“To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.” ~ Leo Buscaglia
Just over a week ago, on my last day in Brisbane as I was running around madly, getting ready for my holidays, I received a text message from a client. Could I speak with her sister? It was urgent.
There was no time left in my day to shoehorn in another thing, but I sensed this was important. I made the time.
The woman I rang was at the end of her rope. Her only child, an eleven year old boy, has an aggressive form of leukemia. They had exhausted every treatment possibility, and all that was left was the possibility of a bone marrow transplant. But neither she and her husband, nor any of their family, were a suitable match. She wanted to know if there was any hope, anything left that she could try.
There’s not much can stop you in your tracks like that sort of intensity. I told her I would call her back. Then I went outside, and meditated.
I saw an upset boy yelling at his father. It was not the boy I’d seen in the picture the mother had texted me. But from this image I saw a pathway back to hope. I rang the woman back straight away.
“Your husband has another child,” I told her. I couldn’t find a subtle way of saying it.
“That’s not possible,” she said. “That’s. Not. Possible.” She pretty much screamed it at me.
“I’m sorry. It is,” I said. “You need to talk with your husband. Just talk with him.”
“I thought you’d help me,” she cried, “but you’re a useless fraud. You’re pathetic. I hope you rot in hell.” She was so angry with me she hung up.
It haunted me the rest of the day. I was only trying to help. I did my best to put it behind me, and I packed my bags and headed off to Thailand.
A week later we were in Bangkok, coming home from a night of dancing and fun, and one of the women called to me, “Miss, Miss, let me tell your fortune!”
“Go on,” urged my husband. “It could be a bit of fun.”
It was only $3 Australian. Why not?
So, my fortune…
“You are a mumma. So happy. Many children and grandchildren for you.”
No, actually. We have no children.
“Your business, no good. You no good at your work. Better to be a mumma and stay home with your babies.”
Okay, this is going well…
More followed, none of it particularly inspiring. My house will have a plumbing problem. Nothing serious. Ha ha ha. Lots of travel. My husband gets big promotion. There’s a win of money. Must look after my old parents. Blah blah blah.
Her parting words. “You give up work. Let husband keep. You no good your job. Be mumma. Better for you. Happy Happy.”
I got back to the hotel room, and picked up my laptop so I could get into bed.
There was a message for me on facebook. I didn’t recognise the name.
It was the woman I’d spoken to in Brisbane. The one with the dying child. Turns out her husband had a son from a previous relationship, a long time before he met his now wife. At seven years of age, the boy had told his father that he never wanted to see him again, and made his father promise to stay away – the boy’s mother had been in agreement, and so all contact had been severed.
The young man is now 22, has reconnected with his father, is thrilled to have a little brother, and is a match for a bone marrow transplant, which he has willingly volunteered to do for his young sibling. Hopefully, a happy ending.
My psychic kind of day went okay after all…