I wanted to have an old-fashioned cry. Long and hard, wailing, sobbing, letting all my feelings out but I couldn’t even do that. I put on the movie “Beaches” my past cry-your-heart-out movie that used to have me in tears, my guaranteed tear- jerker and while I was as Babs would say “verklempt” I had no tears. Nothing, no sobbing, no release, “bupkes.”
Cover of Beaches (Special Edition)
Now, not only was I disappointed but I was cranky as well. What the heck happened to me?
I was more interested in the different styles of cars and clothing than the actual premise of the movie. I loved Bette Midler then and actually I love her more now. Barbara Hershey kept me fascinated only because I couldn’t remember if she was dead or alive but I did remember that her lips, at one time, had grown larger or had doubled in size. Allegedly.
I think one main reason that I didn’t cry was unfortunately, life has toughened me up quite a bit. I’m a lot older now then when I saw this movie and things like that really seemed to be out of the ordinary, way back when. It was shocking and unreal. Sure, you sobbed at the incredible morbidity but when you first saw it, let’s say twenty, thirty years ago? The world was a different place, yes, a kinder, gentler place. I’m sure of it.
Now, if you want to sob, read a newspaper, watch the news, keep yourself informed about what is happening in the real world today. That is depressing. Before 9/11, and after 9/11. That is how I phrase things in my life like “before my dad died” and “after.”
I find the less I read about what’s going on in the world at night the better I am. Am I in denial? Absolutely. I KNOW what’s going on but I just can’t handle all that atrocity all the time, 24/7 so I stay away from everything except the bare minimum.
Hearing news stories today are the very things that nightmares are made of, flashbacks are happening from lifetime events. So, if I’m cranky by not being able to cry, I can surround myself with the news, and not only will I cry, but they would have to medicate me around the clock and put me in a psychiatric hospital where the lonely padded cell, at this second, would feel appealing. AND, NO, I am not making fun of the psychiatric community, believe me. I am part of that community.
I get anxious and take medication to try to calm me down. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Realistically, it’s a cruel world out there and in our defense we try to get stronger and stronger. Why? Because we have no damn other choice. We sink or we swim.
In case you hadn’t noticed, there is a war, there are many wars out there. Life is far from fun. Life can be very, very sad. You don’t need to watch a Bette Midler movie to cry, real life is sad enough.
I Do believe in Angels and Spirits from Beyond. I DO get messages from my dad who has passed. I fully believe in this. It comforts me. My dad’s spirit fuels me. LOVE DOES NOT DIE. Believe in what you want, just don’t disrespect what I believe in.
I know you don’t believe in the things that I believe and I’m not arguing that you should convert. But, at least give me the courtesy of your respect to believe in what I believe without the shared glances and the roll of the eyes. I have never done that to you, not once.
I’m fine with agreeing to disagree but I have seen the judgment and the crazy swirl of the finger pointed behind my back and that I will not allow. I refuse to be disrespected in any way. Got that? Good. I suggest you remember it.
No one has the right to judge my belief systems. If you don’t want to believe in anything that is your personal choice but to have influenced the children with your strong, angry voice I find disconcerting, at the very least.
I smiled privately at my two signs (heart and wings, pc) that I knew so well but of course I wouldn’t share that with you, I didn’t need to and I certainly don’t want you to make fun of me. You saw the license plate for yourself twice or three times by yourself. Were you just humoring me or was that just a coincidence too?
All that is important to me is that I believe and that what I believe in comforts me, it is the unwavering truth. Signs from my dad, from the deceased is comforting, incredibly comforting and while I know he cannot change things in my life, I know he his with me and loves me and will always support me. Always.
What could be more important than that?
I don’t care what you or they believe in but you won’t find me standing in judgment and voicing my own opinions.
Believe in what you like, take comfort in anything, but do not, ever, disrespect me AGAIN.
I have a voice. I have a STRONG voice, I am using it. Now and forever.
