Ronna is on vacation this week. Here’s a blast from the past raising the question she is still pondering, months after her mother’s death…still no signs….but maybe she just isn’t looking hard enough?
The day after my mom’s funeral, a friend asked me if I had had any “signs” yet.
What she meant by “signs,” of course, were communications from the “other side.” I wasn’t the least bit offended; my friend’s husband sees dead people on a regular basis, most of my friends are believers in an afterlife to one degree or another….and who wouldn’t welcome a sign from beyond?
“No lights flickering? No weird electrical stuff? No bizarre coincidences?” she asked me.
“Nada,” I answered in Spanish. I was supposed to be at my Spanish lesson instead of the shiva, but because the lesson had been cancelled so many times, “nada” (and asking for a tequila with lime) is about all I have retained.
“But I have to tell you,” I went on, “I’m not really a believer in that kind of thing.”
“It doesn’t matter if you believe or not,” she replied, “It just is. Watch for it. You’ll see.”
So, I’m watching and waiting, waiting and watching, with a high degree of skepticism. Because if dead people can communicate with me, where, in heaven’s name, has my father been for the past three years?
My dad died on 11/11/11. Shouldn’t dying on that date alone qualify him to be able to deliver a letter from beyond? Wouldn’t you think he would be able to manage even one lousy dream appearance? Talk about having latent abandonment issues…
I really want to believe that my mother will communicate with me after her recent death, but even more, how cool would it be if she could actually pull some strings, make things happen? If I could truly believe my mom was on the job and in control, I think I’d be able to chuck the Lorazapem and I’d sleep like a baby.
For sure, if anyone on the “other side” could break through and communicate with the living—well, it would be the “force” that was my mother. If it were possible, nothing could stop her. I can just about hear God saying, “enough already, have it your way!”
So why the radio silence?
Thus far, I only have had a running, one-sided conversation with my mom. I ask the questions she would ask, then I answer them:
“Yes, my hair is a little too dark. I’m getting a few highlights put in Monday.”
“No, I didn’t iron the Thanksgiving tablecloth. But you died, I was too tired. Besides, I didn’t do that when you were alive.”
“Yes, I put fresh flowers in the bathroom. Check them out. They’re awesome.”
“Yes, I gained a few pounds from the shiva food. Shut up, mom.”
My mom never communicates back. No thunder. No bolts of lightning. No flickers of light. And while the BA50 website just happened to crash completely the morning of her funeral, I think I am going to ignore that one; I don’t want to go there. Besides, my mom wasn’t that good with technology.
A few weeks before she died, my mom and I had a conversation about just this topic. We both agreed that when you’re alive, you should live life to the fullest. But when you’re dead, you’re Dead, and that’s That.
“You’ll have the memories, kiddo, to keep me alive.”
“But…” I told her, “just in case… if there is a way to let me know you are out there… make it obvious…really obvious. Sometimes I’m a little dense. You’re going to have to do something like blow my hat off my head when there is no wind.”
“You got it,” she told me.
Then we discussed what I would like her to do from above if she had the chance. She agreed to make a few “certain somethings” happen; it was all unfinished work she wanted to do anyway.
Later, I made an agreement with my sister-in-law: if one of those “certain somethings” we talked about happened as a direct result of her death, we will both know my mother orchestrated it. We promised each other; we will both become true believers.
I’d tell you what that “certain something” is, but I think it may be like telling your wish after you blow out the birthday candles.
And If it actually happens, you will know. I can’t wait to write that piece.