The Story of Us--Past Installments

Robin's story

My beautiful 19-year-old son Morris was killed in his apartment Jan. 17, 2008, less than two months after leaving home to attend college. It was a senseless tragic accident with a shotgun held by a roommate who had been one of his best friends since they were both about 8 years old. From the moment I found out time -- as I knew it -- stopped for me.  

I had raised Morris alone since infancy and cherished every minute of it. His father had some problems I had hoped he would surmount during the pregnancy. He didn’t and I left him when Morris was just two weeks old. From that point on my son was my focus, the love of my life and my greatest joy.

As he grew I noted the quiet and consistent way Morris took responsibility and the kind and genuine way he treated people. I didn’t realize until after it happened how many others had also taken note. More than 900 people showed up from around the country for his funeral. The rabbi said more than 600 of them were under the age of 20, many who flew in on a day's notice from out-of-state colleges.  Friends who weren't able to make it home in time held services for him in Gainesville, Duke University and in Israel. There were more than 300 of his friends at an impromptu memorial two days before, where the rabbi said he was expecting to counsel maybe 5 to 10 people. Letters and notes from people came everyday for months telling of some act of kindness Morris did, how important he made them feel and what a special relationship he had with each person. It was clear, no matter who it was he met or spoke with, he left a lasting impression.

Of all the stories I told the reporter who did the first newspaper article, she chose to include how in high school when a friend came out, he refused to distance himself, reminding other boys who were nervous about it that this was the same kid they’d known all their lives.  She mentioned it was appropriate his funeral was held on Martin Luther King Day because he had a picture of Martin Luther King on the wall by his bed for years -- a reflection of his own belief in human rights and diversity.

There’s more about the way he lived his life and what he brought to others on the website for the foundation formed in his memory: The Morris Stein Foundation (MoSt). The foundation’s broad mission:  to make the world we live in a better place by encouraging individual responsibility and fostering awareness of ways to take responsibility.  The motto -- do the MoSt for the environment; for animal rescue; for tolerance and diversity; and for gun safety; Get the MoSt Out of Life -- reflects the causes and ideals Morris held close to his heart and exemplified by his actions.

There is an online petition I’ve begun for Safety Instruction before Gun Ownership As a gesture of support, please take a moment after reading this to click on the link and sign: http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/safety-instruction-before-gun-ownership

Soon after the funeral one of my friends brought over the book We Don’t Die, George Anderson’s Conversations with the Other Side by Joel Martin and Patricia Romanowski. She explained it had helped her when her father passed a couple of years before. It sat on my shelf for nearly three months before I could even bring myself to open it. I began reading it sometime in April, around the time my cousin’s teenage daughter Lindsey came with one of her friends to stay with me on their spring break.

Their visit forced me to get out a bit and I ferried  them to a few places so they would have an interesting time. One afternoon,  I took them to South Beach, the whole time wishing Morris was with us or that I’d gone with him before he left. Driving home on the causeway a song by The Fray came on the radio. I had been thinking about Joseph, the boy who held the shotgun when it went off. The words of the song hit me,  “Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend... I would have stayed up with you all night, Had I known how to save a life...”  

I was just overwhelmed and started to cry while driving Morris’ Scion TC. It’s a stick-shift and he wasn’t crazy about my driving it in the first place. I could almost hear him saying “Mom, don’t cry while you’re driving my car.”  Lindsey asked if I wanted to pull over or get off at the next exit. I told her I was okay, pulled myself together and focused on just driving, keeping both hands on the wheel, merging to go north on I95 and then turning on the blinker to merge three lanes over. When I turned the blinker off, I realized the hazard lights were blinking. I asked Lindsey if she had put them on.  She said no.  I didn’t know where the control was located to even turn them off.  It took a moment but we figured out where the switch was on the dashboard near the radio controls and turned them off as another song played now:  “You promised me you'd be around... I believed...If someone said three years from now you'd be long gone I'd stand up and punch them out cause they're all wrong... Who knew... When someone said count your blessings now 'fore they're long gone... Who knew”.  I felt like everything was so surreal and turned to Lindsey and asked “are you hearing the same words I’m hearing?” She was. The minute we got home I googled the lyrics and found out the song is  “Who Knew” by Pink from her album entitled “I’m Not Dead.”

A few things had happened before this that also took my breath away. For months after there was a series of other wonderful spectacular signs that could not possibly be mere coincidences. I would note them, photograph them and collect them. But I still questioned their source and whether or not I was reaching by attributing the signs to messages from my son.

I decided, with my friends’ encouragement, to make an appointment to see George in person. Prior to my meeting with him, I wrote down a few questions I had for my son and for George.  Nearly every single question was answered in some way.

During the session George said “you’re sign crazy correct? In other words you’ve seen several of them.” He went on to say that Morris had “joked and said whether it be a color or a number” there have been signs.


