A MOTHER’S HOPE

When I greeted Juliette at my office door, I immediately sensed her sorrow. Her dark, shoulder-length hair was flecked with streaks of grey. As I escorted the well-dressed lady into my reading room, I thanked her for coming to see me, and tried putting her at ease with pleasant chitchat about the weather and her drive over. She sat in the chair across from my desk and played with the ends of her green scarf, rolling and unrolling the cloth around the fingers of her right hand. I wondered how I could calm Juliette down before our session would begin, but she immediately blurted out, “Please tell me – is my son in hell?”

The question surprised me. I had never been asked that before. Personally, I don’t believe in the idea of an afterlife filled with anguish, no matter how a person has lived. In fact, I think the only sorrow we may feel when we pass into spirit is when we have a life review, and see some of the unwise choices we may have made. But we learn from those choices, and we work on the other side to progress our soul so we can move closer to the Divine light.

I took a few moments to try to formulate a response to Juliette’s question. I certainly didn’t want to engage her in a philosophical discussion, or challenge her religious beliefs, whatever they were. That’s not my job. Unfortunately, I was taking too long to answer, because she suddenly cried, “I knew it! He’s lost!” and lowered her eyes.

C’mon, guys, I thought, asking my guides to help ease Juliette’s fears.

As I centred myself, I sensed the presence of a young man standing behind Juliette. In my mind, I saw him lean over and enfold his mother in a hug. When he stood up again, I described for Juliette what I was seeing – a tall, slender young man with thick, curly hair. When he smiled, a tooth glinted.

“Yes,” Juliette said, now sitting up straight. “James had a gold tooth.”

I gave Juliette more evidence to let her know this was, indeed, her son. She nodded enthusiastically, but her eyes still held the distress of her first unanswered question.

James, I mentally said to the spirit. What shall I tell your mother?

James told me he was taking responsibility for his bad choice. He was sorry that he hurt so many people, especially his family, and if he had the chance to do things all over again, he would. Now I understood James’ predicament, and his mother’s apprehension – James had completed suicide.

An image flashed through my mind: a bloody knife lying on a kitchen floor. As I was wondering how to tactfully give that bit of information to Juliette, James’ voice ordered, Don’t talk about that.

Then James had some forceful words for me. He stood before me, one hand on his hip, the other pointing a finger at me. Tell my mother I am not in hell. I am not suffering. Tell her I am in heaven with God, and He understands that I made a poor choice, and that I am doing my best to ease the suffering that I have caused my family.

First, I described the way James was talking to me, and the way his forehead creased as he spoke so intently. “Yes,” Juliette said, “that was how he would stand when he argued with me.”

But what was the right way to convey James’ message? How could I relate his feelings in a way that would give his mother hope? Finally, I decided the best words to use were James’ own, and I asked him to help me get his sentiments right.

“James wants me to tell you that he is not in hell,” I said. “He says he is in heaven, where all spirits go when they leave the Earth plane. And – in fact – he’s with his father.”

“No,” Juliette said. “My husband is still alive.”

I listened to James, then said, “Who’s Charlie?”

Juliette thought a moment, and then her eyes opened wide. “Oh, my! Father Charles, our pastor. He died two years ago. James used to call him Father Charlie!”

“James says Father Charles – Charlie – is with him, helping him work things through. He says no one in heaven judges you; only we here in the living pass judgment on each other.”

Then to further prove to his mother that he was with people who loved him, James brought through his grandfather – Juliette’s dad – and Aunt Margarit, who reminded Juliette that she need to put a titch more cinnamon in her brioches next time she baked those treats.

The rest of the session went well, and when we rose from our seats, Juliette had a bright smile. “That was such a comfort,” she said, taking my hand in hers. “I was so afraid that when it would be my time to – well, you know – that I would never see my son again.”

James’ spirit nudged me and whispered in my ear. “Your son says you’ll meet again,” I told her, “but you still have many years left here on Earth. And as to seeing you – well, he’s watching you right now.”

“From up there?” she said, looking upwards.

From wherever you believe heaven resides, I thought about replying, then said, “Of course.”

If you have any questions or comments on this subject or on any other spiritual matter, feel free to write me at mail @ carolynmolnar.com. And please visit me again!

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