On April 29, 2015, the Oncologist matter-of-factly states, “The bone cancer has gotten worse. The chemotherapy has been fully maximized. I need to look at other options to prevent the cancer from spreading even more.” Her words reverberate in my ears as I try to find my footing and stay grounded. My mother was diagnosed with G.I. cancer stage IV in December 2013. The G.I. cancer metastasized into her bones, concentrating in her head and chest. She lies on the examining table and to get clarification in her native tongue, “Qué dice,” she asks me (“What did she say?”) Immediately I go down the negative path; the path that questions His will; the path that cannot fathom a world without her. It is venom that quickly consumes my soul. Everything I am, all that I have become is because of my mother. My prayers are inflated balloons that burst far too soon. I regularly pray, use affirmative prayer, thanking God, angels, abuela, Archangel Rafael to curing my mother’s cancer, for alleviating her pain, and surrounding her in God’s white light. As the poisonous serum quenches my blood, I feel my heart hit my chest wall and my temporal vein throb as a sweat bead glazes over my head. “The majority of my patients in her similar condition don’t last longer than four months, and they certainly do not have the quality of life that your mom has. It is God’s mercy at this point.” I remember even with stage IV cancer, my mother is still vivacious, runs around with the children, attends soccer games, and on rare occasions mentions pain or discomfort. I notice the yellow flower in my mind’s eye, my symbol for abuela, and I noticed a light-green hue around my mother, “Thank you guys,” I whisper. Instantaneously, my anger dissipates. God, abuela, and Archangel Rafael humbled me, planted my feet on solid ground, and refocused me. I am left grounded and at peace.
I am fortunate to recognize the signs that quickly change my perspective on things. We all struggle to see the good amidst the bad. In the darkest of nights, the rainiest of days, we know the sun is out there, but sometimes the darkness seeps into every cell of our body, every follicle of hair, so that we are left blinded by the darkness that we cannot see the sun. God, angles and loved ones who have passed are always there. They are guiding us, protecting us, and sending us unconditional love. Signs exist. Love ones communicate with us.
Recently, I had the opportunity to channel Baby Marie. Client, I will call “Carrie,” approached me to do a reading. I felt a baby girl came through. She showed me a birthday candle and I heard her name. “Carrie” was able to validate the name and her miscarriage. In her chaos, internal storm, her baby girl was coming through to tell her mother exactly what she needed to hear. She provided reassurance that her current state did not align with her higher self. Baby Marie also reminded her mother of the importance of reconnecting mind, body, and soul. Words that, only when delivered by a loved one on the other side, could penetrate the darkest chasm and provide a ray of light.
Loved ones who have passed use many symbols to try to make their presence known. I have a friend who read my blog prior to my debut. I could tell she wanted to ask me about her loved one that passed over. I have felt her relative “knock at my door” but I never answered for the fear of outing myself. My friend told me about her connection with the number 4, and 44. Ever since her relative passed, she has noticed that number follow her. Anytime she is down or unsure on her next steps, she looks up and sees a 44. “It means guardian angels are looking after you. Your relative is following you, guiding you.” I saw an imaginary ton lift from her back and her light bulb turn on. She feels her relative’s presence, recognizes the signs, but was too afraid to accept it. I just merely validated what she has felt all along.
After my mother and I left the hospital, I shared the information I witnessed in the examining room. Her darkness quickly brightens. Although she is aware that abuela (my grandmother and her mother) is with her, she enjoys hearing me confirm it as often as I can. It energizes her. Her happiness oozes out of her soul so much that I feel it. So instead of wallowing in sadness and anticipate death, I commit myself to enjoying the days God blesses us with her; to enjoy more hamburgers, ice cream, tamales, enjoy more moments gathered around her small house, and the endless food she doles out. We leave the hospital, pick up my children, and enjoy a nice lunch and blizzard at Dairy Queen. In this moment, I thank God, abuela, the angels for our impromptu lunch, with my mother. I am grounded and at peace.