“Without explaining your son keeps showing me initials. He’s done it three times. This is another one of his signs. Out in public you see the initials from his name when you least expect it…Even if you never came to see me in your life, you could catalog to a degree that you have had signs.”

He said that Morris showed him the back of a car, a license plate with initials. He’s sending signs to keep me going.

Initials, as well as numbers and colors, had been showing up for me just as George said: an M etched in the pew in front of me at a church wedding; and MOE Boston 06 carved in the highest rafter of a wooden tower I climbed near the beach. My biggest and most poignant sign was a handprint with a heart in the center I had begun to see in unexpected places, on clothing tags, license tags and even a small piece of paper I found on the beach in Spain under my mother’s wheelchair. I thought that was what George was seeing when he mentioned being shown a license plate until Morris’ friend Nick -- whose name was mentioned in the discernment -- showed me that he had special ordered a commemorative plate with Morris’ initials and RIP for his car.

After reading “We Don’t Die” and before my appointment, I read two books written by George Anderson and Andrew Barone and another book about George by Joel Martin. In all of the readings in all of the books, there was no other mention of “Oedipus” or use of the Yiddish word “futzing” that I can recall, both part of our family humor and both mentioned in passing by George in our discernment.

“You’re obsessed,” he said at one point. “I was when he was alive,” I replied, laughing in between tears.

Yes, there were general statements that could have applied to almost any loss situation. George told me I’d “been through the mill.” That I was left behind and wish I could’ve taken his place. He said “You’re a mess. You’ll never be the same again.” He also said I wish I could’ve saved him, that I would have gladly sacrificed myself for him and that I feel like I could’ve or should’ve done something to prevent it.

But there were enough particulars, enough nuances and subconscious choice of words to make me feel I was hearing from my beautiful son. 

At one point it felt like a familiar direct negotiation was going on between us. He was trying to convince me that he wouldn’t be there if he wasn’t supposed to be there. I was and am sure he left before his time. George explained, sounding so much like Morris, that he would not have wanted to be here in his body if he couldn’t live a full and independent life. “He is his own person on his own unique journey.”

George mentioned it’s not like something  “mom kisses and makes all better.” I took that to mean maybe Morris saw me at the hospital, at the funeral home and at the funeral after he was gone from his body, when I was kissing his right shoulder, his hand and talking to him quietly on that side, as that was the side that was open to me. I had thought he had been shot on his left shoulder and found out later it was his right shoulder and that the stitches I had seen at the hospital were from part of the emergency effort to save him.

I had made the appointment with George and my hotel reservations in my friend Sandy’s name, more for the people who I expected would cast doubt upon my return than for me. I was so convinced by what I had read of the readings and George’s humble, quiet way.

Still, there were no guarantees and as I waited in the lobby to be called for my appointment, my emotions and the fear I could leave without having made any kind of connection to Morris overtook me and I began to cry before I even went in the room.

“What’d [she] do, get lost? What’s the hold up?,” was the first thing George said he was hearing from the male presence who had come forward and was most excited and most wanting to begin the session. That would so be Morris.  George said immediately there were two other males and two females there as well -- no doubt the only other immediate family I’ve lost, my father, grandfather, grandmother and a sister. They stood by in the background.

There were points where I was frustrated. I already knew who my son was to me and how he had died. I wanted so desperately just to tell George and to hear information I didn’t know. But I resisted and let the information come the way George requested.

“Can I tell you,” I ask. “No,” George said, “I want him to tell me.”

I don’t know if he works that way for the skeptics or if years of experience have shown him that people only cheat themselves when they don’t allow the information to come on its own. Whatever his reason,  I’m certain it’s really for us, the ones left behind, so we don’t miss out on any of the treasures our loved ones want to share we us.  Now, because I waited, I have a recording of George telling me Morris was explaining how close we were to one another, how unique and loving our relationship had been and the depth of the love bond between us.  That to me has been a great comfort and I have listened to it again and again.

“You do have a tie in the heart,” The two of you just fit like a glove,” I hear George say. “He’s showing me you’re linked in the heart...  You and he had such a nice loving relationship. The relationship must be very unique. The love is very deep....he comes as family but he also comes as a very good friend. The friendship is there as well so it’s a double hit.”

There’s also a double edge to listening to the recording. I wince when I hear myself after the session, when the months of anonymous planning, all the questions I had for George about the books and all the emotions of being there boiled over and spewed out of me. If Morris was still nearby I know he was saying “uh oh, there she goes.” He was always the one who would reel me in, or at least try.  To his credit, George took the ride and was gracious and understanding in his response.

