This isn’t a funny mom story, but it is an important mom story. Now, I am not a religious person–at all–but this is a story that… well, I’ll tell it and then I’ll discuss.
Back in the mid-1970s, when I was around 11 years old, I recall waking up in the middle of the night because my mom was crying hysterically in the hallway. It was about 1am, and she was inconsolable. My dad finally calmed her down enough to find out what was wrong.
It was a dream she had.
She saw her dad sitting in his living room, in his favorite chair, and he died. She saw and felt the life leave his body. “It was so real, I felt it, it was so real,” she said over and over. After what seemed like an eternity (but was likely a half hour or so), she calmed down enough that we could all go back to sleep. As my dad said, it was just a dream.
At 7am, the phone woke us. My aunt Kate was calling from London. That morning, while the family was in the kitchen preparing for a birthday party, my grandfather had suffered a massive heart attack and passed away.
Sitting in his living room.
In his favorite chair.
At 9am, London time, which is, yes, 1am here in California.
So while I am not religious, I cannot be an atheist. There is something. Some connection that goes beyond this mundane world. I’ve seen it. It’s real.