want for myself in order to do what I know is best, most comfortable and enjoyable for them and yet Rainer is telling me that he just feels hurt.” Somehow, I had never heard something so devastating. I broke down entirely.
And in that moment, I finally saw my own mother as an actual, vulnerable, not-invincible HUMAN. I saw her as a real person, struggling just as we all do to understand life and get things right without ever really knowing how. I had never understood that before, never felt the truth of it until this exact second. My eviscerating pain was the only thing that allowed me to connect to what must have been hers as well.
I felt helpless, bereft, and defeated. Here I was guiding clients each day in how to be effective and loving with the people in their lives- and receiving praise about how wise, brilliant, and healing I am as a person- and hearing about how their relationships were vastly improving- and my own son, who I love more than anything in the world, was telling me I was a failure in what mattered to me the most. I wanted to disappear from society/adulthood/parenthood and all its endless, thankless demands. The stress of that bizarre and oppressive pandemic era combined with the upending of my belief in my success as a parent caused a total inner collapse. I buried my face in my hands and just began to sob.
In time, I gazed up and saw a look of frozen, open-mouthed alarm had taken over Rainer’s face. Again, my adoring clients flashed through my mind and I shuddered at my sickening personal failure. I composed myself and said, “Rainer, you don’t have to help me or fix me in this. You aren’t wrong to have said what you said. You have every right to feel what you feel and say what you need to say. I’m just in shock. I finally realize that something I made my whole life about- being a wonderful loving mother to you (and proving unconsciously to my parents how easy it could have been if they had only done things differently- the way I will do things with my own kids…) is not something I have succeeded in, despite everything.”
I finally understood something about parenthood and about my own mother that I had never known before. If I loved my kids as much as I did and they still could feel so hurt- so wounded, perhaps even at times unloved, my God- I have NO IDEA what I’m doing as a parent or as a person- and, even crazier yet, maybe I had been loved after all- by a very damaged mother of my own who felt equally lost about how to “do it right”.
I had lived all my life with a narrative that because of the way my parents had treated me, clearly they hadn’t loved me. And it became so clear in that moment that it wasn’t ever about not being loved. I felt a surge of compassion for my mother- as tough as she had been. I now totally related to her sense of hopelessness to ever be understood and how she responded to that by lashing out and cutting me off. When we feel misunderstood and we’ve never developed tools to properly communicate or manage, sometimes we just give up. I knew all about that. I’d spent my entire life severing relationships at the faintest glimmer of feeling hurt or undervalued. It was the only way I knew to feel safe, restored again to my all-powerful island of one.
As parents, we work 24/7, even when we are not with our kids. We can never ever stop considering these little humans above ourselves. It’s exhausting and painful at times, despite the deep, inherent beauty and joy. We give so much- endlessly, and all the while, we can feel so lost, alone and unacknowledged. So many things began to occur to me and all of them were unbearable. I finally recognized my own inhumanity, lack of compassion and grace towards my mother. I finally understood that she too deserved so much better than what she got.
At this point in my reverie, Ellis joined us to see if we were ok. In his wise, measured way, he shared that while he knew that I loved them very much, he could understand how Rainer feels and agreed that I am too hard on them. In my mind, I protested- “My God- I ask nothing of you- and if anything, I struggle with the fear that you have no challenges to face in life. How will you develop grit? How will you be ok if I don’t show you how to survive the real world with real demands?” All that I’ve accomplished has been a response to feeling brutalized, constrained, and abandoned. I had to fight so hard to even become a functional person- and my kids seem to have it so easy.
And reflecting on my family of origin- with three older siblings of my own who continued to live with my parents throughout adulthood, never held down jobs or been able to function in society because my parents never asked anything of us- I just had no idea what a healthy balance might be. My fiery and independent ways caused my parents to leave me to my own devices- not speaking to me for years on end- while continuing to coddle my siblings in every way. Holding myself to a higher standard and pushing myself hard helped me to create an adult life that my siblings never did. The idea of letting my children falter in this way terrified me.
But it was dawning on me that I have no idea how to love in a way that lets people feel totally accepted. I could see that now. I didn’t receive that lesson and it remains a mystery. I never had a soft place to land, and I thought I was strong because of that challenge rather than in spite of it. I feel the need to push my loved ones when it looks as though they are accepting defeat, even though I was never pushed- simply deserted. I was suddenly aware that this was my mother’s history as well. She became materially successful because her intellect and drive made it possible. But she never had a chance to develop her softer emotional capacities. It never felt safe to do so- and the same had been true of me.
Life as I understood it had come to a screeching halt and I was strangely more connected to my mother than ever before. A vast illusion had been lifted and I was struggling to cope with this blinding new vision. I asked my beautiful boys if they would prefer to live with their dads. Both said no. I felt grateful but still lost and emotionally smashed to pieces. I admitted aloud, “I have no map. I have no understanding. I don’t know what to do.” And I just cried and cried.
They crawled towards me, sat in my lap, and wrapped their loving arms around me. We sat there all huddled together for a few minutes in silence. Then Rainer separated himself, scooted across the floor, reached into his toy bin and pulled out the first stuffed animal that he touched- a tiger that I didn’t even know he owned.
He smiled sweetly at me and with so much loving-tenderness said,
“Look mom- it’s your sign.”
~This was just the beginning.
Stay tuned for Part II: “Electric Violet Lights and Higher Realms”