Sleep is commodity around our house. This is due to a number of reasons. Many of which are related to the spiritual activity in the house, but the problem is deeply rooted in my oldest son's infancy, and although we've had a difficult babyhood, each phase of life has had its sleep issues. From bedwetting, to nightmares, to insomnia there has always been something. During the time of this story, calling out my name in the middle of the night was the soup-du-jour. Because of these sleep interruptions, both of my children now understand the benefit of "mommy on coffee". So when, some months ago, my oldest son caught me tiptoeing down the hall toward the percolating coffee pot, he understood that waiting was in order before recounting what he had experienced the night before. I could smell the freshly brewed coffee from the stairs and could already feel its salvation.
After pouring my first cup, I added a few extra drops of flavored creamer and sat down with the weekend's To Do list. I was lost somewhere between 'groceries' and 'laundry' when my son announced himself by sock-sliding through two rooms and stopping neatly in front of me with the most angelic smile gracing his face. "Mom? Have you had your coffee yet?" I smiled at his whisper. I remembered how long it took to teach this young person about the sanctity of mornings.
"Yes," I replied. "What have you got for me today?"
"Well, I saw someone in my room last night."
It didn't take much coaxing for him to tell me about what had visited him the night before. He told me that he saw a small woman or girl standing over by his brother's bed. She was looking at his brother and he said that at first he thought she had short curly brown hair, and she was wearing a "flowered nightgown thing". Then, when she turned to him, he could tell that she was really wearing her hair braided. It was then that he could also see her mouth moving as if she was talking to him but he couldn't hear her.
"After she turned and tried to talk to me, I couldn't believe that I could see her and everything about her that clearly and that's exactly what I thought. I thought, I can't believe this. I even saw her mouth moving! I must have shouted it in my head because I think I scared her. After I thought that, she went away." On this occasion, his enthusiasm was overwhelming. He wanted to help this girl, but didn't know what she was saying.
I, on the other hand, was certain that he had seen my own grandmother, who was rather short at 4 foot 11, with short curly hair. She also wore flowered nightgowns. For me the case was closed, but since I had a laundry list of other topics to discuss with my dear friend and medium, I add this to the list and dropped him a text asking him to stop by. That done I went on with my weekend.
The next several nights before him came were restless to say the least. The boys seemed to sleep well, but now I was having the most trouble. No, it wasn't bedwetting, nightmares, or insomnia. Rather, the boys were calling out my name over and over in the night. I was beginning to question my own sanity when the calling out got to be loud and close that I literally whirled about in my bed expecting there to be someone yelling in my left ear. Shaken, but seeing no one, I put myself back to sleep. This went on for several nights. I grew used to it, convincing myself that I was experiencing vivid dreams that were waking me up.
Well, our friend arrived several days later. Surprisingly, shortly into his first cup of coffee, he announced that he was being pulled upstairs by a very excited energy. Naturally, we followed expecting him to make a beeline into the room that the boys shared. Instead, I rounded the bend at the bottom of the stairs to find him turning the door knob of my room. Gulp. Spirits in my kids' room was one thing, but this was getting just a bit too close now. Was he serious??
When I hit the top landing, I heard him telling my son, "Someone stands here each night watching." My dad, I thought. My friend was standing at the foot of my bed, looking down as if forming the image of footprints in my carpet. As muted sunlight pushed its way through my shades, he went on and with every word I changed my ideas about who was watching. "It's a young woman. She has brown braided hair. She is wearing one of those flowered farm dresses. She kneels down a lot." He demonstrated by kneeling down on one knee. "Oh, she has a little girl with her. That's why she kneels often." After a long pause, "This has nothing to do with your house, but rather the land. There was once a farm house on this land in the early 1900's. There was a fire and this mother and child passed in the fire. The father was not home. These two people are looking for help because they don't realize that they've died in the fire. They're confused. I'm going to take a few minutes with them and see if I can cross them over."
At that point, my son and I exchanged knowing glances.
When our friend was done, he answered a lot of our questions. He told us he was successful in crossing these two people over. The mother was a bit apprehensive about crossing over, but the young girl was quite excited to go home; she was the one who was pulling our friend to come upstairs to help them. Once the little girl crossed over, the mother followed.
