January 7………………………………….Phillips, Maine
I woke up in Phillips in a purple bedroom next to the Indian cemetery we played in as children. There were lots of great spirits here to help heal me, of that I have no doubt.
I spent the morning playing with my grand-niece, what a delightful, intelligent 2 year old. Watching my cousin as Grampie and his wife as Grammie was a real treat too. Mark and Shelley filled their rolls well.
At Mark’s request, I was teaching him some yoga poses on the living room floor when he asked me, “DD, did I ever tell you about the time we went to the psychic?”
“No,” I answered in a surprised voice, looking forward to hearing more. I had no idea he would be interested in yoga and had absolutely no idea he had been to a psychic. Mark was full of surprises.
“We have a tape in the tape player. Let’s see if the batteries are still good. I haven’t played it in at least 3 years,” he said as he got the tape player out of the drawer.
He told me they had had several occasions where they thought his mom and dad had been around and decided to go to a psychic.
He clicked the play button and we listened to a woman tell my cousin and his friend how there were a few strong spirits around them. The voice went on to describe my Aunt and Uncle, his mother and father, as though they were standing in the room with them. She described their lives of happiness and how rich it was. Not rich in the money sense-they never had any-but rich because it was filled with love and they were together all their days. Now they were together again in the after life.
“How very, very cool,” I told them. I now felt comfortable sharing the DVD falling on my head story, the heron story and all the other signs I had received from the other dimension. I knew they wouldn’t think I was crazy talking about Spirit World.
I hated to leave. We had so much more to talk about but being in New England with weather that can snow you in for days meant I needed to get to civilization. Bangor was civilized and that was where I was sleeping tonight and then my parents in Auburn for a night, my friend school friend in Auburn for another night, then Boston for a few nights with my sister before my plane flight back to Florida.
On my way across western Maine the sun shone down on all the beauty winter could possibly offer; the bright white snow, the cold dark mountains, the lakes with the sea of drifts across them. It was all so very, very beautiful. It’s just a shame all that beauty comes with so much cold! I would be back to stay longer when it was warmer and I knew I could afford to take time off work.
As I got closer to Bangor I wondered if I could find the second house I built. It was around here somewhere in East Corinth. It looked like the right area but there were apartment houses everywhere. As I drove by a sign that said, “Tate Road,” I thought it sounded familiar but I had bought the property, built a house and moved out of it a few months later. My instinct was helping me now more than my memory.
As I came to the bridge I knew I had gone too far so I stopped and did a U turn when it was safe between the snow banks and returned to Tate Road and turned onto it. It felt right. I knew the street my 40 acres was on was a dirt road off to the right within a mile from the main road so it wouldn’t take long before I knew if this was the right road or not.
There it was. Still dirt, still narrow, and just like I remembered it with mile high snow banks on either side. Mt “Rabbit Path” road sign was gone but I recognized the area well.
I turned down the road and wondered what I was doing. It was starting to get dark and I was headed down a road I had been stuck on more times than I could count in the short time I lived there. I checked my phone and sure enough, no service. Well, my instinct kept saying “Go ahead,” so I did.
Now I was faced with ‘No trespassing’ signs everywhere. Apparently my instinct was not paying attention to the signs and the snow because it was telling me, “Keep going, you’re almost there!”
I drove into the yard and there it was, the first A-frame I had built in 27 days with my second husband. It was still as beautiful as it was the day I left it. Only now it had a foundation under it and the stove pipe on the front was gone and so was the deck.
A little girl was playing in the snow while a man who appeared to be her father walked towards me.
“I’m sorry to come past your ‘No trespassing’ signs but I built this house in 1991 and wanted to see how she was doing,” I said from my car seat. It was too cold to get out and I wasn’t staying. I’d seen what I wanted to see.
“You must be Diane,” he said as he approached and held out his hand. “I bought it from you,” he counted on his fingers and in his mind, “17 years ago.”
“I see you put a foundation under it. I wanted to do that but couldn’t afford too when I built it. Did you put central heat in too?” I asked him. His answer was, “Yes, and we’ll put the deck back on this spring.”
