My Goodbye Year

Dana  by Dana Taylor

I awakened to the quietest Christmas morning ever. My parents are long-gone. I’m no longer anyone’s darling daughter. My own daughters are young women now, nurturing their budding families. No husband greeted me on Christmas morning with fresh coffee and a new bottle of perfume. He suddenly departed in a car accident last February. My starring role as wife has played out. Even my identity as pet owner disappeared recently. My cat died at Thanksgiving. Enough already.

photo (3)I gazed out the bedroom window. A bright Southern California sun promised record-breaking high temperatures. Chirping birds appeared to be my most lively company. I threw off the covers, pulled on a Christmas sweatshirt and took myself off to duck pond park.

As I circled the water, I reflected on my year of goodbyes. Twelve months earlier, I’d anticipated 2013 with trepidation. The dreaded third year of the decade. All lives have patterns. To get the big picture, read Gregg Braden’s Fractal Time. It might change your life. If you live long enough and pay attention, you might figure out your key patterns. By 2003, I’d realized the third year of every decade brings illness, change, and often, death.

2003 was one of the most miserable years of my life. My Dad’s stroke irrevocably changed both our lives, forever. I hated leaving my family in Oklahoma and becoming his full time caregiver in California. On the outside, I appeared to be quite gracious about it, but inside I railed at losing my independence and the family life I had created. Of course, it was no picnic for Dad either. We struggled against the sudden restrictions and emerging new roles of disabled man and caretaker daughter. Yet, within the crucible of that difficult year, we both became better people. He revealed memories long buried. I was given the gift of really getting to know my father. My ego took a good bashing, which was a painful, but ultimately liberating experience. Once I surrendered to the changes of 2003, I found peace again.

 Fast forward ten years. So much has happened in a decade. Between Reiki, prayer, meditation and numerous attunements, I perceive the world very differently. My intuition is much keener. I knew 2013 would be a year of departures and transitions. The first came on Christmas Day 2012 when my motherly mentor, Jeanie, went to be with Jesus on his birthday. Nobody loved Jesus like Jeanie. I’m sure He welcomed her with open arms.

I also sensed Christmas of 2012 would be my last holiday season with my husband. I didn’t let a moment go by unnoticed. I stored up the last conversations, the final smiles, the last date night in my mind to recall and relish. His final act of mailing a Valentine card to me before smashing his car in a construction zone, was heart-wrenching and wonderful at the same time.

The deaths kept coming– a childhood friend, close relatives of close friends. Last month, after great struggle, my dear mother-in-law finally passed over. Even my best feline pal, Buddy, had to leave me. I’d known his health was failing and his death could have been very depressing. Yet, his timing was perfect. He hung on until my family came into town for Thanksgiving. The morning when his breath grew short, I carried him out to his favorite chaise lounge in the backyard. I prayed over him and he simply let go. We buried him in his favorite garden spot.

 The lessons of 2003 served me well for 2013.

  • Surrender–Don’t fight fate. Events are only bad if you perceive them that way. Instead of fighting the currents of change, survival may mean going with the flow. Surrender to sadness when it rises up. Let it flow and wash away.
  • Accept Grace–Spirit is always on hand to help through the hard times. The outpouring of emotional, financial, and practical support after my husband’s death came from many directions. My husband helped many people during his lifetime. They stepped forward to assist me for his sake and for mine.
  • Welcome Change–The seasons of life are ever-evolving. Remember the past fondly, but relish the adventures of the future. Keep growing, learning, and transforming.

2014 promises to be a time of new beginnings. New babies on the way! Our younger daughter, Cary, will give birth to her first baby almost a year to the day of her dad’s departure. New nieces and nephews are on the horizon.

Two new books are emerging from the depths of my creative subconscious. New clients and friends are finding their way to my doorstep.

Farewell to the Goodbye Year, ring in the Hello Year. The best is yet to come. (Maybe I’ll even get a new kitty.)

Happy New Year–

Dana Taylor

Tapping400E-book version  at Amazon

Paperback version available at Lulu.com

Grace in Grief: Six Months After My Husband’s Passing

051It’s been six months since my husband was suddenly gone in a car accident last February. Only six months, yet, a lifetime. The surreal first month, caught in a flurry of details and rituals. The memorial service panorama of faces across a thirty-six year marriage passing before me in one afternoon…. Carrying a box of ashes to a droughty cemetery in Norman, Oklahoma. Leaving them on the desk of a friendly, Okie-speak girl for later burial in his parents’ plot.

I kept waiting to see my phone ringing showing “husband” and I’d tell him all about it.

The weeks back home in California melted into tasks accomplished–sending death certificates, a new trust drawn up, closets cleaned, home repairs. Long, quiet nights.

