Living and Loving
He was going through a divorce. It was a very tough time.
He had a very heavy heart as he boarded the plane.
The man seated next to him on the flight gave him a booklet.
When he finished reading and turned to thank the man, the man had disappeared!
These are sacred stories. What does this all mean to you? Do you have as story to share? Send email to debra@scs-matters.com.
“Oh, Daddy, she is not going to stop!” I screamed.
Squealing tires, honking horns, then mangled metal and shattered glass gave way to twisted bodies and altered minds.
It took a few moments for me to realize my own flesh was garishly peeled back, dangling down over both of my eyes, preventing me from seeing my father’s feet in the floorboard of the car. Preventing me from seeing anything.
It was August 12, 1962. I was twelve, going on twenty.
“Daddy! Daddy! Are you OK, Daddy!?!” I called out.
Silence hung in the air.
Then suddenly, from somewhere, hands pressed against my forehead. I remember blurting out my name and telephone number—along with the name and phone number of the pastor of the little country church I attended each Sunday morning.
Those skillful hands pressing firmly against my scrambled tissue, slowing the bleeding, were the hands of a nurse, a woman who lived in the house at the exact location of the accident. A nurse who had just arrived home from work when she heard the crash. A nurse whose sweet voice reassured me over and over again, “Your daddy is OK. You are OK, too.”
Sirens in the distance became deafening as they bared down on that intersection… “Please make them stop!” I cried.
Almost two decades would slip by before I would read about death and dying, the work of Elizabeth Kübler-Ross. Better-late-than-never comprehension of my first out-of-body experience. All I knew that day was a total lack of pain, a lovely sensation of floating above my body, looking down, watching hands meticulously sewing dozens of stitches in my forehead.
But, I would not understand then (and perhaps not fully even now) how much my world view was changed the day that drunk driver stopped in the middle of the intersection at M-140 and Territorial Road.
My body was in a hospital room in traction when I came to. I had no knowledge of having been transferred to this hospital after the stitches, no awareness of having surgery to set my hip that had been dislocated at my pelvic bone.
Two weeks later I would go home. My father’s broken ribs would heal. My scars would always be hidden by bangs.
At the surface, my life seemed unchanged.
I got really good on the crutches. Living right next door to the school, carrying my books and my lunch, I could get across the lawn and be the first in line when the bell rang.
When did the dreams begin? Was it before or after I read about near-death awareness?
It is difficult to say when the dreams began, but they did not just happen when I was sleeping in bed at night.
Bright light.
Warmth.
Profound love.
Was I the nurse, or was I the patient? Was I the drunk-driver or the young girl tossed like a beach ball into the windshield?
When did the premonitions begin?
It is difficult to say when the premonitions began, but they did not just happen when I was sleeping in bed at night.
Bright light.
Warmth.
Profound love.
When she would turn her car on, a static radio station would play until she hit the button for her iPod.
She and her dad had been talking about the birthday and “what a year.” She got in her car and instead of the usual static, Stairway to Heaven was playing on the radio.
Her daughter had only lived a few days. That was the song used at her daughter’s memorial service!
These are sacred stories. What does this all mean to you? Do you have as story to share? Send email to debra@scs-matters.com.
On her way in to the restaurant for a business meeting, she noticed a sign advertising “psychic readings.”
While in the restaurant, a woman caught her attention.
Her meeting finished a bit early, leaving her a few extra minutes, so she decided to go for a reading.
When she entered the office, the psychic was the patron who had previously caught her eye at the restaurant!
These are sacred stories. What does this all mean to you? Do you have as story to share? Send email to debra@scs-matters.com.
Do you remember wanting to be old enough for kindergarten? Old enough to stay home alone? Old enough to babysit? Old enough to drive a car? Old enough to vote or drink?
Remember when you thought forty was old?
One of the best things about age is its relativity. I was mother to a 3-year old. My nephew was riding in the car with me. “Aunt Deb, you could pass.”
Looking around, I saw no other vehicles, “I could pass what?” I asked.
Motioning to my hands on the steering wheel, he said, “You could pass for a teenager.”
I was 19!
Do you remember the Ivory liquid commercial with the teenager and her middle-aged mom comparing hands? In that commercial, the mom’s hands could pass for those of a teenager because she used the correct dishwashing soap!