“What about the spiral staircase? Is that still there? That was an experiment with turnbuckles and good old American-know how,” I always wondered if the idea we had tried stood up over the test of time.
“We took it out last year. It made my wife nervous. I think it would have lasted forever but I wanted to make her happy,” he told me.
“Good for you,” I told him then I added, “I am glad. The house looks like she has served you well. Thanks for letting me look,” I told him as I went to turn around.
“Oh, did the repair I did hold up on the skylight?” another thing about which I was curious.
“It never leaked so I guess the answer is yes. Your repair held just fine,” I was proud. Roofs and skylights can be tricky. But then I can be pretty tricky when I need to be.
I drove away realizing this was the 2nd house I built and I had no feelings of remorse not being able to reap the fruits of my labors. Someone else loved this house I built in 1991 just like someone loved the house I built in Hampden in 1976. If I wasn’t able to keep the house I built in the mountains of Georgia in 1999 so be it. I could always build another or not. Maybe my big project building days were over.
Somehow, I think there will be a cabin at the top of the mountain in Georgia and a house on the lot behind my little blue house on the lake. I guess only Spirit World, or maybe The Shadow, knows for sure.
January 8th, Tuesday
I arrived at my parent’s home for my last night with them this trip and cooked salmon for dinner. My family always ate meat and potatoes and I was surprised when my mom said she’d bought salmon and wanted me to cook it. She’s trying to be a little daring, trying new things, and she wanted to see how I cooked it and what it tasted like. I don’t think she liked it much, she left some on her plate, but at least she ate most of it.
After dinner she sat on the couch with my head in her lap and ran her fingers through my hair. I remember, when I was a child, we would comb each others’ hair quite often. She’d sit on the floor and I would brush her long, beautiful Native American hair. I wish all women could have memories like that with their mothers.
January 9th, Wednesday
I woke to the brilliant sunrise on the outskirts of the Auburn Airport. That is where my dear childhood friend, Jane, built a house with her husband, Maurice, about 20 years ago. I went to Europe with her in 1972, time sure has flown by.
I realized being able to take this time away from where I would make my new life without my partner was the best thing I could have done for myself. I certainly suggest if a newly widowed person can get away it will help them to restart their movie in a different frame.
Especially if you can go back to childhood places and people who help you remember things you did and the person you were long before you met the one you now mourn so completely. It makes you realize you aren’t the same person you were decades ago and you aren’t the same person you will be next year. Time does change things and helps the pain go away.
I was able to fax my tax documents to my attorney so things were progressing on the probate. Did you hear that Red? No, just because I am your wife it doesn’t all just go to me. We should have had a will with two notarized signatures from witnesses so I didn’t have to pay an attorney to write one up. We should have had my name on the house in Georgia. I know I have mentioned this before in this book but it’s important. Mourning shouldn’t be accompanied by unnecessary business. That’s ok, Honey. I am taking care of it.
Also, I have been calling and canceling credit cards to make sure there is no more interest added to the balances since his death. We had substantial credit card debt and when the life insurance comes through I will be paying them all off. If the life insurance doesn’t come through then they can wait till the house in Georgia sells. With the market the way it is they may be waiting for a very long time.
Yes, despite my financial worries this trip was the most correct decision I have made in my 51 years. It may have seemed frivolous to some but it was absolutely essential to me.
I met my folks at the nursing home to visit with Grammie one more time before I left. She remembered me this time and was so proud of herself. She said, “That’s Diane,” as soon as I walked into the room, before anyone could tell her who I was. I gave her a kiss and I told her I would be back to see her when the weather was warmer. She said, “I don’t know if I will still be here.” I told her, “Well, if I don’t see you here I’ll see you in heaven.”
My mother gave me one of those, “Oh Diane,” looks and I think she may have even said it. I just smiled and kept on going. She may be my mother but she can’t tell me what to say or do anymore.