Emotion held at bay until a witching hour visit last month. Supposedly between 4 and 5 o’clock in the morning our spirit selves can make contact with the other side. There have been similar “dreams” where I’m lying in my bed, asleep and yet aware. I can see and hear a normally unseen dimension around me. One night I heard a grand party going on and a man stood next to my bed playing a saxophone. As I awakened to complete consciousness, he disappeared; the music faded. Last January my dear friend, Jeanie, appeared a week after she’d passed over. Her grandson sat on the foot of my bed as she spoke lovingly to me to say goodbye.

The visitation/dream from my husband, David, came five months after he got confused driving in road construction along I-35, hit a cone, spun into a concrete wall and was then broadsided by a van.

As I lay in my bed, dawn was an hour away, when I was awakened by the sound of running water. David stood next to the window, his back to me, wearing only his boxers, which was always his sleeping attire. He seemed to be washing his hands, another night-time ritual. My first thought was, “There’s no sink there.” (Our Oklahoma bedroom had a sink outside the shower. In my California home, the bathroom is down the hall.)

He looked at me over his shoulder and smiled. I got the impression he could do special things in this spirit dimension, even conjure up a sink. He stepped to the bed and slipped between the covers with me. After months of solitary sleeping, the intense joy of feeling my husband next me was beyond description. Our arms joined like, two halves of whole fitting together.

Image 13His face was bathed in a golden glow. He looked 35 again. The handsome guy I married. “You look good,” I said.

“So do you,” he said. He pulled me closer. “I was so stupid. I crawled away. I wrecked the car.”

An image played in my mind of his spirit body seeing the aftermath of his accident, the chaos and destruction. He watched helplessly, irritated with himself for making an irrevocable error of judgment.

Until that moment, I’d pictured him going to the light, surrounded by angels walking into a pink sunset. A Hollywood ending. Maybe that came later.

In our bed, I felt the regret and the longing and the last goodbye. He stretched out over me. So wonderful, so right, so fleeting. My arms gathered across his back and held on as long as it would last. I knew it wasn’t real and yet it was utterly real.

Don’t go…don’t go….

As the rays of sunlight rose above the horizon, he dissolved in my arms. I came to full consciousness, flat on my back, tears trailing into my hair. I lay there two more hours, flummoxed, gob-smocked.

A true period of grief began. Sadness, weeping spells. Also, came the grace. A prophetic friend living hundreds of miles away sent me a “word from the Lord.” My pain was not unnoticed…. A wonderful healer gave me a full body massage and therapy session… I took a class in sound therapy and received a whole array of healing frequencies from bells, singing bowls, tuning forks and Reiki…. My Supernal friend, Sue, administered a healing energy treatment to heal regret.

After thirty-six years, there were regrets. I was focusing on the lost opportunities and missed moments. The healers helped me turn from regret, move toward gratitude and remember the happy times. I needed to be grateful for the family we created–first, two fabulous daughters and now two wonderful grand kids and the joyful anticipation of the next one next in February. Yes, a year from David’s departure, we will be welcoming our younger daughter’s first child into our lives.

It seems only appropriate to end this with a passage from the Bible, the book that held my husband’s constant fascination and guided his life.

Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing; thou hast loosed my sackcloth and girded me with gladness Psalms 30:11

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Life reflected in books:

A Spiritual Memoir and Introduction to Energy Healing

“Powerful memoir that touched my soul”

EVER-FLOWING STREAMS: Christ, Reiki, Reincarnation & Me

“What I needed on my journey of spirit”   

Available as ebook and paperback Amazon or paperback at

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Life-inspired fiction:

The Healer & the Lawyer: Opposites Attract AIN’T LOVE GRAND?  Visit Author Den Page

 

Fond Farewell to L.C. Evans

One of the more difficult aspects of living a Supernal Life, is walking the last miles with someone on their earthly journey. This past week, the writing world and her family said goodbye to Linda (L.C.) Evans.Image of L. C. Evans

Linda came into my life last April. She was the first person to post an unsolicited  review of Ever-Flowing Streams.  She said in the review “This book reached out to me,” and we soon reached out to each other. We had a lot in common, from our age group, our interest in holistic living,  to our experiences slugging it out in the world of publishing. She told me she had some sort of growth in her stomach area and was afraid to go to a doctor. I encouraged her to seek medical care. That led to a surgery and the discovery of a rare and virulent cancer.

As the months unfolded, we traded emails and talked several times. She became a daily recipient of healing energy from the Supernal Friends team. Despite the fact we had a sense that Linda was approaching her final exit point, we knew she needed constant energy for the journey. She fought the good fight. She didn’t want to leave her family, especially the grandson she was raising. Her writing was finally being recognized. We Interrupt The Date was a breakout bestseller.We Interrupt This Date There was so much more she wanted to say and do.

The last time I spoke to Linda, there were a lot of tears. Part of Supernal Living is being there to support people through the hard times, allowing them to express pain, frustration and grief. We ended the conversation with a prayer. At least I could offer that much. I hope that our prayerful vigilance helped her and the family.   