I met with George on Jan. 21, 2009, exactly a year since the funeral and just one day after Obama’s inauguration.  During the campaign, whenever I heard Obama speak, I saw Morris and all he could have become with his innate intelligence, compassion, charisma and big picture view of the world. I saw it in his writings as well, especially in his last essay for college. Written just a month before it happened, it explains his view of the appropriate use of power and strength. I am so proud of him and  what he wrote:

“Ostentation reveals the not so attractive truth, which is fear and vulnerability. Booker T. Washington knew that you don’t have to degrade another to promote yourself when he said “There are two ways of exerting one’s strength: one is pushing down, the other is pulling up”…, Instead of having hate for the cards he was dealt he used education to achieve what he wanted. The fact that the quote was said by a man with his history makes it that much more insightful to me. What I mean is that if he had that much clarity, peace and understanding of himself and the world around him what excuse could I ever have for not helping others, or “pulling up”.
 
I can truly say that I love Booker T. Washington for everything that he was but more importantly everything he wasn’t. He did not succumb to the ignorant and racist people in his world attempting to oppress him. He did not resort to violence in the face of hate; he achieved everything he wanted without using someone else as a stepping stool. This quote means so much to me because of its obviousness and its genius. I consider someone who brings one person out of privation stronger than someone who’s ruined hundreds of their competitors to get to the sought after “top”.
 

There’s a link to the entire essay and more of his writings on a page of the foundation’s website: www.theMoStFoundation.org/essays


I hope my son knows the impact he has had on everyone whose life he touched, how special he was and how much he is loved.  I miss him so much there are no words to describe it.  And, eventually, I will see George again.

 

Robert's story 

When I decided to share my story about losing my brother, Will, I thought that it would be another story about how he impacted the lives of the people who loved him and how great of a loss it's been since he's been gone. The more I thought about it, the more I read other stories, I realized that there was one story I really did not see...the one of the sibling that was left behind.

To say that I loved my brother is a huge understatement.  He was my hero, my mentor, and my shelter in the many storms life has brought me.  We were two peas in a pod, brothers by blood, best friends by choice.  There simply was nothing I could not tell him and he never judged my bad decisions, he just always stood beside me to guide me through it all.  Back then, I was considered Mr. Fix It...if you had a problem, I tried to fix it.  So many times he would grab me by my shoulders and tell me that I wasn't Atlas...that I couldn't put the problems of the world on my shoulders.  He just had this great way of putting me in check without it being insulting or condescending.  With humor and compassion, he was able to help me solve many a problem and realize that it's o.k. if I thought of myself once in a while.  We would spend a lot of time together, just hanging out or talking on the phone catching up on the day's occurrences.

 
Then the day I was so unprepared for came.  On September 8, 2003, I received a phone call from my sister-in-law telling me that my brother was in the emergency room suffering from really bad stomach pains.  So I rushed to the hospital not knowing what was to come...if I only knew.  I stood there throughout the night with him cracking jokes and talking away the hours as he was going through all of his tests.  At around 4 a.m., he was brought up to his room because they were going the keep him for observation.  Before I left his room, I turned around and told him that I loved him and he replied the same.  Now there was no doubt that we loved each other, the thing is we never verbally expressed it to one another.  But for some reason, I felt that I had to tell him then and there.  That one moment would turn out to be my saving grace because just knowing that the last words my brother uttered to me was the he loved me brought me solace in the aftermath of his passing.  After I left him, he apparently slipped into a coma while he slept.  The diagnosis of my brother's stomach pain turned out to be pancreatic cancer.  On September 26, just shy of three weeks since he was admitted and 3 weeks to the day of his 34th birthday, my brother passed away.
The point of my story is this: after my brother died, we his siblings were all shell shocked but had to put our feelings on the back burner.  We had to put my parents grief in the forefront, followed by his wife and kids.  So where did that leave us?  We lost a brother, which is like losing a piece of your heart. I guess in our society, siblings are left in the background to deal with their pain and suffering in the shadows.  There were countless times when people would ask me about my brother's passing, their questions would always be how are my parents doing or his family.  Which is fine and very much appreciated, but very rarely was I asked how I was coping with it or how were my siblings coping with their loss.  I now find that, in the six years since his passing, that it's permissible to make your grief known.  It's not healthy keeping all of the feelings of anger, sadness and confusion inside.  My parents lost a great son, my sister-in-law lost a great husband and his children lost a great father.  But we lost a great brother and I lost my best friend.

I now accept that it's fine to acknowledge my feelings as a sibling that lost his brother.  For a long time there, I felt the need to suppress my grief because it wasn't proper to think of myself over the feelings of my parents, sister-in-law and his kids.  It wasn't until a good friend told me, "...but you lost someone that you loved also..." that I began to allow myself to begin to heal from this loss. 

I still have my bad days, which is normal  I am now able to appreciate his life and the time I was fortunate to share with him while he was alive in this plane.  Whenever I feel downtrodden over his passing, I just reminisce about all of the funny things he used to do, and I allow myself to smile.  If I need to cry, I allow myself to do that also.  I just won't let myself spiral down in despair because of his passing.  Because the truth is, before I know it, I'll see my brother again and it will be like our separation never happened. 

