The Rhythms of Life & Death
Comfort for Those Who Mourn
by
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Her dad did not understand these visions and became more and more irritated when Amy spoke of them. His response irritated me because he had had a vision of David a week after his death and had described the particulars, details of his clothing and his facial expression. But that was not a comfortable experience for him. In fact, he had capped his disclosure with, " I don’t understand this and I can’t explain it scientifically, so please don’t ever talk about it again." That was the end of discussion. Except it wasn’t the end for Amy. She continued to see people, animals, objects, until her bereaved and threatened father lost his temper one night and demanded that Amy stop the nonsense. He said he had heard enough of all of it and would not listen to any more garbage. Amy did not mention it again for many years, probably because she was afraid of disappointing her father, as well as thinking something was bad and wrong with her. One poignant aspect of this is that Amy was born with a gift of exceptional intuition. How hard it must have been for her to contain her experience while also containing her loss. It’s so important for adults to respect and attend to what children hear and see – to hear it and see it from their point of view. Often the truest, original vision is there. As time passed, my hope of having a reconciliation or revelation faded. But seven years after David died, I had two wonderful, life-altering experiences. I was reviewing a paper I was to present, and I was consumed with its preparation. While reading the material over and over in the middle of the day, I finally decided to stop everything and just close my eyes. I was sitting in my younger daughter’s bedroom and as soon as I closed my eyes, I went into a hypnagogic state -- the transitional state between sleeping and awakening, when you are aware of everything that is happening around you but you feel unable to move or speak. Then I heard footsteps and felt a presence on the right side of the bed. I assumed it was Meredith coming home from school and I worried that she would be alarmed by my state. As hard as I tried, though, I could not move. Then all of a sudden the presence moved to the left side of the bed, which seemed impossible because that side of the bed was backed against the wall. And then I heard, "David, David" and I was kissed several times on my cheek. About three months later, after moving to another home, the girls were playing together with my niece, Kristin, who was visiting for the weekend. There was a lot of commotion and I left them to take a break. I went into my room, closed the door and sat on the bed with my back resting on the pillows. I closed my eyes and it happened again. Immediately I felt the presence next to my bed. I tried unsuccessfully to open my eyes and then silently I said, "I need more." With that, I was able to raise my right hand and feel David’s face. My hand slowly moved down his nose, his mouth and his chin. He then kissed me on my cheek and again I heard, "David, David." This was not a dream; it was not my imagination. It was a beautiful, palpable, very real experience. When I reflect on David’s death now, there is such a softening and a closeness that I feel with him. He never ended. Actually, so many things began when that ‘thing’ we call death took place. How vividly I recall David dancing around the kitchen doing the ‘Popeye’ dance---the one where you kick your left leg up behind you and touch your foot with your left hand, then switch to the right. It was all done quickly as he’d dance in a circle and say, "Why do you worry Mom? Why do you worry about ME, Mom?" I’d look at him with every bit of maternal love evident, and I’d say, "Because I love you so much and if anything ever happened to you I’d die." And he’d smile and say, "Mom, I won’t die!" We both were right. I said I’d die and I did. Maybe it wasn’t a physical death but most certainly it was an emotional death. David said he wouldn’t die. And he didn’t. He is as alive or more alive than he was twenty-three years ago. In truth, I was dead, existing in a crypt of fear my entire life. It was only through David’s death that I was given the gift of life and the ability to live fearlessly. If there had ever been a way to free myself of terror without David leaving the earth, I would have chosen that. But it was not going to happen that way. I feel certain that if my sole purpose in living was to release the perpetual fear, David clearly taught me to do it in a flash. I dream about him, sense him, talk to him, love him. He is like perfume in the wind. He has not died.
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About the Book
Within everyone is a yearning to know peace. The Rhythms of Life and Death is a thought-provoking book about life after death. It contains the true accounts of nearly thirty families who have experienced devastating loss, often the death of a child, and later encountered mystical connections that helped them to slowly reconstruct their devastated lives with a sense of new vision and purpose. Individuals who are confronted with emotional trauma and loss, are at the same time presented with the compelling opportunity to undergo intellectual, emotional and spiritual transformation –
The Rhythms of Life and Death will capture the attention of readers who have suffered radical loss, as well as those who are interested in life beyond death and the possibilities inherent in human conflict and tragedy.
About the Author
Lesley Jordans is a grief therapist who has worked in the field of death and dying for nearly twenty years. She currently is the bereavement coordinator at Children's Hospital/Kaleida Health, Buffalo, New York. Following the death of her son many years ago, she began her research with families into the philosophy and phenomenon of life beyond death. Lesley believes that the ability to bridge the gap between the five-sensory world and the spirit realm gives life new dimension and the perspective to live fearlessly. Lesley has her master's degree in counseling and has worked in a hospital setting throughout her career with both adults and children. She loves walking, reading, movies, the theatre, or anything that portrays the human condition without limiting it to symptoms and cures. Lesley has two grown daughters, Amy and Meredith, and a new granddaughter, Skylar. She lives in Williamsville, New York with her two cats, Sailor and Savannah.