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Can spirits with no connection during their lives help each other deliver messages from the other side? See what you think.
by Jane Stahl
Daffodils. A field of bright yellow daffodils was the first thing my mother saw when she awoke from giving birth to me. Daffodils became “my flower.” Every year on my birthday, my father would bring me live daffodils. It was a fun tradition; and when my father passed, my husband took on the role. To enjoy the tradition and family memories all day, after many years of searching, I found a daffodil ceramic pin I could wear to work.
And so, one birthday morning, on my navy blazer, I’d secured my daffodil pin and went to work. Like any other morning, I was turned to my desk, collecting my materials to begin my first class when I heard my department chairwoman behind me—asking if I had a moment to answer a question. Turning to face her, I saw her eyes widen and her face turn pale. Obviously overcome, she quickly excused herself and left the room. I wondered only what prompted her hurried exit.
by Lesley Misko
I woke to a typical early spring morning. The newly risen sun was streaming into the bedroom after my husband had opened the window shades. The birds' twittering was ramping up. It was a beautiful morning that brought the promise of warmth. But I felt tired as I dragged myself out of bed and headed to the bathroom. I contemplated why I felt so out of sync with the day, and my thoughts drifted to a dream I had.
In my dream, just as in real life almost a year ago, my mother was living at a local nursing home. In addition to some dementia issues, she had a terminal lung cancer diagnosis. The doctors thought she might survive another three to four months. The cancer was not surprising: she had been a chain smoker for a lifetime.
I had never lived through the progression of someone dying of lung cancer. I had been led to anticipate that it would not be easy or pleasant. Phrases like “gasping for air” had been offered by the doctor. Nevertheless, as the days passed, I saw no signs of deterioration, no hint that the disease was advancing. Some days I wondered if the doctors had misdiagnosed her condition. As in real life, all of this was true in my dream.
But then reality and dream diverged. In real life she abruptly took a brief downward turn, falling one night, and she was gone two days later. In my dream, she began to move further and further away from where I was standing, as if a strong air current was pulling her back towards a tunnel opening.
After waiting for the predicted end so long and seeing no changes, I was stunned to have her so abruptly begin to slip away with no time for goodbyes or closure. With desperation I began to call out to her, “How will I know you are okay? We need a code, a word, something … so that when I hear it or see it, I will know you are okay.” My desperation intensified as she was almost out of sight. I glanced around and seized on spring flowers. “Spring flowers,” I blurted out, yelling in my dream. “Spring flowers. If I see spring flowers, I will know that you are all right.”
In my dream, as she drifted further into the tunnel and vanished, I felt agitated and berated myself. “Spring flowers,” I thought. “How stupid. Of course spring flowers are routinely all over the place in the spring. How could I pick something so stupid. I should have picked something unique and then seeing it would be meaningful.” And then I woke up.
The dream was so intense. It seemed so real. It continued to overhang my thoughts and mood as I got ready and left for work. Once there, it lingered on my mind as I began to get ready for the school day.
After tending to some paperwork, I walked to Jane Stahl’s classroom to ask her something. Her desk was across the room from the doorway, and she was bent over it, back to me, doing something. Hearing me, she straightened up and turned towards me. My eyes were grabbed by a pin on the lapel of her navy-blue blazer. The pin was a ceramic daffodil. I was hypnotized by it… and then as she moved slightly sideways, perhaps wondering why I looked so frozen, on her desk, I saw a small vase with several live daffodils in water.
Spring flowers. Spring flowers. I stood, rooted to the spot, unable to speak. I felt the blood seem to drain from my face and my legs felt wobbly. I finally got out the words, “talk later,” and I fled the room.
Stepping out into the hallway, eager to get someplace where I could regain my composure, I almost ran into high school principal, Steve Kline. He took one look at my face and inquired, “Are you okay?” I managed to get out a “yes” and step away. I was haunted by the sight of Jane's daffodils during the hours and days that passed, and still now, several decades later, the message sent my way remains vivid in my memories.
Spring flowers.
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