I am now old enough to know my hands could not pass for those of a teenager.
I’m glad.
I sometimes miss seeing my younger self in the mirror. I am surprised by the crepey skin.
I’m glad I’m old enough for more important things.
I’m old enough to choose comfortable shoes.
Remember the pointed-toe spiked-heels?
I am old enough to value women friends.
Gone are the days of blowing off our girlfriends because we got asked out by a boy.
Old enough to be honest about what we want. That was quite an adjustment.
“No, I’m really not comfortable with thus and so; given the choice this is what I’d do or where I’d go.”
I remember the summer morning in 1995: robins singing, sun streaming through the window. I sat on the sofa and I knew—with every fiber of my being—I was going to spend the winter in Tennessee bonding with our new grandchild who was due in October. “I am going to go to Tennessee for the winter,” I later told my husband, “I hope you can get your ducks in a row so you are able to go with me.”
Gloria is in her 90’s. Buried her son when he was in his 50s. She says about that, “By far the hardest thing I’ve done.”
Nancy’s in her 80s. She takes her therapy dog to hospitals and schools three days a week and still maintains her house and garden.
I’m not yet 70, but I’m old enough. Caroline Myss writes, “But now I feel that I have reached that age where I can speak more openly about the hidden realm, mysticism, and the wonders of all things holy and Sacred.”
I am old enough to know I would rather be close than right. I would rather be honest than accepted.
I am old enough to know that just because not everyone one talks to dead people doesn’t mean I am crazy because I do. After all, I don’t just talk to them, they talk to me.
And I am old enough to know we don’t have to agree to agree to be kind and compassionate.
Ah, yes, old enough for that….
1/15/2017 ~ Debra Basham
Life is wonderFULL. Some days and some times of our lives are definitely more full than others.
Today is the one year anniversary of my mother-in-law’s transition. I’ve written about her passing in Musings from an Estate Sale, and spoken about it in Celebrations of Life, a talk given at Unity by the Lakeshore the morning after the final day of the estate sale.
One week ago today, I had the honor of giving the eulogy for John’s Aunt Nor.
Yesterday, I sat with my beloved sister as she supported their sweet cat, Sally, in crossing the Rainbow Bridge.
As much as I try to not write so much about life and death, it is life after death keeps calling my fingers to the keyboard.
You may appreciate a reminder of our seeing the boat named Miss Ellie on the highway as we drove home from the first Basham Family Reunion without John’s mom with us in body. Miss Ellie is the nickname given to my mother-in-law by another of her daughters-in-law, Cindy.
This morning, I opened my email to a Quotation for the day from David Bloyd. “Every single thing that has ever happened in your life is preparing you for a moment that is yet to come.” According to David, the author of this quotation found on marcandangel.com, is unknown. Known or unknown, the writer has spoken a powerful reality.
A bit before noon yesterday I drove my sister and her precious kitty companion to the vet. Janis’ husband, Larry, was working. The regular vet was on vacation, but they had someone filling in. The vet who saw us was a young woman. As she was in that room with us, her own story came out. One month ago, she had to put her dog down. She had loved that dog for ten years. She, too, had waited so long the injection had to go into the heart. She fought her tears, gave us hugs, and shared her own tender experiences, Janis and I agreed Sally’s needing support to complete her transition may have been as much about that tender-hearted vet as it was about Sally and the two of us.
The threads of our lives are connected…. We can appreciate that truth.
Sally had come to my brother-in-law’s art studio over 16 years earlier. Sally’s ears and tail were bare of hair—having been sheered by frostbite. We can endure painful experiences in life. A month of Larry’s consistent and compassionate feeding resulted in this former feral’s finally coming inside where it was warm. Sally became a studio cat, and she has been a studio cat since that day…. Not one time during the next decade and a half did an open door or window tempt her away from her place of warmth and love. She had been there and done that!
Today, I will ride my bike to yoga class in the autumn sun.
You can appreciate the truth. As J.K. Rowling wrote in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, “The ones who love us never really leave us, you can always find them in here.”
They had just attended their 49th consecutive annual family reunion. It was the first one ever attended without their mother.
As they were driving home, a vehicle towing a boat passed them. The name of the boat was Miss Ellie.
Miss Ellie was the term of endearment their sister-in-law used for their mom.
They knew she was letting them know she had been at the reunion!