“God, show me what is happening,” I said in the stillness of her hospital room.
Everyone had gone home for the day. I had watched her breathe while she slept with little to no movement. It was a miracle that I was even there after a year and a half of separation between myself and them. My parents insisted on remaining in their house when it had long passed being safe.
My tears and words of pleading with them to move into a safer location had been met with cold dismissal. They had made up their minds not to leave, and they didn’t care how this affected the rest of the family.
I had just helped my dad off the ground outside after falling, and that was only one of many times. The stress of it all had caught up with me, so as I begged them to make a change, I was ignored, and when I left, he went back outside to resume what he had been doing on the icy walkway.
When he had to take a driving test, he promised me they would move if he lost his license. After he failed, he continued to drive and refused to keep his word. He swore up and down he wasn’t driving, but after my daughter planted a tracker in his car and it revealed he was out and about, I decided to let go.
I spent a year and a half living five minutes away, wondering when I would get the news that they were in a horrific accident, killing others or themselves. I saw him driving during rush hour on busy roads while he told others he only “took the back roads.” Lie after lie.
I had the unwelcome advice that I needed to mend the fence and go back to being there for them. After all, what kind of person abandons their elderly parents?
Meanwhile, I heard God telling me to stay away.
“I will use you when the time is right.”
I decided to go with God and shut off the push from someone who didn’t get it. These are the moments when you must follow what your spirit tells you, no matter how it may appear to others.
I was working in my yard, removing weeds when I heard the siren. I looked in the direction of their house as I had for the last 18 months. Later, I found out she had been taken back to the hospital.
The week before, she had been admitted but had recovered. I hadn’t felt the pull to end my absence from their lives, but I knew I had to see her this time.
I waited until 11 pm to be sure I could assess the situation without interference from my dad. As my daughter and I entered her room, she moved slightly. She lifted her right hand and moved it across her forehead, mumbling in her sleep like she was trying to tell me what had happened. Then she became quiet again.
I saw my grandma, who had passed on to heaven, standing at the head of her bed. Then an image of my mom was next to her. The only way I can try to describe this is I see images like holograms. Someone entering the room would have only seen me, my daughter, and my mother’s sleeping form.
I began to move my hands in a circular motion. Unknown to me, my daughter began to do the same thing behind me, but I couldn’t see her. I didn’t know why I was doing this, but later I read that when a person does this, it draws in healing power to be passed on to another.
Right as I was going to put my hands on her arm, a nurse walked in.
I dropped my hands down to my sides.
“Has she been sleeping like this since she got here?” I asked.
“Yes.” The reply was sharp and snappy.
I explained why I had arrived so late, not wanting to face my dad quite yet. The response lacked all compassion.
“It’s late. Come back tomorrow.”
I was being told to leave, so we did.
Once in the car, I sat in the parking lot, trying to figure out how I had not been able to pray for her healing. Then it hit me.
She wanted to leave.
“Do you think she doesn’t want to be here anymore?” I asked my daughter, who was just as perplexed by our unplanned quick exit.
“Did she not want me to pray for her to get better? Is that what just happened?”
“Yes,” she said as we both started crying.
I drove home, knowing this wouldn’t end in a miraculous recovery.
The following day I returned, and I tried to convince myself she would be sitting in bed, back to normal. But she wasn’t.
Instead, my dad sat next to her, wondering what was happening.
I chose not to bring up my departure from their lives.
“If she doesn’t come out of this, are you ready for that?”
“I don’t know why she wouldn’t.”
I listened to a lot of denials.
Tests were run and care administered, but no answers were given as to why she was in this condition.
“An MRI has been ordered, but we have a long list of people needing one, so the results probably won’t be back until later tonight.”
As the hours dragged on and the visitors went home, my daughter and I stayed to hear the result.
She remained asleep, looking as if she were somewhere else. I wondered where. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and mentally said the prayer that would forever change my outlook on everything.
“God, show me what is happening.” It was nearly midnight.
I was standing off to the side of a bridge. I could see my mom facing forward with her mom, my grandma next to her.
“She’s still looking, Chrissy,” my grandma said. “She won’t turn around to look at me.”
I remained silent, watching, knowing that this was the beginning of her walk into heaven.
I opened my eyes as a nurse entered.
“You are still here?” She asked.
“I’m waiting for the results of the MRI.”
“I will send the physician down here before he leaves.”
Moments later, I was in the hallway meeting him.
“We didn’t see anything abnormal. We don’t have an explanation for her condition, and there’s no more we can do to get an explanation.”
The image of her facing the world with eternity behind her flashed through my mind.
By the end of the week, it was determined she would receive hospice care at home. I had written everything down as I would see it and hear it. I would close my eyes to check in, and on day four, the night before she went home to begin hospice, I saw her and my grandma standing in the middle of the bridge, still appearing to look at what I had come to know as the world. They were facing a giant movie screen with the wind blowing through their hair. This is what I wrote:
“The view up here is beautiful. I can see my whole life. I see scenes of myself, both good and bad. My father never loved me, Chris. But my mom, oh, she did. (She and my grandma laugh. I can see her standing behind my mom, hugging her as they watch. I am asked to join them in the middle of the bridge)
“See? Look at that. This is the day you were born. (I could see her in a scene holding an infant) And you had something. You had it in your eyes. You were the last one. I was proud to be a mother of six, even though I wasn’t good at it at times, I tried. I know you will have scenes of pain in your life because of me, but I loved you even if I never said it or showed it. I am sorry for not hugging or kissing you more.”
“It doesn’t matter now, mom.”
“But I see it now. I see it. And I can’t undo it. I can’t go back and change it. I’m not crying, but I see it. I can’t cry here.”
I wrote down each detail and knew she had been shown all 87 years of her life in a movie, like a highlight reel.
Back now to reality, I sat by her hospital bed. She stirred, woke up slightly, and said to my dad,
“Thank you for everything you have ever done for me in this life.”
This confirmed what I had just witnessed in a world not seen by human vision.
Every day I would shut my eyes and see her progress closer and closer to heaven. She had turned her back to the world after her life review and walked holding onto the hand of her mother.
When I returned to the bridge, I was allowed to be in the middle, but an angel stood next to me. He was tall, illuminated by a white light, and as they walked further away, he held up an old-fashioned pair of one-handled binoculars to my eyes.
I knew he was there to hold me back from going with her. I was at a point where I wished I could have. I could have left it all behind to follow her. But I was told:
“Chris, I see your future. It’s great. That angel is making sure you stay put. You are far from this for a while. And when you accomplish your mission for God, you will meet us on this bridge. You already know what it looks like. It will be familiar.”
As hospice went on and her body went through the process of shutting down, I continued to see and hear everything she did. And the day came when I went to the familiar place and only was greeted by the angel.
The water under the bridge was calm, but the brightness was gone. I knew she had completed her walk.
In Jeremiah 33:3 it says:
Call to me, and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known. (ESV)
When I asked to be shown, I was brought to a place outside of the existence I usually live in. And since that day when I requested to see what was unseen, I have continued to be able to communicate with those who are leaving and those who have left. The ability has expanded and proven itself to be genuine.
I have met strangers in stores that I deliver messages to from loved ones who have passed. They always end up in tears from the words that seem to tumble out of my mouth beyond my control. I don’t advertise it; it just shows up to comfort and bless those I cross paths with.
After three years, I’m over the critics who would label me as a witch or a fortune teller. I don’t generally have a message for them because they can’t fathom it nor receive it. Some didn’t see Jesus for what he was either, so I’m in good company.
It’s been an adjustment, giving up what I thought I knew when I knew nothing, and it’s been worth it to live in between two realms.