“It is the custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day. If you could keep awake (but of course you can’t) you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. It is quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as a kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. When you wake in the morning, the naughtinesses and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind; and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on.”
~ J.M. Barrie
Remember, I was telling you about the lady who came and sat on my sister’s bed when we were little? Back when I was four, and Simone was two and a half?
I felt quite afraid those nights when my sister was sick. Her skin and hair was sticky with sweat. She was so hot, and she tossed and turned and whimpered in her sleep.
Each night after the world was asleep the beautiful lady surrounded by the silver-blue light would come to our room. Each night she would comfort my sister, sing to her, and talk to her in her low, sweet voice. She spoke the funny language that I found out much, much later was French.
At the end of one of these visits, when I sensed she was about to leave, I asked her why she was visiting.
“I am her Mummy,” she said to me somehow. “Her Mummy from another time. When a mother loves her child, the love lasts forever.”
She touched my hand. It made me feel so warm inside. “We are family,” she said. “Remember that. Family means love forever. There is always someone watching over you.”
She kissed me on the forehead. “One day you will remember…”
And then she was gone.
At the darkest times of my life I have recounted that conversation. After my grandmothers passed away, Marga in 2011 and then Nana late last year, I finally understood what that meant – to have someone watching over you. I felt it in my heart.
As my sister and I research our family tree, and connect into previous generations and our more ancient lines, I feel the weight of this love more and more.
For all of you – those who already feel loved, and those who feel lost or alone – let me reassure you. There is family stretching far back, whose lives are braided through with yours over and over again.
Some call it family, some call it ancestors, some call it soul group. It really doesn’t matter by what name we know it. All that matters is this – the magic in this world is love. It’s the energy that follows us, sustains us, and lifts us up. It’s all around us, even when we can’t see it. Even if we choose to believe it’s not there.
I’m looking forward to sharing more of that magic with you…
What a beautiful reminder. Thank you.
absolutely beautiful and uplifting. i am graced with mother’s love in this lifetime and i have often felt that i have been my mother’s mother in another time. my brother and i have an ancient bond that goes way back. i love my life. thank you for sharing your magical mystery tour with all of us!
~ When I was manic, severely psychotic, I reached out to my dead grandmothers in the pitch black night, whispering. “Can you hear me? Can you help me through this?”
They replied with messages on my TV’s blue screen ~ Me and Her:A Memoir of Madness
This so wonderfully comforting.
Simply BEAUTIFUL!
I feel very close to my grandparents from my fathers side…. In hard times I talk to them and ask for guidance… I can’t hear them at the moment though. Do you ever feel like there’s a inner conflict of voices and you cant recognise which to listen too? I guess it comes down to trusting yourself hey. Thank you Nicole.
arohanui
<3