I had one of those ‘goodbye’ dreams last night. It was my final day teaching somewhere or other. Children I haven’t seen in decades were there, looking just as they did when I last met them, wishing me tearful farewells.
“I can’t believe I won’t see you again, Miss,” said Tony, a little chap I’d been particularly fond of.
I must have woken at that point, still feeling the poignancy and pain of the separation – but then realising that I had nothing to feel sad about. Tony and the others had long since left my life, and we were fine without each other. Life had moved on.
Maybe something of the dream lingered, though. Throughout the morning, my thoughts kept turning to my mother. I was due to attend a concert at a venue next door to the nursing home where she’d spent her final years. It’s in this town, but I tend to avoid that road because of the feelings it stirs.
The concert was wonderful – an excellent a capella choir with a great range of music. Several of the ladies from the care home had been wheeled in by their nurses and sat nodding happily. I called to Mum in my mind. ‘Come and listen,’ I said. ‘You’ll enjoy this.’
Do you think that fanciful? Could she have been there?
Well there was another person – not physically present, but with me in some way. The concert, you see, was on a Sunday afternoon – the time William and I always put aside for our remote viewings. I had told him the name of the venue, but not the reason I’d be there. We’d fixed a time when I knew the concert would be well under way. I’d asked him to try and sense something about the building and what was happening there. He’d sat at the other side of the country, feeling with his mind to where I was.
In the interval, as I sipped tea and munched biscuits with a couple of friends, I switched on my phone to see what, if anything, he’d been able to pick up.
In the text message he’d sent me, he started by describing some features of the room, then continued, “Someone making a lot of noise, and food and drink.”
I had to laugh. If he’d been here in the flesh, and I’d somehow managed to drag him to the concert, that’s probably just the way he would have described it! It was comforting – massively so – to have that proof that he’d been able to transport some aspect of himself to share in my afternoon. Why, then, should I not believe that Mum, too, was able to join me?
As we work – my young friend and I – to expand our consciousness and our ability to cross time and space to ‘meet’ in this strange way, it helps me to recognise that those who have stepped out of their bodies are at least as able to ‘travel’ to us. They, after all, are pure spirit now.
The more I can grow that belief, the easier it is to say ‘goodbye’. Or perhaps we don’t need to say it at all. There are so many ways and so many levels on which to meet those we care about.