More Angel Love from Mom

Every day of the week after my mom passed away, I was blessed with one miraculous experience after another, as Mom was given the opportunity to show me she was "okay."  As my son put it, Grandma was having fun playing.  The angel vision was just the first in a series of amazing sights and happenings I will treasure in my heart forever.

On my two-plus-hour drive Tuesday morning, November 4, I was shown the second and most beautiful sight.  I was steeling myself for the trip to mom's hometown to meet with the funeral home to plan the services with my sister.  Still reeling from mom's death and the vision I had seen from the night before, I know the shock was taking its toll on me. As I glanced heavenward as if pleading with God for some peace, I began to notice the clouds.  They were the softest and fluffiest I've ever seen. The cottony composition even had wispy feathers around the edges. This cumulus formation stretched from the driver's side window across my windshield in plain sight. As I realized the rest of the sky was a clear brilliant blue, the outline of the clouds took shape and registered in my mind...they were in the shape of angel's wings.  I began laugh-crying thanking Mom for showing me her wings.  I exclaimed through my tears how magnificently beautiful they were just like she was in life.

The next day, on my return trip home, I glanced out my window and noticed a bald eagle flying next to my car.  Any other time, an eagle in this area is such a rare sighting and is usually so far away that I would've struggled to determine if it was actually an eagle.  But this eagle deliberately flew next to my car for a few seconds bringing me a special mom-type comfort.  It was at that point I remembered how much Mom loved the song "On Eagles Wings" and I knew it was another sign that she was okay. It wasn't until the next day that I learned my sister was blessed with the same eagle experience on one of her trips up and back.

My next angel encounter needs to be prefaced with a little back story...

Several months ago, I recall Mom and I talking at her kitchen table.  I don't even remember now how we got on the subject, but I do remember making a request. I said to her that I would know she was okay up in heaven if she would send me a sign in the form of a purple butterfly.

From the moment I discovered mom was no longer burdened by her earthly confines, I admit I was looking for my purple butterfly.

However, on Wednesday, November 5, as I was out shopping--looking for something to wear to the funeral--I was not thinking about wanting to see a sign.  But as I have come to realize, Mom was with me and thinking about me.

I had looked at several different combinations of tops and scarves each producing more and more irritating and condescending comments by the annoying sales clerk.  My hubby was patiently standing by for moral support as I was contemplating leaving the store when my miracle occurred.

I glanced down at the jewelry display on my way to the mirror and saw the most extraordinary purple jeweled butterfly scarf clip.  My breath caught in my chest, and my husband looked at my expression, as I'm sure the color drained from my face.  He immediately asked me if I was okay, and as I struggled to find my voice, I rasped out..."I'll tell you in a minute."

Of course, I bought the butterfly clip AND purchased a top and scarf to match.

Thursday, November 6, my daughter and I went to our Hatha yoga class for some stress relief and a much needed diversion.  It was just a small class of four of us plus the yoga instructor.  Not wanting to bring the mood of the class down, I didn't say anything ahead of time about just losing my mom. Also, as I knew that we usually do some type of guided meditation at the end of class, I wanted to let that happen naturally without the instructor having any knowledge of what I was dealing with.  The stretching and toning poses worked their magic on my tense muscles and then it was time for the meditation.  Lying on our backs with eyes closed, we were directed to imagine a healing white light flowing through different parts of our bodies with each breath.  The whole time my eyes were closed, I had an aurora-borealis type of light show playing underneath my lids.  At one point, I vividly saw bright purple and smiled knowing Mom was with me even then.  At the end of class, feeling refreshed and renewed, one of the other gals started talking about the experience she had during the meditation. I have to say I have been going to this particular yoga studio for several months, now, and no one has ever talked about what they had happen during the meditation with this much fervor and description.  She began with a smile on her face and exclaimed over the swirls of light she had seen going on beneath her lids, and how she could even pick out the color purple.  I definitely had a jaw-dropping moment at that point and could feel the familiar lump in my throat begin to form.  The other regular class participant suddenly spoke up as well with surprise in her voice as she agreed that she had seen the color purple with her eyes closed, too, and she had never had that happen before.  No longer able to control my emotions, I shared with the class about Mom and how her favorite color was purple.  It is extremely incredible that her presence was so strong around me, that she had even affected what the others had experienced during the meditation.