January 10th, Thursday
I had planned on heading straight south to Boston on my last day in Maine but it turned out Jane needed a ride to pick up her car in Lewiston so I gave her a lift. Besides, if I had to go to Lewiston I could get one more Italian Sandwich at Sam’s and if there was a parking space in front of my old Catholic Church, St. Joseph’s, I just might walk up and see if the doors were open. They weren‘t the last time I was here with Red.
I dropped my friend off with thank yous and hugs and drove towards Sam’s Bakery and saw there was one parking space right across the street from the bakery, directly in front of the church. How lucky was that? When I walked up to the front doors I was disappointed to find they were locked. I guess vandalism must be the concern because I know they were never locked when I was a child. I nearly went straight to my car but as I walked down the steps I saw the side door to the rectory. I might as well check it out. It could be unlocked.
I walked around to the side looking up at the building and wondering why things look so much smaller when we are grown; maybe because we are twice as tall when we are grown as when we are little so things look twice as big when we are small. Is that how it works?
The door, of course, was not locked so I opened it and walked in. The inside seemed smaller too, half as big, and they had padded the pews. Hmmmmm, that was a nice addition. I always thought they told us it was supposed to be uncomfortable for penance when we knelt, or something like that.
I walked in front of each of the stained glass windows and did the Stations of the Cross. I didn’t have a rosary but I had a good cry all the way around the walls and then chose a seat to kneel and pray for awhile. It felt good; not just the kneeling and praying part but the cushioning on the kneeling bench met my approval.
In my ‘mind's ear’ I could hear Father Kane saying the entire Mass in Latin. I went back to when I was about 4 or 5 and would climb underneath the pews to talk to God. My God didn’t speak Latin. He spoke English and was my best friend. As I thought back on those times of imagination and pretending God was at my side, I realized, for the first time, how it mirrors my Kriya Yoga studies. “Sit outside yourself and watch yourself and be the One watching.” I believe I have been practicing yoga for many lifetimes.
I looked around after saying all the Catholic prayers I could remember and other memories came flooding back to me. There was the pew I sat in when I was confirmed. I remembered my beautiful dress and my patten leather shoes-that was what we called plastic shoes back then. That was the aisle I walked down for my First Communion. I remembered how nervous I was about sticking my tongue out too far to receive the host.
I looked over at the baptismal altar. I assume that was where I’d been baptized. When you think about the act of washing sin away with holy water it reminds me of the cleansing we do now in the healing practices I am studying.
The mural on the front wall which flowed up into the ceiling was unchanged and when I spun around to see if the gigantic pipe organ was still in the very, very back upstairs where the choir used to sit I was disappointed to see it was gone. I guess some things change. Well, I guess just about everything changes a little, some things more than others.
After praying and crying and reminiscing and blowing my nose, I walked out the side door of the church and across the street to Sam’s Bakery. Every Sunday morning until I was about 12 years old we walked out the front doors of this church across the street to Sam’s and Sam himself would say hello to us.
We would get two honey dip donuts for Daddy, one jelly filled for my sister, a plain one for my mother, a Boston Crème filled éclair for me, a half baked pizza and three Italian Sandwiches for later. Then the Catholic’s began to offer a Saturday night mass in addition to the Sunday morning mass for convenience of the congregation. We’d still go across the street after church on Saturday to get our treats for the following day but it just wasn’t the same as getting donuts fresh out of the oven on Sunday morning.
I walked into Sam's and ordered my Ham Italian Sandwich and sat in the window and ate half, wrapping the other half to take with me, remembering Red and I sitting in this very window in these very seats last summer.
I left Lewiston driving across the bridge over the Androscoggin River through my home town of Auburn. How wonderful it had been for me to be able to come home to take time to soul search and heal. I said a prayer for all people who have lost or will lose a loved one, that they may be able to take time to visit where they were and who they were before they met their lost love. It gave me a sense of the person I was now and the life I’d had before I met my husband. It also made me realize I was creating another one and it was up to me as to how it was built.