He also told us that the mother had tried to contact the boys several times. In fact, she even tried talking to them and asking for help, but quickly realized that their gifts were not developed enough for them to hear her. The little girl then turned her attention to me. She tried to get my attention by calling out to me, "mom", "mama", and "mommy" over and over and louder and louder each night. Because I was reacting, she knew I could hear her so she kept trying.
My son and I were dumfounded. This matched perfectly to his night-time visitation and my own sleepless pattern, but we hadn't had the conversation with our friend yet. "Why me?" I asked, my thick head growing even thicker.
"They realized that they couldn't get through to your kids just yet, so they turned to you. You have these gifts too...you just have to trust in yourself the same way you trust your children."
I realized that not only do I have to trust in myself, I have to trust in my children just a little bit more. When my son told me about that woman, I immediately tried to make it fit into something I knew: my grandmother. I think this is a danger for anyone, especially when they are speaking with a medium. I should have taken what my son told me without interpretation. I also realized that I felt a bit sad that I wasn't going to have a little girl calling for me in the night anymore. Even though she skipped happily on to her next phase, I missed her just a little.
The next several nights before him came were restless to say the least. The boys seemed to sleep well, but now I was having the most trouble. No, it wasn't bedwetting, nightmares, or insomnia. Rather, the boys were calling out my name over and over in the night. I was beginning to question my own sanity when the calling out got to be loud and close that I literally whirled about in my bed expecting there to be someone yelling in my left ear. Shaken, but seeing no one, I put myself back to sleep. This went on for several nights. I grew used to it, convincing myself that I was experiencing vivid dreams that were waking me up.
Well, our friend arrived several days later. Surprisingly, shortly into his first cup of coffee, he announced that he was being pulled upstairs by a very excited energy. Naturally, we followed expecting him to make a beeline into the room that the boys shared. Instead, I rounded the bend at the bottom of the stairs to find him turning the door knob of my room. Gulp. Spirits in my kids' room was one thing, but this was getting just a bit too close now. Was he serious??
When I hit the top landing, I heard him telling my son, "Someone stands here each night watching." My dad, I thought. My friend was standing at the foot of my bed, looking down as if forming the image of footprints in my carpet. As muted sunlight pushed its way through my shades, he went on and with every word I changed my ideas about who was watching. "It's a young woman. She has brown braided hair. She is wearing one of those flowered farm dresses. She kneels down a lot." He demonstrated by kneeling down on one knee. "Oh, she has a little girl with her. That's why she kneels often." After a long pause, "This has nothing to do with your house, but rather the land. There was once a farm house on this land in the early 1900's. There was a fire and this mother and child passed in the fire. The father was not home. These two people are looking for help because they don't realize that they've died in the fire. They're confused. I'm going to take a few minutes with them and see if I can cross them over."
At that point, my son and I exchanged knowing glances.
When our friend was done, he answered a lot of our questions. He told us he was successful in crossing these two people over. The mother was a bit apprehensive about crossing over, but the young girl was quite excited to go home; she was the one who was pulling our friend to come upstairs to help them. Once the little girl crossed over, the mother followed.
He also told us that the mother had tried to contact the boys several times. In fact, she even tried talking to them and asking for help, but quickly realized that their gifts were not developed enough for them to hear her. The little girl then turned her attention to me. She tried to get my attention by calling out to me, "mom", "mama", and "mommy" over and over and louder and louder each night. Because I was reacting, she knew I could hear her so she kept trying.
My son and I were dumfounded. This matched perfectly to his night-time visitation and my own sleepless pattern, but we hadn't had the conversation with our friend yet. "Why me?" I asked, my thick head growing even thicker.
"They realized that they couldn't get through to your kids just yet, so they turned to you. You have these gifts too...you just have to trust in yourself the same way you trust your children."
I realized that not only do I have to trust in myself, I have to trust in my children just a little bit more. When my son told me about that woman, I immediately tried to make it fit into something I knew: my grandmother. I think this is a danger for anyone, especially when they are speaking with a medium. I should have taken what my son told me without interpretation. I also realized that I felt a bit sad that I wasn't going to have a little girl calling for me in the night anymore. Even though she skipped happily on to her next phase, I missed her just a little.
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