Chapter 13
by MaryAlice
It had been nine years since I received messages from my loved ones from Roland. My brother Ritchie died tragically at the age of two and a half after being struck by a dump truck in front of our home. I was only four years old at the time, and we both had been playing across the street. My mom came to get Ritchie for his afternoon nap but said I could stay there and play. Ritchie started to cry because he wanted to stay with me. The next thing I heard was screeching brakes and my mother’s screams. When they had gotten to the front door, Ritchie pulled out of her hand and went running across the street right into the path of an oncoming truck. The driver was unable to stop, and Ritchie was killed instantly. This happened on March 31, 1959. Mom and I both blamed ourselves for his death.
I told myself over the years that if I had come home with him, he never would have been killed. My grandmother reassured me that Ritchie was in heaven with Grandpa, but I still carried the guilt and heartache into my adult life. Forty years later, I was going through breast cancer treatments and Mom came to spend two weeks with my family and me as I was finishing my treatments.
On March 31, a few days before her departure from my home, I found her sitting sadly on my couch. I assured her that I was fine and would survive the cancer. She said she knew I would be fine, but she had been thinking of Ritchie. It was forty years to the day since he was killed. Her heart was still aching terribly for him. We cried together, sharing our loss. A few days later, she left to go home with Dad. Dad stayed home, his fear of flying keeping him from visiting with us. Tragically, she had a heart attack halfway across the Pacific and died before landing in Los Angeles. Again, my heart was broken in two. Mom was my best friend, who taught us all unconditional love.
I went to see Roland in June 2008, hoping to connect with my mother, Dad (who had since passed), and Ritchie. Roland shared with me that they were there, along with my grandparents and multiple angels, and that they were all watching over me. I had no doubt he was speaking with Mom because he described her personality perfectly, saying she was soft spoken and had waited patiently for her turn to come forward. That was my mother. She thanked me, saying how proud she was of how I helped my siblings and dad get through her passing and that I was the strength and the rock. Her special love came through, and I was reminded by the angels that we were all blessed by the unconditional love she taught us to share. Roland then told me he had a Purple Paper from her to me in his never-ending stack of papers at the front of the room. How he would find it in all those binders was beyond my comprehension. He searched through them during the break, and I cried when he showed me what Mom had told him on June 25, a few days before our gathering.
It was a drawing of an angel’s wings with a large red heart in the center, surrounded by the words, “The angels healed my heavy heart. I’ve got my boy with me.” I cried, but at the same time, all the forty-eight years of pain were lifted from my heart. This paper is my most cherished gift. The experience opened the door and cleared the pathway for me to progress on my spiritual journey. I know my mom is always at my side. She sends me cardinals (her favorite bird) and I feel her hugs and hear her gentle words as I continue on my earthly journey knowing we will be together in spirit someday.