I LOVE YOU WILL
 

 

 

Charlotte's story

I turned out the light in the den and walked slowly through the living room, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.  As I walked down the hall, I noticed that the bedroom door was ajar; and a light was visible through the opening.  I was certain that I had not left the light on.  My heart began to race, and I could feel it pounding inside my chest.
 
    For a moment I hesitated--then I continued to walk slowly toward the bedroom door.  I was no longer afraid . . . a little apprehensive perhaps, but not really afraid, because I knew what was beyond that door.  I slowly reached for the door knob and opened the door.  Mike was lying on his side with his head propped up on his elbow at the foot of the bed.  "I miss you, Mike," I said in almost a whisper.  "It's late.  You need to rest," I said, as I turned off the light and closed the door.
 
    That was April of 1989, six months after his suicide.  I had always had difficulty with the church preaching about burning in Hell, and I had even more difficulty believing that anyone who ended his own life would be denied entry to Heaven.  To me, that seemed as illogical as a loving parent turning his back on a child at that child's greatest moment of need.
 
    That dream of Mike was the first of many visitations from him.  I say "visitations" because they were completely different from dreams--a difference that I cannot describe with words.  As I replayed the visit in my mind, the only thing I could detect that was different about Mike was the waxy look of his skin, which was the way his skin looked at his funeral.  I think this was Mike's way of telling me that the body I was seeing was the body that had died; but his visit stemmed from his concern about me and that was from the spirit of the Mike who still lived and the Mike to whom I was married for so many years.
 
    I prayed for a sign to tell me that I was correct in believing that he still lived, and there was later another "visit in a dream" from my Mike.  He and I were outside one night; and being in a really playful mood, he shot one of his guns into the night.  (Being a "Texas Cowboy", he collected guns and knives and idolized John Wayne.)  I said, Mike, you can't be shooting your gun out here.  That's against the law."  He smiled that smile that I have seen so many times, and asked, "What are they going to do?  Arrest me?"  And then he added, with a grin, "They can't.  I'm dead."  I quickly said, "You aren't dead?  You are right here next to me!"  He again flashed that "impish little boy's smile" that had first attracted me to him.  That smile stated loudly, "Yes . . . alive and well!"
 
    How comforting it was, years later, to read your words that even those who commit suicide do not die!  Mike was telling me that; but, after reading your words, it was comforting to know that I was not merely believing what I wanted to believe.
 
    Mike was a college chemistry teacher who always believed our daughter would be a good teacher and would be able to help those who entered college wanting to be a brain surgeon but who could not read on a fifth grade level.  With Mike watching over Melanie as her guardian angel, she became a teacher, while at the same time struggling to be both mother and father to her children.  Although her plate is full as a single parent, a teacher, and a doctoral student, she is almost finished with her doctorate.  She is tired, but she has made a great difference in the lives of many students.  Yes, Mike still lives; and he is very near.  There is no doubt in my mind that we will all be together again when our journey here on Earth is finished.

 

 

Jo's story

Have you ever had one of those “clarity” moments? The kind that make you think – “Duh! Why didn’t I ever think of that before?” Well, I had one just this past week. I was on vacation in Virginia Beach, Virginia – right on the ocean. It was awesome. I had gone there many times with my husband before he passed. As I was walking the Boardwalk I teasingly said to him. “Okay, I know you’re here with me. Just show me a sign.” Not that I try to be that demanding, but I have always required proof on most things. So later that day I was coming out of the grocery store, and sure enough, I found a penny lying there right in front of the door. It was a 1991. And what does that mean? That was the first year that my husband and I came to Virginia Beach on vacation.

And that was the beginning of my “clarity” moment. It suddenly dawned on me that I have been truly blessed since the passing of my 23-year old son, my 51 year-old husband, and my 92-year old father, with assurances from them that they are alive and well and around me all the time.

When my son passed in a house fire from smoke inhalation in 1996 my life was devastated. For six months I suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and I could barely function. Little by little I worked my way through, only to discover in 1997 that my husband had terminal cancer. I was indeed a lost soul.

As I look back now I am remembering all the things my son did to remind me that I was not alone, and that he was alive, well, and very much with me. On the one-year anniversary of his burial we held a family/friends memorial at the cemetery. We scheduled everyone to be there at 11:00 AM. We would light candles, release signed balloons, and read memorial stories. My husband and I had decided not to set the alarm for that day and sleep in. What a surprise to us when the alarm went off at 8:00 AM - loud and clear! We both looked at each other with blame in our eyes, only to discover that neither of us had set it. In fact, it was not even set. It was just ringing. Leave it to my always-late son to make sure we were up bright and early to attend his memorial.

