The Road of Life

Life often has been bumpy—sometimes those bumps closer to mountains—for me, but lately it has been really good. I’ve been almost euphoric because of the good things that have been happening. Some serious synchronicity!

But I wasn’t watching the road. Bumps are one thing; pot holes quite another. So, when I was enjoying this season’s premier of NCIS, I was completely unprepared for the little segment in which Gibbs flat-lined in the operating room. During the few seconds when the drama escalated in the operating room procedures to save his life, Gibbs, in his new consciousness, spent the better part of a day with his little girl, who had died, with his first wife, in an auto accident many years ago.

Mark Harmon doesn’t get to really act in NCIS very often, so his look of tenderness and love and longing as he discovered his daughter was actually there for him again was emotionally overwhelming for me. My immediate reaction was, oh, it would be so worth flat-lining if I could just spend some time again with Mary Kay, my own daughter.

I can’t tell you much about what happened through the rest of that show. I was either crying, wiping my eyes and nose, or trying to pull myself together. Bedtime wasn’t much better, but I did finally get to sleep. Only to awake about 3:00 a.m. with absolute sobs. I’d alternate between visions of Jethro Gibbs smiling at his daughter and my daughter smiling at me. (I know—this is really feeling sorry for myself, but that’s what transpired.) Actually, the images I had of Mary Kay were of times we laughed hysterically together at pretty much nothing in particular. We were always in a public place where hysteria was inappropriate, which, of course, struck us funnier yet. So, the moments I shared with her in my reverie were, at least, fun moments.

When I finally was exhausted enough to fall back to sleep, it was about 6:00 a.m. I awoke about 8:00 with a huge sense of longing. The tears were gone, but the longing for her was humongous. I thought, frustratingly, about how I’m convinced our minds have the capability of reaching another state of consciousness whereby we could communicate with our loved ones who have passed. After all, they communicate with us, in very basic ways, I agree, but they do communicate. I won’t get into all the times/ways I’ve heard from my departed loved ones; maybe another blog someday. But I’m sure many or most of you have been with a terminal relative who suddenly will smile, looking somewhat upward, and greet a long since gone relative. My mother, at age 97, saw her mother, who had been gone well over 60 years. Even in her dying (and comatose) state, my mother’s eyes lit up, she smiled and said, “Mama! Oh, Mama…” A few days later, she saw her brother-in-law with the same warm welcome.

My point being: why can’t we figure out a way to achieve that level of consciousness in which we can reach and visit our departed loved ones? Not to bug them constantly, but when the missing them gets so raw, you’re practically dysfunctional, a brief visit would be so therapeutic.

Anyway, I moved along in my day, determined to persevere. I had a pre-arranged Reiki exchange with my Reiki Master at 10:00, so I went to that. By this time, I was in control, steady. But when Bette Laders gave me Reiki, I came away re-balanced, energized, and completely at peace.

The rest of the day went smoothly, although somewhat rushed. But I got done what I had to and was able to go to my granddaughter’s (Mary Kay’s daughter) presentation at the MuCCC as part of the Fringe Festival.

First of all, when Brittany came out through the doorway onto the stage, my mouth fell open, all the air left my lungs, and I’m sure my heart skipped a beat. It was Mary Kay! She walked across the stage to the lectern, smiling, and greeted us in the audience with confidence. She spoke of what it’s like for a young artist to try to “make it” in today’s society, breaking down the requirements to three basic points. She had interviewed other young artists, a band leader and a ballet school director, to offer their perspectives. It was a very informative, well documented, and instructive talk.

But, for me, she spoke like her mother, ending many of her sentences with that down-toned voice, the finality of the aural period. And, like her mother (and me, as a matter of fact), she switched ever so slightly from one foot to the other. She’s beautiful, her long brown hair hanging in soft waves to just below her shoulders—just as Mary Kay used to wear hers when she was younger. Brittany is a petite five feet, like her mother.

The upside of the evening—aside from the fact that the show and book signing were successful—was that I had a half hour to spend with, listen to, and look at Mary Kay. In addition, we had a little celebration at a local pub (the Tap Mallet?) afterward so that we could all celebrate Brittany, which I was delighted to be a part of. (Never mind I kept calling her Mary Kay, not even realizing it until someone mentioned it.)

So my road is smooth again. For now. I’m ever watchful for the bumps, but it’s those pot holes that can do you in. You have to be careful—some of them can develop into sinkholes.