Chapter 17
by Sweetgrass
I met Roland through my treasured teacher, Helen, who believed in sharing joy and healing energy with divine purpose. It came as no surprise that she encouraged me to attend one of Roland’s presentations. It was Halloween. My daughter and I came dressed in costumes. I wasn’t exactly sure what would transpire that night, but I was ready to receive any gifts that would come my way. That’s when I received my first Purple Paper, transcribed weeks in advance and well before I had any knowledge or intention of attending.
The message was simple in its brevity, but the meaning it held was personally and profoundly gratifying. It said, “My granddaughter has my family recipes.” A drawing on the Purple Paper was of a simple brown box with black lettering, the exact depiction of the recipe box I received from my grandmother, the box I cherish with all my heart. She passed in 1981. She was my maternal grandmother and the person with whom I felt most loved. I loyally use her recipes, some in her own shaky handwriting, and am so grateful for her gift. I was extremely close to my grandmother. The box was gifted to me during our lifetime together. Her message delivered, my greatest treasure, on the Purple Paper was another timeless reminder of our enduring love.
A sudden loss motivated me to attend another Purple Paper event. My father tragically died after choking at a celebratory dinner of champagne and foie gras. He was placed on a respirator, against his wishes, never to regain consciousness and dying soon thereafter.
Once again, my treasured teacher encouraged me to attend an event. It was a gray, rainy evening, but the potential of a blessing encouraged me to venture out. Finally, I made my way into the room, filled with people praying for their own blessing. Roland picked me out of the crowd of fifty. What happened next was chilling and telling. The Purple Paper, again depicted with accuracy, was my father’s plight in his last days. A drawing of a man hooked up to wires with the words “He fought—He did not want it.” That I knew referred to the life support actions that were issued. “Harvey is peaceful!” read the next message I received that night. I was glad to know that my father reached out to me and assured me that he was at peace. I needed that.
The woman who guided me on my journey from grief and loss to peace and acceptance was waging her own life-threatening battle. I, along with others who loved Helen, were at her side when she passed, supporting and loving one another with all the strength and compassion we could muster when our hearts were breaking. My next Purple Paper held a message from Helen. She told me that she would send me a feather so I would know that she was thinking of me.
A year and half went by before I found my feather. I was walking to a bus stop on my way to the hospital for yet another back surgery. My pain had not let up and I desperately hoped there would be relief this time. There at my feet was an amazing brown feather. I knew it was from Helen. She would be with me during the procedure. I thanked her silently and made my way into the hospital. I am now virtually pain free, the first time in about ten years, and I believe Helen had a hand in my healing.
I had the opportunity to see Roland once again and was more than delighted to receive another Purple Paper. It was from Helen. Through Roland, she wrote:
“My dear sister, you were so smart about what I needed and how to help. I really didn’t have pain. You were a treasured friend.”
My Purple Papers were my constant solace during decades of suffering from undiagnosed PTSD. They and Helen remain invaluable treasures.