I have been blessed with little “gifts” many times over the years. The first time that I visited George Anderson, during our parting moments he gave me a picture of St. Joseph with a small blond boy because he said my son had told him that I needed something physical to hold on to when I was missing him most in my life. He was right. When I was deciding whether or not to buy a house near my friend in Las Vegas to use when I finally retired, I found a bright, shiny penny – a gift from my Dad. And to boot, the house had the address of my Dad’s age and then mine – and was on Red Rose Avenue. Red roses were what I had asked my Dad (before he passed) to give me as sign of his presence. When my friend moved, and I ended up selling that house, I made a good bit of profit – thanks to Dad.

It seems that any time I’m down and need a lift I find a “gift.” Usually a penny. Just last July I was in a bit of a slump (all three death anniversaries are in July) and asked my son for a sign to let me know that all was okay. Less than a day later I found a penny from the year of his birth inside my clothes dryer sitting right on the lip of my lint filter. I don’t put change in my pockets. It was incredible!

I was trying to make a decision whether or not to retire earlier this year. I wasn’t 62 yet and financially it could be a really risky time. I again asked for some divine guidance. That time I found three pennies within three days. I retired March 1^st.

So, just recently, when the financial markets started their downturn, and I got a bit scared - since I had just purchased a winter home in Texas down near my best friend - I asked again. Why not? They had never let me down. I got a bit worried, because I heard nothing for a week. And then – you won’t believe this – the next day I found a nickel in my bird feeder, right along the ridge. Since I’m the only one that puts in the seeds, I would have seen this fall in from the seed cup, but hadn’t. There is not a doubt in my mind that my message was loud and clear. “Hang in there, we’re there.”

My  moment of clarity came when I realized that I am truly blessed to receive all these messages and confirmations/encouragements. But I also realize that I see them because I’m “tuned in” to them. I believe the spirits on the other side are always trying to let us know they’re around, and that they’re doing great. I think we get so caught up in this physical and material world that we just overlook them. So be alert. Keep looking. The messages are there – maybe not as we would expect, but they’re there. There are many other instances where I’ve been contacted. It’s too long a list to recount here. But all of them keep letting me know I’m loved, and I’m never alone. It’s absolutely a wonderful, comforting truth! It makes this life bearable, and encourages me to go out and help others. Love never dies, and it is truly a blessing. 

 

 

Evelyn's story

I cant even tell you what my mom has been through! The hardest life I've ever imagined, as a child, in the war in Germany, seeing all of that, and then the Americans bombing Germany, and her grandmother's house bombed, and her dad in the German army  and being able to get them out of there and safely to Austria.

It was hell for a little girl!   The war finally ended in 1945, when she was 10, and thing did get better, but not much better.  My mom told me, even civilians were put in prison camps, she was in one, too.  Many bad things happened.  It wasn't the German people who did this, it was who we know, did this--the Nazi regime, and not the people of Germany.  Many of the war stories in books aren't all true--most are, but the government at the time did this to its own people.

My mom grew up, meets my dad,  an American soldier,  and falls in love and gets married.   They dreamed of a child--yes, me!  My mom had to say goodbye to my dad, however--he had to go back to America.  She can't go, the doctors say in Germany, because she has Tuberculosis, so my dad goes back to America and tried to get my mom to America.  It can't happen, because of red tape.

It was all bogus because she didn't actually have tuberculosis, but my mom is a German bride with an American husband and that was a big problem after the war. So, my mom stays in Germany, and I was born December 19th.  The day before my birth in Germany,  my dad was burned at work in NJ, at the plant he worked in.  He was there on his day off, hoping to make more overtime to be able to afford a bedroom set for when his wife and baby came.  Mom found out on the day I was born that he was hurt badly, and he found that day he had a baby girl. My grandfather said that he was badly burned and in great amounts of pain, but when he found out he had a little baby Evelyn, he smiled. 

My dad died two days before President Eisenhower signed a bill which allowed my mom and me to come to America. My mom didn't know he died until she got off the plane in America.  The story was in the news about us--I have newspaper articles from all over the world, about this story! It was the biggest story of the time.  

From that day, however, my mom has lived a difficult life, full of sorrow.  She is 72 yrs old, and we live a poor working life. Although her family was in Germany she stayed in America, for me, to have a better life-- she promised
my dad that. My mom deserves a medal for her life.  If I could give my mom one thing, besides all my love, it would be, to give her a little happiness in this life, and her to know her life isn't in vain. She went through war, bombings, and prison camp. Our story made President Eisenhower sign a bill for me and my Mom to be Americans, and we are so proud to be.

True story! ~o~  Evelyn
 

 

 

Losing a Daughter-Gaining an Angel

by Edward N.
 
Four years ago, I lost my lovely daughter, JoAnne, age 36-after a long illness.

