As I retired last night, I mentioned that my drive home after Mom’s funeral blessed me with an incredible experience in synchronicity and listening to spirit.
As I have struggled with “Just how do I share this powerful experience with you,” I realize that I need to back up and lay a little ground work first.
I love my dear Mother-in-law—my children’s other special grandma—the mother of the beautiful woman who gave birth to my own precious children. I can’t find enough praise to say about her. She was an equal to my own mother in every way—an unconditionally loving, kind, gentle, soft-spoken woman who blessed an incredible posterity with her beautiful life examples.
Almost 13 years ago, in August of 1996, I informed my loving spouse—the mother of my children—that I could no longer survive emotionally if I had to pretend to be a man—her husband of twenty years. I was feeling thoughts of suicide, and could not even imagine the pain of living the rest of my life in my current body. We went through two very difficult months as we discussed the details of our pending divorce. Some very major issues were still in limbo, and my wife was having a hard time figuring out what to do. About the second week in October of 1996, she told me “I need to go home and spend some time with my mother, to figure things out.”
I shocked us both when my reply came rebounding off my lips “Can I come with you?”
I didn’t know why I would make such a request, but I had to ask—it felt right, it felt peaceful. I was right in the middle of the whole situation, desperately trying to do the right thing. I knew beyond any doubt that I was walking into what could potentially be a nightmare. Here I was, going home with my wife to visit her mother, knowing that my mother-in-law was fully aware that we were getting divorced and that I was transitioning to become Brenda. She had every right to hate me.
The four-hour drive seemed as if it lasted four years. Sitting in silence for much of the journey, I frequently cried as I listened to music that held a deep spiritual message for me. I pushed aside my terror and stayed focused in my knowing that “Everything will be OK.”
I remember walking into my mother-in-law’s kitchen as if it were yesterday. I stood just inside the doorway, feeling extremely awkward and exposed, as my wife briefly greeted her family.
Less than a minute passed before my dear sweet mother-in-law slowly approached me. Stopping right in front of me, she gently placed one hand on each of my shoulders, stared me straight in the eyes, and proceeded to say the most beautiful words I have ever heard.
“I just want you to know … that no matter what happens … you are still part of my family …and I love you.”
As she finished speaking, my mother-in-law wrapped her arms around me in a warm bear hug. I was stunned. I was overjoyed. I could hardly believe the unconditional love that had just graced my being in such a beautiful, unexpected way.
The weekend turned out to be a beautiful experience, our unresolved divorce issues resolved themselves almost effortlessly, and I again sat in silence—crying nearly the entire way as we drive toward home.
Parallel Story Lines
A separate story line has been unfolding all week, but I have not yet felt inclined to work it into my writings—until now that is.
On Monday, July 6, as I prepared to visit my mother for the second time, I observed my former wife walking into the assisted living center just as I was pulling into a parking spot. Tapping my horn lightly, she glanced up, saw me, and waited briefly for me to catch up with her.
As I reached her side, I told her “Thank you so much for visiting my mother and for keeping me informed last week. I really appreciated your first hand, loving reports of my mother’s condition.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “I love your mother.” Then she paused briefly before continuing. “It has been a hard 24 hours. I was just up visiting my own mother in the emergency room last night. She is not doing well. She might not last long either.”
I visited my mother-in-law briefly on Tuesday morning, but she was sleeping, and I asked her eldest daughter (who was with her) to not disturb her on my account. I knew in my heart that she would feel me presence there, even while she was asleep. After checking on Mom #2, I scurried southward to go spend the rest of the day with my own dear mom.
Throughout this entire week, I have been keeping constant tabs on my sweet mother-in-law’s condition, but have felt a deep knowing that my presence was needed right where I was, beside my own mother.
The Set Up
As you may recall if you read my July 11th posting, I had an incredible experience with a couple of songs on the radio as I drove southward at 1:00 a.m. to spend my final day with my mother. The first song that sent energy surging through my soul was “It’s just a dream” by Carrie Underwood. Then, just a few minutes later, the song “Here Comes Goodbye” by Rascal Flatts again caused fireworks to burst throughout my soul. One thing I didn’t mention is that the “Here Comes Goodbye” song was playing as I crested the top of what we refer to here in Utah as “The point of the mountain.”
The point of the mountain is a higher elevation spot on I-15 that does not quite reach the status of a mountain pass. As the freeway bends around and climbs over a small hill, travelers are treated to a beautiful view, whether they are heading northbound into the Salt Lake Valley or southbound into the Utah Valley area.