Linda will be missed, which is the way it should be. Someone who gave and loved leaves a hole behind. But, they also leave a legacy. I’m sure the  encouragement Linda gave her grandson will be the gift that keeps giving. If there’s one thing I’ve discovered after saying final goodbyes to several loved ones is that a part of them remains. They not only live on in the spiritual realm, they also come back in memories time and again. Truly, love never dies.

So, farewell Linda. It was an honor to know you. Thanks for inviting me on your journey. You’ll always be a part of me.

Dana Taylor

You’ll find all of Linda’s books at  L.C. Evans Author Page. Proceeds from her books will go towards paying the many expenses that have stacked up over the past few months. You’ll enjoy her work. Books live on!

Never Forget

aint-lovegrandmedium

I was living in Oklahoma City in 1995 and felt the bomb shake my house that killed 168 people and wounded countless others. I remember the collective grief. The feeling is echoed this summer. It seems fitting to post this scene that was inspired by that moment in history.

Excerpt from

Ain’t Love Grand?”

 

The set-up: The Healer and the Lawyer. Persephone Jones has a new neighbor in Peeler, Oklahoma—high dollar lawyer, Jason Brooks. This is a more serious scene featuring Jason as the guest speaker for a fund raiser for the Oklahoma City Bombing Memorial

 

“It’s my privilege to bring you one of the unsung heroes of that fateful April morning, when all of our lives were changed forever. You haven’t heard his story before. He didn’t take a photo opportunity, but he was there working tirelessly until we forced him to go home two days later. I had to twist his arm to get him to come here this evening.” His attention veered in our direction. “Ladies and Gentlemen, will you welcome Oklahoma’s own, Jason Brooks.”

My mouth dropped open. Jason had never said a word about any personal involvement with the bombing. Come to think of it, he never bragged or appeared on the ego trip associated with successful lawyers.

He issued a low grunt, wiped his mouth with his napkin, rose, and made his way to the front of the room. The audience applauded politely, as he took his place behind the podium. He stood quietly before the crowd, taking their measure as the applause died down.

Though his expression appeared impassive, his hands gripped the podium, betraying pent-up tension. “Paul’s correct in telling you I am here reluctantly. I know most of you think I’m a publicity hound, always ready to give a statement when the cameras are rolling. It’s true that I’m not shy about putting my face in the forefront when there’s an issue I consider worth taking a stand for. But tonight is different. The experience of the bombing…the sights, smells, and memories are forever imprinted in my mind and soul.”

Grim lines drew around his mouth. “I was there, one of the first on the scene, two blocks away from the Murrah Building when the blast went off, knocking me off my feet. The glass in the high-rise windows around me shattered and rained down on the sidewalks as I crouched into a ball, feeling particles of debris bounce off my back. My memories after that moment are as fragmented as the building itself…”

His voice filled the room with his remembrances of the blood, smoke, fear, and valor brought forth following the terrorist attack on the American heartland. We revisited the day again through his eyes. How he carried dead toddlers out of what was left of the day care center…calmed hysterical people searching in vain for loved ones…helped organize a triage center. He’d stared helplessly at the fragmented, blackened mass of concrete, glass and twisted steel that had so recently been an orderly structure of offices, reception areas, and snack rooms. Everyday people were working to support their families and fulfill their place in the world when a misguided, angry young man wiped them off the face of the earth forever.

Jason didn’t want to remember, but he couldn’t let us forget. Supporting the Memorial was necessary, but would never be enough for the families left behind. However, it was all we could do and must do to sanctify a place where evil had momentarily overtaken goodness. The Memorial honored the dead and encouraged the living.

The audience was pulled into his word pictures and overcome with the tide of memory. Most of the women had tears in their eyes, while the men held their faces in tight masks of restraint. Jason fought for emotional control and cleared his throat on numerous occasions to keep going. His eyes found mine again and again as he related the painful details of our collective days in hell.

“It won’t bring any of them back, but we can’t let the victims be forgotten in the mists of time. The Memorial not only honors the 168 people who died that day, but the hundreds who survived. We are all survivors of the bombing. You all remember where you were that day, what you were doing when you heard about it. Many of you felt the impact of the blast and knew something terrible had occurred. It’s a Memorial for all of us in the city, in the state and in the country. The Museum teaches about the impact of violence. I didn’t want to participate in a tragedy, but we must all participate in changing the patterns of violence. Good night and God bless you all.”

He walked through the room as people leapt to their feet in emotional applause. Men patted his back; women wiped their eyes. He never took his gaze off me. I stood up slowly, meeting his penetrating, soul stripping stare with tear-filled eyes. He grabbed my hand.

“Let’s get out of here.” I nodded, gathered up my purse and we exited into the cool of the gardens, the crowd still applauding as we stole into the night.

Available at

http://amzn.to/R0gZgQ Amazon US

http://amzn.to/SSBn2z Amazon UK