Do not dilute

Not all experiences are meant to be shared without thought to time, place and audience. I'm not referring to events such as being rear-ended (yes, that did happen today, no harm to me, big hole in the bumper) or examples of rudeness or kindness that mark time during the day. I'm talking about life-altering, mind-blowing phenonemon that forever impress themselves on our daily lives. Even though these milestones seem to cry out to be shared because they carry such incredible meaning, imparting their sweet goodness without discretion dilutes the message until it is weak and ordinary. And it deserves so much better. I've been a bit slow to learn this but I think I finally have. For instance, sharing something extraordinary at a party amidst loud music and talking is not a good choice. Sharing it on my blog is good.

My mother died almost 3 months ago after a long and difficult illness. Walking through its hell with her was incredibly exhausting and painful, and it put me through contortions of spirit, love, hope and faith. I was not ready to lose her (how could I ever be ready?) but she had suffered so much for so long and I am grateful her pain is over. I have no regrets about things I wish I'd said or not said and that brings me peace.

But my biggest source of comfort came mere moments after my mom's death. As we - my dad, my brother and myself - stood next to her bed, numb with grief and shock, the most inexplicable experience of my life occurred. I had a sensation of shimmering light in the air around me, like sunlit reflections off water, and I heard my mom's voice say, "I am okay." It was over in a heartbeat. I've struggled to describe it. Experience, vision, encounter...none of them work for me. I've settled on "gift."

It was immediate, brief and supernatural (in the good sense, not the freaky) but I know it was real. I know my mom is in heaven with all our loved ones who have preceeded her in death. The memory of this doesn't waiver and I'm filled with such profound faith and gratitude.

I do miss my mom. Sadness creeps into my day at unexpected moments and sparked by the oddest things, such as opening a drawer and finding my mom's apron. Tears come but contrary to my fears, I don't fall to pieces and melt away. I have discovered a core of strength I didn't know I had (although considering my parents' examples, I shouldn't be surprised) and I know I'll make it through. And during my most difficult moments, I take out my gift, breathe in its goodness, bask in its light, and thank God I was open to a shining moment of grace.

I had always thought that we became pure light when we die but I never expected anything that might come close to qualifying as proof.