Cindy - my story of talking to my mum after she died

My mother was the person who took me to see my first psychic.  We shared the love of the spiritual world and enjoyed the road we were taking in learning and experiencing the phenomenon of being able to communicate with the spirits.  We even took a road trip to the Florida town of Cassadaga, the town of psychics and mediums. The day she died I finally understood the meaning of time standing still.  I nodded in understanding as the doctor told me that my mother had died of a pulmonary embolism and I would not be taking her home with me that afternoon.  I went home, to her room, and wailed in grief as I lay on her bed.  Then, these loving arms enfolded me 

in such immense love and peace that I got up and said “Okay, and thank you”.  It was my mom, letting me know she was okay and that I would be too. That night, as I tried to sleep, I was hoping that I would see my mom.  I knew she would visit me if she could and if she did then that would be the ultimate proof validating that what we both believed to be true actually was – we don’t die, we just move into the spirit world. Then it happened, during my sleep. I was walking in a park, one I had never been in before, and just ahead of me was a small curved stone bridge over a small creek.  On the bridge were three people.  As I got closer I saw the woman in the middle and she looked like my mom – but as she looked in her twenties.  She was wearing a sweater with a matching scarf attached and a knee length skirt.  It looked like a soft, pale pink cashmere sweater.  And her hair was dark brown and longer.  And she was laughing and her smile was beautiful.  As I walked toward her our conversation started. “Mom, is that you?” “Cindy!  It is so good to see you.” “Mom, are you okay?” “Oh honey, I am just fine.  I am just wonderful.” Then I became more aware of the two people next to her.  On her right was a female that was my Aunt Goldie, one of the sisters of my mom who had died earlier.  On her left was a male I did not know. And then she spoke again. “You remember Goldie.  And this is my friend, Hugh.” I nodded and just stood in awe of how happy and beautiful and peaceful she was.  “Are you sure you are okay Mom”. “Yes, I am fine. Don’t worry about me – I am absolutely perfect.  I love you.” Then I woke up.  And then I called my Aunt Helen, my mother’s other sister, the one I hardly knew at all, but at least she was still alive.  We had been talking quite a bit since my mom’s death – grieving in companionship over the telephone line. This is what she told me. “Last night, I dreamt of your mom, and you were there.  I saw you.” I told her that I dreamt of her too.  And asked her to tell me what she dreamt.  And this is what she told me. “Well, we were in the park in Louisville, the one we used to go to when your mom and I were younger.  Mary (my mom) was on a small curved bridge over the creek and she was laughing.  You were off to my left, and I think you were talking to her.  She had on a soft sweater with a matching scarf and she was so beautiful and so happy.” I sat almost speechless but managed to ask her if she saw anyone else with my mom.  She said yes, she did, two people, one male and one female.  She thought maybe the female was her sister Goldie, but did not get a good look at the male. So I asked her: “Who is Hugh? That is who she said he was when she introduced us.” Her reply was one I could not believe. “Oh my goodness, that is Hugh, a friend of your mom’s.  They were close, and used to go dancing together.  He died a few years back.” With that we both laughed and enjoyed the knowledge that my mom was indeed just perfectly fine and happy.  I will never be able to thank my mother enough for giving me that gift.  I am so happy for her – no more suffering – no more pain – just love, peace,   and laughter.  I will see her again someday.  And that makes me very happy.