I don’t idolize “celebrities” or “actors” like some people do, I need to know a person inside and out before I hand over my heart. However, there is one man who I absolutely adore and I have met him personally several times. His name is Roland Comtois, he is a Medium, receiving messages from the other side (those who have passed away) and giving them to those who have lost a loved one. I DON’T work for Roland nor do I sell his books or get a percentage of anything he sells. I just want you to know that I believe in him so much and that he is such an amazingly GOOD PERSON that I wanted to share his name with you.
He rarely does private meetings anymore but he so kind and gentle with a voice that sounds like angels playing their harps, like laughter in the heavens, like what pure honesty would sound like. I have never doubted him for a minute, except the first time I ever went to a gathering at Helen’s house (Starvisions) and he picked up on that and said out loud that I was there “checking him out.” So true.
Roland Comtois. He is a medium, with a heart and a spirit so open that I imagine dozens of white doves fly from his heart and pass his messages from those who have passed to those who are living. I was lucky enough to get two of those purple papers and Roland knew my name even though there were no name tags nor was he told in advance who was coming. He stood over me, with his soft, gentle eyes and addressed me, gave me a message from my father who had passed, and I burst into tears with joy and peace and love. I am the lucky recipient of two Purple Papers and I was the conduit for another woman in the audience.
His message is sweet and simple, we don’t NEED a medium to get messages from our loved ones, which I have always known. I do get messages on my own and have for years. But, for those that don’t, keep your heart open, ask for messages from your angels, from God, from the person you miss, directly, and be open to any sign that may come. Be patient and open and most of all, believe in yourself. The sign will may not be blatant like a photo or a picture, mine come in initials and numbers or music and birds. My first message, the most important one, came in the form of a luggage tag. Yes, it’s true.
Be aware of your surroundings and be open to love. I consider it an absolute privilege and honor to have met Roland in person. Thank you, world.
IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER WHO DIED ON NEW YEAR’S EVE, 11 YEARS AGO
I was sitting on my bed today, legs crossed, listening to music when over my right shoulder I smelled a fragrance. I sniffed several times and looked to see if I had put perfume on an item of clothes that I was wearing but since I was still in my monkey night-shirt and bear sweats, it was not even a consideration. I looked around, in front of me and behind, saw nothing and then I knew….my father had sent me a message for Christmas from Heaven. I haven’t had a message from my father in such a long time and it felt so good. I could feel his presence to the right of my shoulder. My eyes filled up with tears and I whispered “Thank you, Daddy.”
My father, when he was alive, used to have a “shaving lotion” collection or as most American men would say after- shave cologne. Some dads played golf, others collected stamps, still others played tennis, our European dad collected after shave cologne. He had a shelf built especially for these different sized bottles and he would go to different countries to add to his “hobby.” I’m not totally sure but I think he never had more or less than thirteen which was his lucky number.
Signs from the other side don’t scare me, as they do my mother, they comfort me and I appreciate them. Christmas used to be my Dad’s favorite holiday; the last Christmas he was alive I sat next to him, eleven years ago, and held his very, soft, hand. It was a softness that I knew I could not replicate. I knew it would be his last Christmas. He died New Year’s Eve, one day before my parent’s wedding anniversary on January 1st.
I received a gift from him today, one that means more to me than any present I can unwrap on Christmas Day. I know that love never dies, I’ve written about that many times before. I also know that while the physical body is dead, the spiritual one lives forever and that I never stopped loving him and he will never stop loving me. But, every once in a while, it feels so wonderful, and special to have received the gift today that is more precious than any memory.
My dog from a rescue shelter (if that counts as a possession)
framed photo of me and my dad
a photo of my son and my daughter when they were young
my computer for blogging
my monkey stuffed animal given to me from my dad when I was 2
an old down comforter
a small painting that I bought by myself 15 years ago
lots and lots of books, all different kinds
candles
Cadbury Egg
Peeps
Lots of photographs in different frames
Angel perfume
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