Wandering With Spirit

My mother and brother passed over in a fire when I was four years old. Every once and awhile I looked for my mother. I was in the hospital when she passed and didn’t learn of her passing until months went by. She was probably very aware of how stubborn and independent I was. Looking back, I’m sure there were many times when she came to my aid. Her “help” became more apparent when my father’s memory declined because of Alzheimer’s disease. Often I was were I needed to be or found something that saved my father from harm. When my father passed over he let the cat out of the bag. It wasn’t very long before I realized that “help” was coming from more than my father — my mother and brother were involved also. (Yesterday was my brother’s birthday. I hit my head on a cabinet door, along with banging the hat on my head in a few places. I’ve often credited him with things falling on my head — including a toilet seat.)

When my husband passed — my family was well aware that “help” was often received from the other side. My middle daughter had a talk with her deceased father, asking him to haunt me and leave her alone. He didn’t listen. The day she prepared to drive her car back to the mountains, it did not start. She needed a new battery. I don’t know how often he “helps” her with her life. She has told me that he is often in her dreams.

My husband liked to connect with his children, brothers and sisters, and friends when I was shopping. He DID NOT MIND driving me. He disliked going into the store. So he sat in the car, read a book or talked on the phone. WE ALL ARE MISSING THOSE CHATS!

Last week, my mountain daughter was heading to the store. Because of the weather, 2 roads coming off the mountain were closed by accidents. She headed for a road she seldom used. Half way down the road the oil light on her car came on. She pulled over to the side and called her husband for help. NOTHING WAS WRONG WITH HER CAR. OIL WAS BARELY DOWN. I suggested her father didn’t think she should be out and about and stepped in to “help.”

About that time I found a lovely cookbook at Wal-Mart written by Jacques Pepin. I opened the book at home to an article on bread — finishing the meal with bread and lots of butter. That morning I opened the Bible to Tobit — a story of how a person’s sight had been restored. The identity of the person helping had been revealed — It was Raphael, Archangel in charge of healing. (I think I just mentioned this last week.) When I wrote the thought ramble, the story really hadn’t ended . I had dropped an arthritis pill on the floor and COULD NOT FIND IT. Getting out a broom, I swept the area without success. Putting the broom back, I found the pill in a corner far removed from where I was sitting. Next I took a photo of the drawing of Raphael that hangs over my husbands side of the bed. I sent the photo to one of my daughters. A photo of my husband popped up for a second during the transmission. Thankfully he LOVES to “help.”