(I could have used a story I had written a few years ago called “Remembering Wondering Moments”, but I was inspired to push the envelop and expand on that piece. It didn’t work. Too many examples made it confusing and unclear. I learnt that it is better to stick with a few examples that are linked with a common theme. Less is better.)
I don’t remember when I first became aware of the subjects of reincarnation or paranormal phenomenon. As a child growing up in Calgary, they were not subjects of conversation in our household. I do know that I have always been comfortable with the ideas. Something rang true to me, made sense and seemed a natural fit with my developing belief system.
Perhaps it was the atmosphere of acceptance in our household. Growing up, it was a common experience to hear those dejavu type stories from my dad. I remember him coming home from a plumbing job and telling us that he remembered the house he had been at that day. Although he had never been there before, it was familiar and he told the owner where everything was. I remember my mom would patiently, politely listen to my dad, never saying much, so I don’t really know what she really thought.
One time, when I was living in Vancouver, I was in the hospital for gall bladder surgery. Just as I was waking up back in my hospital room, I remember saying out loud, “How do you think I feel, I just had surgery?” No one was there. The next time I was back in Calgary for a visit, my mom and dad asked me if anything strange had happened the day I had surgery and I told them what happened. Then they told me their story. According to them, when dad got home from work, he went to sit in his favorite chair in the living room and instantly found himself in my hospital room in Vancouver and had asked me how I was feeling. We left the experience at that.
In 1982, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. Doctors operated and found that the cancer had spread extensively so they closed him up. They treated him with heavy doses of chemotherapy and sent him home. Weak and frustrated he spent hours as he tried his best to clean out the garage, not wanting to leave mom with the job.
After dads surgery, I returned home to Vancouver. A couple weeks later my mom phoned to tell us that dad was missing. He had said he was going for a walk and didn’t return. A transit bus driver came forward when he saw the story and picture on the front page of the Calgary newspaper. He remembered my dad because he had to wake him up at the end of the line in Bowness. Someone else had seen and talked to him. When I went out to the kitchen after that phone call, I noticed a match book square in the middle of the floor at least 6 feet from the counter. A mystery with no logical explanation as to how it got there. I took it as a sign from my dad.
I stayed in Vancouver on the off chance that dad might be making his way to see me. I contacted everyone in my circle of physic friends. I was told that he was near a body of water. Part of me still didn’t want to hear the truth.
The very next day as I was driving along, I noticed a funeral procession directly behind me. An experience that I had never had before and have not had since. I gave thanks to my dad for preparing me.
Mom phoned with the news that they had found dads body in the Bow River.
I knew that my dad’s family was Anglican but I don’t remember my dad ever going to church. So at the funeral when the Anglican minister started getting into heavy religious comments that didn’t reflect who my dad was at all, I started getting angry. Just then the minister used my dad’s brother’s name, Gordon, by mistake. It was an appropriate moment, as my uncle did go to church regularly. Again, my dad was taking care of me from beyond saving the day.
In the weeks after dad’s funeral we tackled the garage. What do you do with 17 toilet tank lids of various colors that we found stored in the rafters! Dad’s fellow plumbers came to the rescue and hauled away truck loads of stuff.
Growing up I always thought the youngest of my dad’s 4 brothers, Gordon, was the ‘black sheep’ of the family. A real momma’s boy, he always lived at home with his parents. On a vacation to Australia one year he came back with a wife. Auntie Margaret and Uncle Gordon moved to Victoria. We rarely saw them. Years later they got a divorce.
When his bothers in Calgary heard that Gordon was in the Victoria Hospice, they asked if I could spent time visiting him as there was no way they could come. I barely recognized him when I arrived. I traveled back and forth staying over night on the pull out sofa beds set up on the hospice ward. The hospice volunteer was surprised to meet me, as Uncle Gordon had told her that he didn’t have any family. I learned from other visitors that Uncle Gordon was well known and a well liked fixture in the local mall. I enjoyed getting to know Uncle Gordon.
The hospice nurse phoned me at home in Vancouver to let me know that Uncle Gordon had slipped into a coma and that the end was near. I spent those last days sitting with him, playing music and reading to him. One morning the nurse woke me up in the family room to let me know the time was near. She was back in a couple minutes to say he was gone. Just as he was in life, he chose a moment when he was alone. I made a few phone calls. Arrangements in place, I headed back to Vancouver.
Ralph and I went to Victoria the day before the funeral, or so we thought. We were representing the family that was back in Calgary. On the ferry I saw the obituary in the Victoria newspaper – the funeral was that day. What a helpless feeling. When we got off the ferry we made a couple of phone calls to find out that they had left us messages on our answering machine to let us know the date had been changed. We had checked our answering machine and heard no messages. Once we got back home, we listened to the answering machine again and all the messages were there. So Uncle Gordon had gotten his way after all, no family.
I marvel at the timing of this topic being on the heels of the Memoirs Writing class
homework assignment where I noticed that it is my dad’s side of the family that is connected to these kinds of ‘wonder’ moments.
Bizarre stories to some. I always wonder where our lives would have taken us if we had explored these connections further. I trust that some day the answers will be revealed. For now, I will just patiently, politely wait as I wonder. Wink.
By Lynn Keeling
Jan 30, 2009
No comments:
Post a Comment