Visits That Bridge Worlds
Whispers Beyond the Veil, Messages from the Other Side
As a child, while in a dream-like awakened state, a woman in an all-white dress appeared in my bedroom. The light from a cracked door illuminated her figure from behind. That experience felt so calm and serene as if I was being looked after—protected. I’ve always wondered if that was a visit from my grandmother, Marjie. I don’t have an abundance of childhood memories, but this one has stayed with me, and it is vivid.
I never met Marjie—at least not in the traditional sense. She died at the young age of 39—just 13 days before her 40th birthday. My mother was only 16 at the time.
Marjie was born in July of 1939 (remember all these 39’s)—a Cancer astrologically. Interestingly, I ended up marrying a man who shares the same birthday, born exactly 51 years later.
Marjie died on the Fourth of July. From that day forward, July Fourth left a sour taste in my mother’s mouth. I imagine the day lost its sense of freedom that the rest of us get to experience. Reflecting on it, it seems a bit poetic to think of leaving one’s body on Independence Day, with the sky lit up in celebration.
For many years, in the weeks and days leading up to Independence Day, my mother worked at the fireworks stands in our small country town of about 1,000 people, just outside the city. One year, while she was busy selling these sky-shattering blossoms of light, my father, sister, and I went to check on my Grandfather, Junie, Marjie’s former husband. We found him unresponsive on the floor. I have a faint memory of my dad and uncle breaking into his house that day. Of all days—The Fourth of July—the same day Marjie had died. He didn’t pass away that day, but he certainly didn’t live. He passed away a couple of weeks later—just a few days before his birthday.
He and I nearly shared the same birthday. The doctors and nurses said to my mother, “You’re going to have this baby on your dad’s birthday!” Selfishly, I decided to wait a few hours past midnight. As a Leo in astrology, I can only assume I didn’t want my birthday to coincide with anyone else’s; I’d wager I wanted a day in the spotlight all to myself. I like to joke that I never learned to share, having never gone to preschool due to my mom's leukemia diagnosis (more on this in a future post).
Back to my grandmother: In recent years, I have experienced moments that make me question whether I might be the reincarnation of Marjie. Could it have been a version of myself appearing in my childhood bedroom all along? Adding to this theory, ever since my grandfather, Junie, passed away, he has paid me many visits. Growing up, I often dreamt of him standing in the doorway of my split-entry house. On several occasions, when it was just me and the dogs awake at night—being the night owl of the family at that time—the dogs would stare at the front door, growling and barking as if someone were standing there, just as I had seen in my dreams.
Over the past few years, he has again appeared in my dreams, always with a message to share. Two dreams, in particular, stand out to me.
In my first dream, I was working as a bartender. Junie was a regular patron at this bar, sitting in his usual chair near the door. He kept asking me why I was still bartending, implying that I should pursue something greater. He suggested I have a creative gift to share and a business to start. I like to think he is proud of the stories I am finally writing and sharing, as I embrace this "struggling artist" era I've chosen to enter.
The second dream occurred a month after the first. In it, he confirmed that he had recently visited me with a business plan to share, but refused to tell me what it was since I hadn’t remembered it the first time. Stubborn old man. More importantly, in that same dream, he came to me and said, “You are going to lose someone close to you very soon.” Shortly after, my husky, Timber, died unexpectedly at the young age of 6.5. Even the veterinarians could not explain what had happened to him. That’s a conspiracy for another day.
Timber’s unexpected passing occurred exactly one month after my 29th birthday and just one month and two days after we moved to Austin, TX. Ironically, the apartment unit we moved into had Ganesha pinned above the front door. Ganesha, an elephant-headed Hindu deity, is known as the remover of obstacles. I was somewhat familiar with Ganesha from my decades-long dance with yoga and a trip to India. There were hundreds of units in that apartment complex, with hundreds of doors, yet there it was—pinned to mine. Ganesha, the remover of obstacles: I’m still reflecting on this one. However, something tells me that Timber’s passing was meant to teach me about love and loss and to prepare me for an even greater loss that was just on the horizon: the loss of my mother.
While standing in my mother’s kitchen one day, after looking at the clock, she mentioned that she saw the number 39 everywhere. She believed it was a connection to Marjie and felt it served as a form of communication—a visit from her mother. I now catch myself seeing 39 everywhere as well. Was her sharing this information an unconscious code? Could she have been preparing me for her departure, providing a subtle hint about how we might communicate in the future?
As I write this, a cardinal—my mother’s favorite bird—sings nearby, which feels like a confirmation of my theory. Recently, while listening to the album “In Search of The Lost Chord” by The Moody Blues, in preparation for my piece titled “There’s a Story Behind That” (coming soon), I noticed that the song “A Simple Game” started playing at 3:39, tying all of this together.
That we are one, we’re all the same
And life is just a simple game
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The chills I felt at those last sentences - Divine