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Wednesday – Advice My Dead Mom Gave Me
May. 13th, 2009 01:16 pmAfter Yesterday's Post, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
noblwish commented that her dead father talks to her all the time (she's blood, and I can vouch that this happens in our family) and simplecity2htwn mentioned that when he laughs he hears his father laughing, which got me to thinking about the conversations (yes, two way) I've had with my mother in the years since she died.
.
.
.
Right after someone close to you dies, you feel them everywhere. They are in the rooms of your house, they are in your car while you bawl your eyes out because driving is the only time you can find the kind of solitude to cry that way, and they are even helping you get dressed for their funeral (Just wear that, it's fine. No one cares how your hair looks today, don't worry about it). You feel them wanting to put their arms around you. You hear them, just beneath your conscience mind, telling you that you are going to be okay.
People don't like to talk about this, because they think others will think they are crazy or delusional. We've been trained to not trust what we feel. I've learned that whenever I think I am special and unique in some way, or crazy in someway, that there are always a lot of people who will step forward and say that they know exactly what I'm talking about.
They step back after awhile, after they are sure you are okay. They move on only after you let go of them a bit and let them. It's almost like when I tell my son, "I can't carry you. You're big enough to walk on your own." But when he stumbles and reaches out his hand to me, I take it and hold it tight until he finds his balance again. When you reach out to the dead, they usually reach back.
( Clinging to Ghosts )
noblwish commented that her dead father talks to her all the time (she's blood, and I can vouch that this happens in our family) and simplecity2htwn mentioned that when he laughs he hears his father laughing, which got me to thinking about the conversations (yes, two way) I've had with my mother in the years since she died. .
.
.
Right after someone close to you dies, you feel them everywhere. They are in the rooms of your house, they are in your car while you bawl your eyes out because driving is the only time you can find the kind of solitude to cry that way, and they are even helping you get dressed for their funeral (Just wear that, it's fine. No one cares how your hair looks today, don't worry about it). You feel them wanting to put their arms around you. You hear them, just beneath your conscience mind, telling you that you are going to be okay.
People don't like to talk about this, because they think others will think they are crazy or delusional. We've been trained to not trust what we feel. I've learned that whenever I think I am special and unique in some way, or crazy in someway, that there are always a lot of people who will step forward and say that they know exactly what I'm talking about.
They step back after awhile, after they are sure you are okay. They move on only after you let go of them a bit and let them. It's almost like when I tell my son, "I can't carry you. You're big enough to walk on your own." But when he stumbles and reaches out his hand to me, I take it and hold it tight until he finds his balance again. When you reach out to the dead, they usually reach back.
( Clinging to Ghosts )
