Tarja,
Welcome.
I am writing this response to you with two caveats: 1) I have not read your other posts on the dreams; 2)I do not want to give you an opinion as to what is going on, but to share an experience. I find experiences of any kind to be wrapped in cultural context, belief systems, etc., and so I would rather share an experience and what I drew from my experience. In this way, I feel that I will retain the essence of your question and give you something to consider than to believe.
I read the beginning of your post with much interest because it resonated with me. To my knowledge, I have not shared this experience on any site that I have visited, so I share it here for the first time.
As to weird experiences -- well, my friend, I can understand this and fully appreciate the experience(s) behind the statement.
Several months ago, I had a dream that my mother was going to die. It actually began during my meditation when I was shown a coffin with greenery (it looked like a blanket of ivy) across it. I instantly realized it was my mother's coffin. I ended my meditation at that point, because I didn't want to pursue it. What this meditation did was spark a feeling in me -- one of fear and despair that I would lose someone very precious too me. It kindled a desire to spend much time talking with her, being with her, appreciating her. We discovered later that she had cancer and that it was terminal.
The meditation was followed a few weeks later by a dream wherein my sister informed me that she had received our mother's death certificate. The dream ended rather abruptly, because I was startled by the innocence of it and the sudden significance. I also knew that I would be there when she died, whether I wanted to be or not. She had always told me that she did not want to die alone and I told her I would be there. Four months later, she died. I was at her bedside and I was devastated. The house had been full of people and they had left and then she had died with me standing by her bedside. Just before my brother left to return home, he was talking to her -- she was medicated so that she couldn't really speak clearly. I asked her if she could say goodbye by squeezing his hand -- something she and I developed as a code of comfort and understanding. It was odd at the time, because I never say "goodbye" but had always said "talk to later". Fifteen minutes after he and the others left, her breathing became shallow. My mother was not to be resucitated if she died. I knew that, all her requests and paperwork and conversations reflected that. So, I sat there, waiting, watching. When she stopped breathing, I was overwrought. There I sat, a child wanting to keeping their mother alive until help came; and this other person, keeping a promise to someone I loved.
I wondered what she saw, what she felt, how the transition occurred. Questions of the afterlife flooded my mind.
As faith would have it, there was an accident on the interstate which caused a delay in the arrival of medical personnel to the home by five hours. I stayed with her until they arrived. She was never alone for a moment.
Afterwards, my sister came into the house. Hospice had set up a bed in my mother's room. I was going to remove the sheets, etc., have the bed ready for removal. I told my sister that mother would have wanted it taken down. But at my sisters request, I remade the bed and on our way out, I closed the her closet door -- she always kept it slid open for some reason.
We walked into the kitchen and I called my second sister. As we were talking, there were three loud thumps on the wall opposite the kitchen -- which would have been my mother's room. I looked at my sister, who said "what was that?" and the dog, my mother's favorite pet, was going crazy in the hallway, barking at my mother's room. My sister on the phone asked what the dog was barking for and I told her we needed to go check on something.
We entered the living room and the dog ran passed my sister and out of the house. She looked at me. I walked down the hallway, took one step into the bedroom, then stepped back out. I called my sister to my side and she looked into the room, then looked back at me. The bed I had re-made was now undone with the air mattress (for pressure points) folded upward toward the head of the bed. I flipped on the light and I looked around the corner. The closet door had been slid back open. Oddly, I took a camera and asked if my mother was around to give me a sign. I snapped a few photos and there is one orb in the left hand side of the photo. Later, someone snapped a picture of me and there is one on the right side of my shoulder just above the ear.
A month after her death, her presence was still felt, perfume, etc.. I had an OBE and was walking around my house. I walked into the living room and as I passed by the sofa, I heard my name called. I turned and my mother was lying on the sofa. She beckoned me and I walked over to her and sat down on the edge of the sofa. Then, she took my hand in her hands, and I can STILL feel that. Our code, real or imagined at that moment, brought relief.
Now, this is really long-winded, and I am sorry. But I needed an illustration. You see, I think that the death of my mother was given to me so that I could fully appreciate the time I had left with her. I don't think I created the event, but that I created within my and around me the environment that allowed me to have access to that information. Because of this, I saw it as a gift, as were the conversations, the memories, the laughter, all that we shared before and up until the moment her physical body died. Many asked why I didn't try a healing meditation and often quite surprised when I tell them that my mother did not request any assistance. Besides, who was I to impose my will upon another? Who was I to determine why she was having this experience? Who was I to deny her? She did ask for help with pain, and that I did offer as per her request, her often telling me that her body was numb afterwards. For those of you known to TMI, I used the REBAL as she was dying to aid her and to comfort her like a blanket, by expanding mine until it enveloped her. Oddly, I think of it now as an energy womb that I housed her in, an odd analogy consider that she gave birth to me.
Also, as faith would have it, the death certificates were mailed inadvertantly to me, and my sister told me what they were when she opened them. Coincidences? Perhaps. Verifications and validations? Perhaps. For me? A wonderful experience I shall cherish always.
People tell me that I handled it quite smoothly. I remember that when asked about my grief, I would tell them: It only hurts in the silence between the heartbeats. [I have no clue where THAT line ever came from, but it's great nonetheless.]
Thank you for sharing your story.
With affection,
E.
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Preminition of sons death (Read 3534 times)
