“There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is.” –Albert Einstein
I have long believed that those we love never truly leave us. While it is so that they are not physically present, the essence of who they are remains in our hearts forever.
One particular experience brought that point home with indisputable clarity. On October 13, 2000, I turned forty-two. The last birthday I celebrated in Michael’s company was my fortieth and that was spent in his hospital room a few months prior to his passing.
This year, I asked him for a clear communication; a cosmic birthday card. My birthday came and went with no discernible message from Michael. “Hmmm,” I thought, “Perhaps time is measured differently on the Other Side.”
On October 14th, I was standing in my side yard with my son Adam and a neighbor, woefully eyeing decidedly dead evergreen trees. Since he was a landscaper, I asked my neighbor what he would charge to remove the trees so that they could leap to their next incarnation as mulch. Before he could answer, a shiny, silver object caught his eye. He pointed to a brown, sparsely needled branch. I followed his finger with my gaze and was astounded to see Michael’s L.L. Bean sports watch that I had given him as a gift more than five years earlier. It was hanging perfectly still on that withered branch. Hands shaking and heart tapping out a staccato rhythm, I asked Adam, “Did you put Daddy’s watch on the tree?”
Eyes wide, Adam responded, “No, I don’t know how it got there.” Hearing the theme from “The Twilight Zone” echoing in my ears, I turned the watch over and noted that it wasn’t rusted or waterlogged, as it would have been, had it hung suspended from the branch for more than two years. That would have been the last time Michael would have been in the yard, in proximity with the tree. I had mown the lawn countless times in the past two years and surely would have noticed the watch. My next thought was that this was my…
Birthday message: a day late perhaps, but clearly meant for me. As I peered carefully at the timepiece, which lay in my open palm, a startling image appeared. The time at which the watch had ceased its function was 11:42 a.m. which was…. you got it… the same time I observed on the clock in Michael’s hospital room, when his inner timekeeper refrained from ticking off the moments of his life.
Even now, six months after the seemingly remarkable experience, I am left with a sense of wonder and comfort. Maybe Michael was trying to tell me that he’ll be with me for all time, or that time really doesn’t matter. Perhaps he was reminding me that time passes so quickly and we never know when the instant will come for us each to move on, so we need to appreciate each other every day. Or just maybe, he was taking a moment in time to stop by and say that I was on his mind as he was on mine when I marked another milestone in my life.
Food For Thought…. Contact From Our Loved Ones
What is your belief about after-death communication? Does it seem far-fetched or even frightening to you? Countless people I have encountered have found it to be immensely comforting to know that someone they love is safe and happy; purposeful in their new life. There are times when I am traveling in my car, a refreshing breeze wafting through open windows and I experience a compelling sense that Michael is nearby.
I take a deep breath and the sense becomes a “knowing”; a certainty that he is indeed present. At that moment, I am enveloped in what psychologist Abraham Maslow called a “peak experience”. I call it my “transfusion from Heaven”, as if Michael is reminding me that this is what his life now feels like and that I need not die to have that feeling right this very minute and anytime I choose. Heaven on Earth, indeed.
Rev. Edie Weinstein-Moser