Later that day, I was going through some of the mail and papers on mom's desk. Mom was very good about keeping up with her bill paying, but I wanted to make sure there wasn't something there that needed my attention.  I was looking through some envelopes when I came across some cash--enough cash for my sister and I each to shop for an outfit for the visitation (and go out for coffee--on Mom)...more tears as I thought how she was still taking care of us.

The finding of the cash reminded me that Mom had kept a change can in her cupboard.  I retrieved it to take to the bank to have it counted.  Without looking at the contents, I handed the can to the teller and she walked over to the change counter where she emptied the coins.  Before running the counter, I saw her reach in and pluck out something that she plopped back in the can.  I assumed it was a foreign coin until she brought the can back over to me.  A gold coin--that wasn't a coin at all, but another sign from Mom, gleamed in the bottom of the can.  I dumped it out to get a closer look.  The angel staring back at me gave me a start, but I managed to keep my sobs in check until getting back out to the car.  I had no idea the angel coin was in the can or even where it had come from...except that I knew it was from Mom.

On the way home from watching my daughter's play on Friday, November 7, I just smiled, as the angel outline in the night sky shown through the clouds.  Mom was always going to be with me, watching over me wherever and whenever.

It was the dates of the play productions that we had been working around when planning the visitation and funeral...as the show must go on, and grandma would've wanted her granddaughter to continue with the play.  At the time of setting the date for the funeral, nearly six days in advance, the weather prediction for that day was looking dismal--cold and windy with mixed frozen precipitation. Everyday when I checked, the forecast seemed to be worse than the last, so I finally stopped checking, knowing I could do nothing about it--the funeral was going to be when it was going to be.

Two days before the funeral, the percentage for the mixed precipitation had dwindled way down, and the temp was not to be as cold as first predicted.  By November 10, the day of the funeral, not only had the precipitation been completely eliminated, it was to be the nicest, warmest day of the week.

As the processional of cars left the church and headed out of town to the little country cemetery on the hill, the sky was a beautiful blue with fluffy white clouds; it was a breezy 58 degrees, and felt quite unbelievable for nearly the middle of November.  About a third of the cars made it over the railroad tracks before a train appeared, briefly separating our long line of vehicles.  As we waited for the train, I looked up in the sky and saw something I have never seen before.  I wouldn't call it a rainbow and it definitely wasn't sun dogs, but it was a colorful prism effect just shimmering through the clouds.  I felt sure it was Mom letting us know she was watching the whole thing from her perspective.

A few cars made it across the tracks before an even slower train stopped the processional once more as it rumbled lazily through town. When we arrived at the cemetery, we learned why Mom had caused two trains to delay the process...the bagpipe player was running late and needed a little extra time.

Everyone had plenty of time to arrive, and we only waited a few minutes more for the sounds of the bagpipes to play as the bearers brought the casket forth.  An Elvis impersonator sang his rendition of "My Way" just as Mom wanted, followed by the committal prayer and then "Amazing Grace" on the bagpipes.  A beautiful service on a beautiful day for a beautiful Mamma.  No sooner had the services ended then the clouds grew thicker and darker.  As the day went on, the temperatures began dropping and the snow arrived during the night, coating everything in a purifying dusting of white.

The Angel-Love that Mom showed me all week made it possible for me to continue to function while the whole world went on about its business oblivious to my loss.

I'm still sad, but it's more about my own selfishness of not having Mom here anymore then about anything I could have or should have done differently while she was alive.  I thank God everyday for the time I got to spend with my mom and feel even more blessed that she is now my angel.

Here are a couple quotes I found this week...

Everyday, grief puts on a new face.  You don't get over it, you just get through it.  You don't get by it, because you can't get around it.  It doesn't get better, it just gets different.

Those we love don't go away.  They walk beside us every day.  Unseen, unheard, but always near.  Still loved, still missed and very dear.