Letters From Heaven was born
out of a tragedy that took place more than thirty years ago. I was a young
mother with a house full of small children and an absent husband (real
talk, truth time!). Due to my separation
and financial situation, I suffered severe and deep depression. Nevertheless, I
had little people depending on me: I didn’t have time for a “breakdown” or
depression. And, if you know anything about the Christian community, they
expect you to just “smile” and get over it, as though Christians aren’t suppose
to have feelings like everyone else! In
addition to this, I had taken on college and was in my sophomore year, so I
truly didn’t have time for depression: I fought it tooth and nail! Now, here it
was summer, I was alone (my husband was with someone else), and I was lost in
my bedroom and couldn’t seem to get it together, no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t have
a mother who cared, I had a mother-in-law who meant well in her advice, but was sometimes wish-washy (one moment she'd say take him back, don't let someone else have him; the next moment she'd say, kick him out and don't let him back in until he gets his act together), and my
grandfather was too old for me to burden with these kind of problems (I
thought)...was so alone! So, I hid away in my bedroom…away from my children,
away from myself, away from the world! I hated living in this darkness, but I
couldn’t get out; I couldn’t shake it off! My children would come and peep at
me. My oldest daughter would bring me coffee and peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches, which I couldn’t eat; my oldest son would bring me hot tea and
buttered toast. This went on for about a month, with my older children
watching over the younger ones: Keeping them clean and feeding them. I watched
and monitored their activity from my bedroom. Listen, I know how bad this all
sounds; I know how dreadful it all was…I
know because it was my life, and I was barely
living it! And, the fact that my children were living it with me was ripping me apart! And, yes, I was
praying! I prayed feverishly all this time, like my life depended on it, but my
prayers seemed to go unheard…unanswered…ignored, even. Of course, God never ignores you, but life can make it seem that way at times!
I’ve always prided myself on
being a strong person (believe me, you have no idea [but, that’s another
book…wink, wink!]), so on Saturday, June, 30, 1979 (after a month of severe,
debilitating depression) I forced myself to bathe, dress, do my hair; get my
children clean, fed, and dressed, and set out to visit some relatives we hadn’t
seen in a while and go to the Park, which I really wasn't up for, but knew the
children needed. Unfortunately, we never made
it to the park. During a stop at my mother’s house (whom I was never very close
to, but not because I didn’t want to
be…again, another story for another time!), my son (who was 3 yrs. 8 mos. old)
was hit and killed by a speeding car that had failed to stop at the stop sign
at the corner before proceeding. It must have taken the medics half and hour or so to
get to us. My immediate thought had been to pick my son up and take him to the
ER, which was only about 8 minutes away from where we were, but my stepfather
wouldn’t let me. He convinced me I could do more harm to him if I moved him: I
regret not taking him to the ER to this
day! I couldn’t seem to get anyone to call 911, so I had to leave my son in the street to call
them myself! This is the weird thing: The call wouldn’t go through, initially.
I tried about 3 times before it finally went through. I kept getting a “dead” tone at first! And, no, I wasn’t
miss-dialing! I wasn’t! I am very calm
and clear-headed in a crisis: I fall apart later! Anyway, after getting through to 911, I rushed back outside
to my son who died in my arms about 5 min before the fire truck arrived: He
never did regain consciousness. Now, this is where the weirdness about all this
comes in: I had almost lost this son before to Spinal Meningitis when he was 7
months old, but he survived (barely). After his death, I was looking through
his things, and for the 1st time I noticed the card they give you to
show at the window (for visitors to see the baby) that has the baby’s date
of birth on it, had his date of birth as October 10, 1979. He was born October
10, 1975. This is handwritten on the card in ink. My question is…who makes a 4-year mistake
like that? At the end of the year? And, they
wrote this the day he was born!
And, even I – the MOTHER – didn’t notice this until a few months after he had
passed! How weird is that? Was the
universe trying to tell me something when he was born that I overlooked? And, to tell you the truth, had I noticed
that on his birth card from the beginning, it would have messed with my head a
bit, and I’m sure I would have kept and extra eye out for him!
You would think that one so
young wouldn’t know anything about being a Christian, but he did: He did!
He use to get my spoons and go to the middle of the playground in our
court (in front of our home, in our apartment complex) and preach
to everyone who passed by, young and old, alike. And, we couldn’t stop him! Believe me, we tried! His preschool
teachers told me (at his funeral) that he used to take the plastic utensils,
and climb up in the chairs and preach to the other kids while they ate their
lunch at preschool: I never knew any of this!
But, that’s who my son was.
So, where does Letters From
Heaven come in? From the pain of losing my son. It was all I could think
about…day in and day out! Grief consumed me! Not the boo-hoo, feel sorry for yourself
kind, NO! It was the ‘Where is my son,
really, kind; ‘Is there really a heaven’ kind; ‘Is there really life after
death’ kind! Already an avid reader, I was now devouring every book I could
find written on Life After Death--Christian and Non-Christian. I needed to KNOW!
I NEEDED ANSWERS! My son was gone and I wanted to know WHERE! I needed to know if there really even was a where!
As I began
to read various books on different people accounts of their “trips” to both
heaven and hell, I knew (without a shadow of doubt) my son was in Good Hands. I knew, but my foundation had been
shaken to the core, and I just needed reassurance and I received it. Letters From Heaven is my
therapeutic gift from God. I woke up one morning and it’s like, someone was
dictating something to me. I was trying to tune my ear to hear what was being
said and I heard words pouring into my ear. Then I heard, Letters From Heaven. I said, "What?...What is Letters From Heaven?" I knew who was talking to me; I was quite used to His Voice. Then, He reminded me that I had asked Him for a good book to write, and here it was. The story continued to pour “into”
me. I grabbed some paper from the side
of my bed and a pen, and started writing what I was “hearing.” I know…I know…this sounds way out there, but it’s
the honest-to-God truth!
Anyway, it’s been a journey
and I wouldn’t it trade for anything. Now, I invite you on the next part of this
journey with me…a journey of hope, a journey of courage, a journey of possibilities.
It’s true...life can throw you some lemons (even, some rotten ones), but throw your head back, and let’s
get ready to make lots of lemonade! Oh, just throw the rotten ones back! LOL!
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