(still learning formatting on the new website and renaming posts for better SEO)
This is the day I dread the most ever year. It’s always the same. A bitterly cold winter day and I am trapped at home because of the snow and the ice. But something happened seven years ago on this very day that would change my life forever. They say that grief gets easier with time but I find the that isn’t true. If anything, the more time that passes by – the more I miss her. I can’t believe it’s been seven years.
I remember that week vividly like it was yesterday. I had just walked out of my doctor’s office after receiving a clean bill of health. I had been very ill and had been off work. Much like I’ve been this year. Only back then the doctor’s had no idea what was wrong with me. Every time I laid down my body would cramp or crease up. I had insomnia and chronic pain so bad that I almost gave up. Finally, after a few weeks of iron infusions, I started healing by January, I was back to my normal self.
I remember sitting on the cold bench outside my doctor’s office with a sigh of relief. I reached for my phone to call him. The love of my life. We had been together for a few years at that point but it was a very toxic and rocky relationship. It was on and off again. At that time, things were good and we were talking often.
I called him and there was no answer. I called for a cab – this was before the days of rideshare services and I shivered as I waited for my ride. I jumped when my phone rang. It was him! I had thought to myself. But no, it wasn’t. It was my sister. She never called me. We didn’t talk much outside of family functions at that time. I answer the phone on the second ring while keeping an eye out for my cab.
“You have to come to the hospital. It’s mum,” she said almost breathless.
“How bad is it?” I asked – a stupid thing to ask because it’s always bad when it’s a parent who is ill.
“It’s bad. Get here now. We’re the UofA,” she said.
I’ve written about this story before. I even sold a few copies of the E-Book a few years ago. I started re-writing it last night but it’s not finished yet. It’s a difficult story for me to share. My mother was my close friend and confidant in the end. And I still miss her and her voice every now and then.
In Native American culture, the Shamans believe that our family members can visit us in our dreams from the spirit world. They believe that dreams serve as a door to the spirit world. I like to believe this is true. My mother visited me so often after she died. In fact, it was my mum who told me in a dream to write.
I had been having nightmares about the house which my dad still lived in until finally one night I saw mum standing in the kitchen. She was young. Healthy. Without an oxygen mask on her face.
“I have so much to tell you – it’s been so long. I’ve been so busy,” she said as she pointed to the table.
The kitchen table was covered with papers, notes and her favorite typewriter. She hugged me and told me she loved me.
“My biggest regret was not writing my book. You need to write for me. You need to write. It’s what you really love,” she told me.
I was stunned as I watched her move around the kitchen. I had all these questions for her but knew that my time was running out.
“Where have you been?” I asked her, with a small amount of anger, “We’ve all missed you so much.”
“I’ve been watching over you . Remember I said I would do that?” she said. “I’ve been here this whole time. And I always will be. Now wake up Wendy. You need to start writing.”
And that’s what I did. I spent the next two nights writing this E-Book which I’m sharing for a very short time in honour of my mother’s death. I’m working on rewriting the book. And I know, like she told me in the dream – I need to write more. It’s my one true love.
I miss you mum. I wish I could see you again and hear your voice once last time.
Get your free copy of my ebook – When I Get to Heaven. Offer on for 7 days.