Her passing was sudden-gone in an instant-and we never had a chance to say "Good-bye."  Hers was a long battle with a bladder disease-lots of pain. I felt helpless and asked God to help her in whatever way He chose. He did-He took her to Heaven and she is in His care and at Peace. But, my heart is forever broken as I miss her with every heart beat.
 
I have been a migraine sufferer for forty years.  JoAnne always worried about that. one night, about two months after JoAnne passed into Heaven, I was very sick with a migraine-couldn't get out of bed. I saw a bright light in my room-no one was there.  I put my head back on the pillow and "felt" JoAnne's fingers brush over my forehead-like a magnet pulling the pain away-never to return.  What a peaceful, beautiful feeling came over me.  My migraines have NOT returned-it has been more than four years since that night-no more headaches-first time since I was twelve years old that I have been headache free.  There is no doubt that this is a very special gift from my daughter.

 JoAnne visits me all the time now.  I feel her gentle touch to let me know that she is an active part of my life.  Just like today-I felt her presence when i decided to write this story-she approves.
 So, I did lose her that dreadful day but, God gave me the gift of a very special guardian angel-who better than my beautiful daughter, JoAnne.  She guides me through each day and what a joy it will be to behold her beautiful face when we meet again in Heaven.
 Thank you, JoAnne. I love you.

 

Diana's story:

We arrived at our favorite mountain cabin on Christmas Eve of 2003. This particular accommodation provided a kitchenette, loft, cable TV, and indoor Jacuzzi tub. The back deck overlooked a steep, wooded hill with a pleasantly loud, rushing creek barely visible through the trees. The evergreen shrubs flanking the entrance of the cabin twinkled with multicolor lights and a holiday mug filled with candy was centered on our kitchen table welcoming us. Since we usually spent Christmas with our family, we were unaware of the charming decorations provided by the owners at this time of year. So why were we here? The fact that our beautiful baby boy was born quiet and still brought us to the cabin in the mountains. This was where we would spend our first Christmas without our baby. 

My name is Diana Gardner-Williams and I am originally from Buffalo, NY. I moved to North Carolina to study Landscape Architecture and decided to make my home here. The weather was more conducive to my career choice. I also met my wonderful husband Todd and we married in 2000. It wasn’t until 2002 that we decided to expand our family. I had originally planned to try for a baby in May, but then decided to try in August. I have always been a very planned and organized individual and thought having birthday parties in spring would be ideal. There would be an explosion of flowers, no mosquitoes, and the weather would be tolerable. Finally, after 6 long months of charting and taking my temperature, we saw two pink lines. It was apparent that I could not plan when my baby would be born. Our child was scheduled for a fall arrival, another favorite season of mine.

It was a very exciting time for us because several of our friends were also pregnant. The excitement faded for a while because my morning sickness lasted into the night. I never threw up, although maybe hurling my cookies would have lessened the discomfort. Constant nausea made me unpleasant to be around. It wasn’t until week 12 that the morning sickness passed and I was scheduled to see the doctor. At the appointment I was able to see the little heartbeat for the first time, and wow, it was amazing. That little organ was created by us only 3 months ago! The baby and me were given a good report and were scheduled to see the doctor in 2 more months, hopefully to find out the sex.

My girlfriend and her husband owned their own sonogram machine, so I knew we would find out the sex beforehand. Todd and I anxiously drove to their office when I was 15 weeks along to see our little baby. Unfortunately we couldn’t see the sex, but we did see a very active child. The entire 30 minutes was on tape, and I couldn’t wait to show family members what a beautiful child we had.

My husband came with me to the doctor’s appointment where we would find out if the little one would wear blue or pink. I was very nervous because both my mother and mother-in-law expressed their hopes for a little girl. We claimed we didn’t care either way, but secretly I was hoping for a boy. We stared at the monitor like 2 kids staring at a glass candy jar. We could see that something was in there that we wanted, but the packaging camouflaged what it really was. Then she pointed toward the screen to a white, opaque section. It was a penis. There is was, so tiny, and the affirmation we were waiting for. We were thrilled, blue, blue, and more blue. Tanner would be my parent’s third grandson and my mother-in-law’s first grandbaby. I knew that they were somewhat disappointed, but would love him regardless.

It seemed like the entire pregnancy was moving from one aliment to the next. The first three months it was the nausea, and then it was the round ligament stretching and finally the severe backaches. Towards the last few weeks I endured horrible indigestion and probably bruised ribs from Tanner’s kicks. Truthfully, I did not enjoy my pregnancy and I couldn’t wait to have him out. I would later find out that I had stage 4 arthritis in my knees and carrying extra weight added to the stress. I would definitely take a rest from being pregnant after Tanner was born so my body could somewhat heal.

