|Will You Always Know Me?|
By Robyn Justo
Can we ever be prepared for death if we are the one who is passing or the one left behind? This question has been in the forefront of my mind for nine months since my Mother made her transition.
Loss does not hurt less because you know it is imminent or there is a forewarning. Whether one painfully observes a loved one with a long term illness or a sudden and tragic event takes a life, the feeling of loss cannot be described accurately by any words in the human language. Acceptance of the fact that Mom is no longer here is something I found indigestible. It simply could not be absorbed.
If an emptiness could ever fill a space, it is certainly that vehemently vacant feeling that makes its home in the center of our being after we can no longer see, hear, and touch the person we so loved, at least not in the way that we used to. Part of us has been taken to another place and time. And we often ask ourselves why we are still here when so much of our being and identity has disappeared.
It felt like love had gone and although I certainly missed the love I always felt from Mom, I struggled more with where to channel all the love I had for her.
A friend said something very profound after Mom passed. She said that Mom had a life before me, but I never had one without her. She was my best friend. She taught me, fought for me, protected me, and loved me. We laughed together and shared many tears over the years and no matter what happened, our bond was always strong. She had a heart so big that it felt like you could climb inside of it. Towards the end of her life it felt like our connection was even more pure and innocent and although she might not have remembered my name, she never forgot the love that always existed between us.
When we lose someone we love so deeply, we seem to be at our weakest and most vulnerable state of all. Our lifeline has been cut, our umbilical cord to life severed. And we travel aimlessly, untethered, until we learn how to hear with new ears and feel with new hearts, realizing that we simply need to learn how to navigate this new way of existence.
A few months before Mom passed, I was walking down the hall with her and she stopped and looked up at me with her beautiful hazel eyes and asked, "Will you always know me?"
I choked back the tears and answered, “Of course I will, Mom.”
Some might think it was just a thought that came from someone who had dementia, but I knew when she said it that this was not the case.
One day she smiled at me and said, “I am you.” And I smiled back because somehow I knew she was right.
When someone is passing there are inordinate details, decisions, and issues to take care of and yet I have to say that for me, I went into a strange state of mind and seemed to blast through this part with the greatest of ease. Mom somehow filled that empty place inside of me and became the strength to assist me in making her funeral plans. A friend commented that she could see her when she looked at me. Mom’s words “I am you” echoed in my mind and I smiled again.
What I know from experience is this. Those who have passed "on" have simply passed through this dimension of density. Mom has made herself known in so many ways that there is not a doubt in my mind that she is vibrantly alive and well, possibly and probably even more so than when she was limited by the confines of her human body.
I know now that she can hear me clearly. I have made requests, some silently and some tearfully and desperately.
Once I cried out loud that I needed to know she was still there and the phone rang minutes after. A minister friend of mine was on the other end of the line and said, “Robyn…I have your Mom here…surrounded by a legion of angels.” And during our conversation he used words and phrases that only Mom would know. It was surreal.
I have found angel cards with the exact message that I needed to hear, that she was doing well where she was now and that she knew that I did the best that I could. I found things that she had given me in years past, had my eyes fall on something that I needed to see, had dreams in which she hugged me when I needed it the most and times when it happened during wakefulness. I have picked up her Valentine’s Day teddy bear that I kept and found it warm to the touch. The miracles are innumerable. And a new star was birthed a few days after she passed.
I have felt her sitting with me at her gravesite, only now she is not just my Mother, but my child, sister, angel, self, Spirit…God. Again, words fail to express the realizations that come through when this occurs.
I can almost hear her voice saying "I'm right here." We are the ones who cannot see or feel them unless we try and are open. It is a different, more subtle way of communication, but it is real, perhaps more real than anything we have experienced here in this Earth dimension.
There is a way that we can adjust our vibration to theirs and simply allow the transitioned soul to participate and interact with us and accept their assistance because I am absolutely positive that they are willing to help us through this process in every way possible.
They can also assist us in feeling their state of being, that new and yet original home of unconditional love where they live in timelessness, without the restrictions of the invisible cage of the human body, and are filled with Divine grace and compassion. Having experienced the unconditional love that exists on the "other side", I can tell you that when one is allowed to feel this if only for a moment, there is no way to stop the tears from flowing. It is as if we become the love that needed a place to go.
It is up to us to lift the veil that surrounds our hearts so that we can see with new eyes and experience that unconditional love that exists right here with us. We must learn or perhaps remember a new language whose words exist in nature or come through music and dreams, and might be spoken or shared through others.
Now Mom is the star that was birthed after her transition, the wind on my skin, the butterfly that skims the bush outside of my window and the white egret that circles overhead, flapping its wings in acknowledgment when I ask for a sign, beckoning to me to leave my own cage and join her. Yes, Mom. I will always know you.
She was my gravity here on Earth and now she invites me to fly, offering her wings. She has a message for me and for all of us.
Perhaps the emptier we are, the more we can be filled. And death is not a loss of life, but merely a loss of density.
Some lights burn out, but Mom’s was shining more brightly than ever as she neared the end of her journey on Earth in a physical form, returning to the same home that we all carry deep inside of us.
I will love her forever…as before, after, and always. Like a sweet, soft symphony, I can still hear her now…and I know her. I will always know her.
Light up the sky, beautiful Mama and sing with the angels.
Robyn Justo is the author of “The Expiration Date." She has written for the Foolish Times, the Macomb Observer, Senior Wire, Hopelessly Romantic, GO 60, and Kinetics Magazine.
Robyn has been a sales and marketing executive in the high tech and advertising fields over the years and is also a Reiki Master and intuitive healer. She has always had a foot in both the spiritual and three-dimensional worlds.
She is now living and writing peacefully on the beautiful island of Maui.