Chapter 4
by Linda Christensen
Orphaned at the age of thirty-seven, I lost my mom in March 2010, and then my sister passed in December 2011. When my dear friend, Erin, brought me to see Roland in Moodus, Connecticut, on September 22, 2012, we were the last two in the door and received the last seats in the front row. I had never heard of Roland until this invitation, and it was exciting to see the room packed full of people eager to hear what this man had to say about those who waited on the other side.
During the first half of the event, Roland looked at me with brief pauses as he paced up and down the aisle, speaking with other folks and evoking tears from some. Eventually, Roland stopped near where we were sitting and asked me who I was here for. I replied, “My whole family,” as my voice cracked from having to repeat my response clearly and loudly.
Roland asked in disbelief, “How old are you, if you don’t mind sharing?”
I replied, “Thirty-seven.” Roland immediately asked that I stay after as there were a lot of messages coming through at once—imagine your family all fighting to be first in line! Erin looked over at me and quietly acknowledged her wish coming true. Before we arrived, Erin thoughtfully shared that she would be fine if Robert, her boyfriend who committed suicide a few months earlier, didn’t come through as long as my family did. I asked Erin to stay with me afterward.
After folks had a chance to collect their Purple Papers and speak with Roland about their loved ones’ messages, we all sat down together. Roland had a fresh tablet of purple paper with him and began to draw and number stick figures: Dad, my grandma, my sister, and Mom were drawn, but there were others present too, he said. My older sister, Vera, was the first to be channeled. Roland mentioned that she had decades of struggle; her message to me was, “I left with no closure or finishing.” Roland shared a familiar smile as he said, “She’s an interesting one,” continuing to share her words about not having enough time to do her work here.
That actually brought me so much peace as Vera passed at age forty-two, after suffering from schizophrenia and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Her episodes began at the young age of eighteen. She battled ill health for over half her life. I always loved her. She resided at a secure care facility for her last five years, and being bedridden during her last days, she didn’t get to say goodbye to her friends there. Serving as her conservator and only family member during the end of her life, I learned so much from Vera. Her memory and final gifts are forever treasured.
Roland continued writing on the same Purple Paper, “I’m sorry.” He told me that this is my dad’s apology: “I owe my daughter my love. I’m sorry for hurting you.” To hear Roland share that my dad apologized for everything that wasn’t settled led me to deep sobs and uncontrollable tears.
Roland began to channel another message: “A young man near you wants to say, ‘Thank you, thank you!’ ” Roland turned to Erin while saying to me, “Thank you for taking care of her.” Roland began to draw on a Purple Paper for Erin, channeling her late boyfriend, Robert.
Full of emotion, next was my mom’s Purple Paper, written days earlier on September 14, 2012, which read, “My daughter really needs some peace. She keeps fighting about her decisions and the care. I am not unhappy with you. You have always done good stuff.”
Mom had been diagnosed with stage 4 acute leukemia at Yale just days before. My mom’s doctor called me after six that morning to share what a rough night she had and that mom wanted to see me again. Not an unusual request since we talked on the phone all the time. The doctor requested that I let her stabilize a few more hours before returning to the hospital. I arrived shortly after noon to see her and was surprised how much she had aged overnight and that she could only whisper short phrases. I had spent the previous afternoon with her and witnessed that she was virtually immobile on her own, having to nap from pure exhaustion after physical therapists came to sit her up in bed. When she woke, she said she didn’t have any regrets, however, because she could sing in five languages. Her only regret was not learning how to speak one fluently! Ha! The care team and I agreed to begin hospice, and mom received her first dose of morphine. She then passed forty-five minutes later at 3 p.m.
Then there was the other Purple Paper, dated September 22, 2012, which showed an illustration of a clock face set at 3 o’clock and 3 p.m. scribed below it. The paper read, “It was past three am when I passed away. I just slept through it all. I am OK now. Remember how we would call each other all the time—I’ll always love you!!”
On another sheet, Roland drew a stick figure on a bed representing my mom and shared that everyone had to let her go, that she fought hard to hold everything together, and that she had no regret, but that she never got to live her full potential. She was mad at God for having to go so soon. “She loves you so much.” In the same breath from Roland, Mom shared, “Thank you for holding me so close.”
I was in complete awe of Roland at this point as he continued to speak about my father, that his life was just getting settled when he died, proclaiming that he “left you twice.” He shared again that my mom has more peace now than in her entire life. Roland said she had a baby with her: “It’s not a dog, but our dogs are fine.” I think that baby may have symbolically been her first born, Vera. Roland assured me that my family would get me through this and that they were teachers for me. “You will teach, you will lead, you will guide.” Roland finally asked, “Could you give yourself a break?”
This was a tremendous time in my life as both of my parents were only children (I had no extended family to grieve with). My parents divorced when I was four. I never saw my dad again after the age of eight when my mom moved us across the country to Connecticut. My dad passed in December 1994 during my senior year of college. Now forty-three, I have enjoyed a more peaceful life aware of my family’s everlasting love.
I’m grateful for this gift of healing and love that is shared with so many. To my dear soul sister, Erin, thank you for sharing the path to discover that “love is eternal.” Namaste.