Tanner was due to arrive October 14^th. However, on my husband’s birthday I started having contractions that were closer together. I had bought Todd a gift and decided to let him open it in case this is the day Tanner would come. The contractions now were less than 2 minutes apart, so I had Todd call the doctor for guidance. We were instructed to come in for a check. I called my best friend Evelyn to come over and join us at the hospital. My bags had been packed for 2 months and everything in its place, so we easily slipped out of the house in a timely fashion at 2am. I was so excited and felt in my heart that Tanner would be born on Todd’s birthday.

The hospital was incredibly quiet and still as we checked in. We were quickly led to a small examining room to check the progress of labor. I undressed and lay on the table while Todd stood by my side like a proud father to be. My cervix was still closed, but obviously having contractions. The ultrasound technician rolled her machine beside me and poured the cold lubricant on my belly. For some reason there were more nurses in the room now, and the technician just stared at the monitor expressionless. Another nurse put an oxygen mask on my face and I was horrified. Finally someone said that the baby is probably hiding and giving me oxygen might increase his activity. That never happened. After seeing panic in my eyes, Todd asked if Tanner was moving. The technician kept her eyes on the monitor and said simply, “No, I’m sorry.”

At that moment I entered into another world that was so unfamiliar to me. This was a place that I had no control over and I could not plan my next move. I had never felt this much pain, loneliness, or the need to grasp for air like this in my life. Could this be real? We held him, kissed him and loved him, where is he? We would never be the same. We did expand our family, but instead of having a living son, we had a beautiful angel named Tanner.

We were inundated with information on how to survive the first year. Most of the bereavement books and literature suggested taking time for ourselves and gracefully declining family gatherings until we were more comfortable. That is exactly what we decided to do. Thanksgiving was spent at a friend’s home and for Christmas, the two of us drove to our favorite mountain cabin in Spruce Pine.

I packed candles, a lullaby cd, pictures of Tanner, and everything else reminiscent of him to create a shrine. I just wanted to think and feel everything about him during our stay. My eyes were so sore and red from crying so much.

Todd suggested that we get some fresh air and drive into the city of Ashville and shop. On our way to town I expressed to Todd that I was upset that so many of our friends and family members felt that they had been contacted by Tanner. The bear that played Ave Maria, the street sign “Tanner Williams,” the parent yelling for Tanner at the park. Being his parents, I couldn’t understand why we weren’t given any signs from him. I told Todd that I wanted my big sign.

We spent several hours in town and the weather was gorgeous. I remember the quaint shops and brick-laid alleys that added to its charm. The sun sets very fast in the mountains, so we headed back to our cabin around 5. While staring out of the window of our car, something caught my eye. My heart started to flutter and the palms of my hands were dripping with sweat. I was briefly in shock and had to snap out of it fast to tell Todd to pull over and stop. There it was so high in the sky that I could not possibly miss it. It was a billboard said “TANNER.” The hair on the back of my neck stood on its end and Todd sat quietly gazing at the sign. I quickly searched for the camera to take a picture, just in case it disappeared in a flash. After sitting on the side of the road for 10 minutes, we slowly drove off.

We were meant to see that billboard at that precise time in our lives. The sequence of events played in perfect harmony. We were there because of Tanner and he blessed us with one of the biggest signs available to man. Seeing the billboard gave us so much hope and joy to keep going.  Feeling his presence at just the right time spoke worlds to me. Our son being born quiet and still put life into a much different perspective for me. I now view our time here as just a stepping-stone. I truly believe we will all be together again and Tanner’s beautiful song will keep playing for me until I can hold him forever.

Peace Love and Hugs from Above

Diana Gardner-Williams

Diana@justacloudaway.com

 

 

 

Julie's story:

 ~~In April of 1985, my father passed away after being in the hospital for four days, after he had suffered a heart attack at the age of 75.  The day before he died, my then pregnant daughter and I went to visit him.  My father was 'not' a demonstrative man by any means, but as soon as we walked into his room, his arm reached out and with his hand spread, he asked my daughter, can I touch your stomach?  (This would have been his first great-grandchild)  She said certainly he could, and he place his hand on her stomach as if to 'touch' the little one inside.  I was 'taken aback', as he 'never' approached me in that manner and I had had two daughters.

~~On June 22nd, 1985, just weeks later, my first granddaughter, Ashley Julie Thomas was born in the 'same hospital' that my father had died in.  Ashley was perfect in every way and a joy to behold.  She grew to be a beautiful young woman, along with my other three granddaughters and one grandson, a grandmother couldn't have been more blessed.

~~Ashley had a 'nickname' when she was young....'HAPPY ASHY'....I  had it embroidered on a little red shirt for her when she was little.  Ashley packed 25 hours into every day!  She started dance lessons at an early age, as did her sister and two cousins.  For years, it was dance lessons, costumes, dance recitals...Her sister and brother and her two cousins began venturing into soccer, but Ashley stayed with dance....Advance dance in High School and Ballet in College.....she just 'loved' to dance.  She had a devilish laugh and loved to play practical jokes and she was beautiful.  She worked at a tanning salon, graduated from high school and started college. 