As I was driving down the turnpike I realized I was way ahead of schedule. No sense showing up at my sister's while she was still working so my rental car got off the exit at Old Orchard Beach. I went there with my parents a couple of times a year when we were kids; many fond memories of sand, body surfing and amusement park rides.
Visiting Old Orchard carried over into my adult life when my first husband and I would take our babies to stay in a little two bedroom cabin; our little heaven at Tiffany Village. The owner, Ben Garcia, now Ben Hvar, took an instant liking to us. Well, Ben likes everyone, but remains a friend of mine today. I am not sure where in the world he is as I write this but I'm sure he's busy setting some record some where. Since I met him in 1982 he has been in the Guinness Book of World records several times for everything from the longest lawn mower ride to the most unusual wedding to the most heart attacks in one day. Good old Ben, he’s definitely one of those precious people you never, ever forget.
I drove around Old Orchard Beach remembering the fun Red and I had visiting here. He'd humored me with a picnic on the beach. He was never much for sand or picnics but he loved making me happy.
I drove by what used to be Tiffany Village, now Rodney’s Resort, past where the amusement park rides are during the summer months, which in Maine is officially Memorial Day to Labor Day but in reality should start on the ocean about July 4th. It’s just too cold before that.
As I drove close to the pier I saw there were plenty of parking spaces right on the beach. I couldn’t resist.
I pulled in to the space and pulled on my coat. I walked out onto the beach and took off my shoes and socks and rolled up my pant legs. I can’t be this close to water without at least touching it with my toes. Have you ever put your feet in the ocean in the middle of January when the temperature outside is just above zero? I can’t explain it to you. Just try it. It hurts a little so you won’t keep your feet in for long.
After I couldn’t stand it any longer, about 15 seconds, I walked back out of the water and picked up my shoes and headed back to the rental car. There was a gentleman on the beach who smiled at me. He probably thought I was crazy. He’s right.
I got to my sister’s and was happy to be done driving for awhile. We’d take the car back to the rental place and my ride would pick me up when it was time for me to leave on Monday. I was ready to go but I wasn’t ready to be home just yet. I was glad my house was rented out till the end of the month. I would be staying with Dr. Susan when I returned to Florida.
I hadn’t been online for a few days so I went into Red’s email and found someone who wanted to play golf with him next week. I wrote and told him what had happened and how sorry I was he’d lost his golfing buddy. He must have been online, because, before I was done answering the rest of the emails, he responded in disbelief. I guess that would be the most common reaction when someone dies unexpectedly at 51 years old, absolute disbelief.
I watched some of Bruce’s show on the webcam. I am thankful I am the wife without her husband and not the partner without his sideman. At least I didn’t have to get up on stage and try to pretend everything was fine. Trying to perform and sing as though nothing had happened after his death would have been impossible. Actually, for me, trying to perform or sing was impossible even when Red was alive.
I remember one time Red asked me to come up on stage and I had a little extra confidence from a few drinks so I said yes. It was the first and last time that ever happened. I promised never to sing in public with him again.
It was too painful to watch Bruce by himself for long. He was singing in what one of his fans called the missing man formation; leaving the stage empty where Red would have been. I could hear the fiddle parts in the blank spaces so I turned the computer off and went into the living room to watch a movie with my niece.
This 5 year old girl went through all her movies and picked out a movie about a little girl whose mother had died. I wondered if this child had done chosen that movie intentionally or whether Spirit World had directed her to pick a movie about someone’s death. The little girl’s lesson in the movie was how she had to be the star of her own life now that her mother wasn’t around. I got the message too. Both Bruce and I had to be stars in our own lives now without the fiddle player.
I was feeling restless so I went to bed to read. I was almost done with the book I had brought on this trip, “Nurturing the Spirit,” by Aline D. Wolf. It contains lessons taught in Montessori Schools on how important it is to nurture the spirit of our children while they are young and receptive before their ego develops and takes over their lives. I think it should be mandatory reading for all our teachers in all our schools. What a wonderful world it would be if everyone respected each others beliefs and realized we are all one.
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