On Friday morning, at 1:15 a.m., I was dancing away to the energy of “Here Comes Goodbye” as I began my descent into Utah Valley. I had a strong knowing that this would be the final trip southward, the goodbye journey, as I was determined to remain with my mother during her final moments.
The Blessings of Listening
Exhaustion overwhelmed my body as I drove home last night. Hours earlier, we had dedicated mom’s grave in the Charleston cemetery. Twenty minutes earlier I said goodbye to my sisters, dropped my brother off at his home, and aimed my car northbound—determined to go home to get some much needed sleep.
As I neared the point of the mountain, the same Carrie Underwood “It’s just a dream” song played on my radio. At this point, my attention was slightly peaked, but I did not pick up on anything out of the ordinary.
As I climbed up I-15, nearing the crest of “the point of the mountain”, I was literally blown away when Rascal Flatts began singing “Here Comes Goodbye.” Suddenly I recognized the synchronicity. The same two songs that had energetically announced my mother’s passing were now serenading me as I drove home from her funeral—and I was in the exact same spot where the second song had played on both occasions.
My first reaction was to simply thank the universe for the little “signal” that all was as it should be, and that my goodbye was now complete.
But as I listened to my heart, another sudden awareness flashed into my mind. When this happened before, I was driving south to say goodbye to my own mother. This time, I was driving north, just entering the Salt Lake Valley, and my thoughts intensely flashed to my mother-in-law. A strong and distinct sense of knowing sunk deep into my soul. Just shy of being a voice, the thought loudly proclaimed “My mother-in-law either just passed away, or is in her final minutes. Don’t delay visiting her until tomorrow. Go to her hospice care center NOW!” I looked at my watch. The time read 6:07 pm.
Without hesitating, I followed my deep prompting, abandoning all thoughts about getting some rest. Fifteen minutes later I was on the phone with Michelle as I pulled into the hospice center parking lot. “My mother-in-law is calling me to her.” I told Michelle as I hung up the phone and walked inside the building, not having a clue as to what I would find.
As I walked into the common area outside my mother-in-law’s hospice room, two of her daughters told me “She is very weak … she has been asking about you … other family members are in her room singing to her … please go in and join them.”
As I entered the room, several other daughters and two son-in-laws were standing around in a semi-circle, surrounding her bed, quietly singing a Mormon children’s song called “I am a Child of God.” Being very familiar with the song, I found myself a spot in the semi circle and joined in with the loving harmony and spiritual energy in that deeply peaceful room.
As the song came to a close, the youngest daughter spoke to me. “She has been asking about you for several days, at least she was before she became non-responsive. She kept saying ‘Where’s Brenda? I want Brenda to be included. I love everyone equally.’”
Hearing these words, I approached my dear second mom. Placing my right hand on her shoulder, I bent over, whispered “I love you Mom” into her ear, and kissed her on the forehead.
A few seconds later, another sister emotionally announced, “I don’t think she is breathing anymore.”
The nurse was called in, and everyone held their breath while the nurse used her stethoscope to search for the sound of a faint heartbeat or perhaps a breath. Seconds later, the nurse gently announced “She is gone, she has passed away.”
Deep, loving emotion filled the room as tears were shed and hugs were exchanged. “Are you sure she was alive when I walked into the room?” I asked her youngest daughter.
“Yes, she was definitely breathing when you came in. She felt your presence here. She heard you singing to her.”
A few minutes later, I briefly shared my experiences of hearing the two songs on the radio, and the strong “knowing” that I needed to drive straight to the hospice center—that she was in her final moments. After another round of warm loving hugs, I opted to excuse myself, to leave the immediate family alone to process their peaceful loving emotions with each other.
I was literally blown away with emotion as I drove off. The beauty of what had just taken place was astounding. I listened to my internal guides, I trusted those guides with a deep sense of peace and knowing, and my dear sweet mother-in-law let me know in a very profound way that she had been waiting for me—until the moment that I arrived. I would not be at all surprised to learn that it was her own beautiful spirit that had guided me to be at her side as she quietly released her final breath.
Dear sweet Mom #2 was just two weeks younger than my own mother. How fitting it was for her to pass on into her own freedom, to be reunited with her own husband, on my own mother’s birthday—amidst such loving energy from many of her children. How blessed I was that she waited for me, allowing me to experience the blessing of being in her loving presence during her precious final moments.
© Brenda Larsen, 2009