~She decided to become a teacher, so she took child development classes, but still stayed in the 'arts' with ballet and even took 'theatrical make-up'.  She absolutely 'loved' school....she would call me after school, at nine o'clock at night on her cell phone and excitedly say to me, "Oh Gram, I LOVE school, I could go forever....I LOVE my teachers....then she would say "I'm going to the gym now." I would say to her "Ashley, it's nine o'clock at night, why don't you go home and get some rest, you have to go to work in the morning and she would say "No Gram, I 'have' to go...I LOVE yoga.....Ashley LOVED life.....there was no doubt about it.  Even with all the drama that went along with it, she still had a zest for life unparalleled with anyone I knew.

She had a 'love' in her life, but when he went away to San Diego State to live on campus, they both knew that their relationship would be hard, so they separated, but she 'always' said, I 'know' Garrett and I will be together.  I thought her very 'brave' to go that 'route', as Garrett was a gorgeous, tall, blue eyed, football player whom she could have 'lost' to any pretty girl!!  But, Ash had a confidence about her, and you could tell by the way she walked and held her shoulders, that if she said "I'm gonna walk on the moon, you'd believe her!! So she went on with her life and was on the go all the time....In fact, she went to school 'all day' on Wednesdays...but she couldn't just go to school that day, she decided to go to the mall for a little while 'before' school.

~~She asked her dad to check her oil, as she had a little leak in her old '91 Mazda and was calling me on her cell phone to remind me to drop off that poster board I got her the day before for a class project.  So, I drove over and dropped it off...she got it out of my back seat and started to go back up the walkway to the house and then turned, with her pony tail swinging, smiled that beautiful smile and hollered back "Thanks Gram"....and I drove away.  She left the house fifteen minutes later, drove around the corner and proceeded through a green light on her way to the mall and a seventeen year old girl, who had left school on her lunch time to 'race' home to get her work uniform and had dropped her cell phone, was reaching for it and ran right into the intersection on a red light.

~~Ash was catapulted into the air, rolling several times, running up a light pole and landed upside down.  It took 25 minutes for paramedics to cut her out of her car as she was hanging upside-down by her seatbelt.  There is too much left of this story from here on, you know?, the funeral, gutwrenching grief, even after almost one year, nothing has changed....it's just like yesterday, our family is destroyed by one persons stupidity....We are in that 'club', no one wants to join....But one thing I found interesting, and it's why I'm telling this short story is that........a few months after Ashley left us...I was lying in bed, thinking about my Dad and realizing that he had died in April also....It was around midnight, but I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I got up and turned on the light and almost feverishly began hunting through papers looking for my Dad's Death Certificate...... my hands were shaking as I opened the folded paper and I read the date......APRIL 13, 1985, at 10:20 AM.......Ashley was hit at 11:29 AM, APRIL 13, 2005....Twenty years to the day, almost to the hour.....I don't know, I just wonder, does it mean something............Today I wear a gold necklace I had made that says "THANKS GRAM", Garrett was Ashley's Poll Bearer.  We see him when he comes home on school breaks.....He always comes to visit us.  We tell Ashley stories and I see his eyes well up with tears.....Ashley's last entry in her journal was "I love Garrett, I love Myself and I love God"......My biggest hurt is watching my daughter, Ashley's mother, as she drags herself through each day and remembering the day my dad was 'so' excited to 'touch' the little one inside.......

Julie 
Ashley's Grandmother

Thank God for your ability George and our amazing visit with Ashley and my father in January of this year and for "Walking in the Garden of Souls"....I refer to it as my Bible

 

Renee's Story:

I have found myself on a spiritual journey this past year after the physical loss of my 18 year old son from a car accident. I went through the normal stages of grief, but I had to know so badly that he was ok and that life continues in another form. I found myself reading and researching  on afterlife, including all the books George Anderson has written. I started receiving signs and communication from my son in thought. I have had every extraordinary experience written. I have documented everything and plan to write a book to help others that have been through grief and so much pain. I am communicating with Stephen on another level. The mind, the consciousness, the personality, the true essence survives physical death. I know the blueprint of my son. I feel as if I raised my vibration and he lowered his. Call it the Secret, Laws of the Universe, putting that positive thought, energy out there and getting a positive result. I know I am being guided with everything I do. He had a special number since he was a child, that is constantly saying Hi Mom and confirming the thought through the end result of my action telling me I am on the right path. I find this to be a true gift. I believe this is coming from another dimension and I am suppose to be telling my story over and over again, to turn a tragedy into something positive.

For the past five months I have been feeling his energy everyday. I feel it on the side of my face where he use to touch me since he was a child. I remember you said in one of your books that God is really good to parents that have lost children, I have been receiving this goodness and I have to share it with others in pain. Thank you for all your inspiration.

 

Renee