Wanna walk and talk a bit?
Jo ann and I went for an early morning walk today. It was a stellar morning and the light just perfect. I havent been posting alot of pics lately so I am going to fill you up with the visuals fromthsi am.
JoAnn and I a have been friends over ten years. We starting to get to know each other about three years ago. Her husband died, in her arms, at the age of 50 from a heart attack. One minute doing dishes together in the kitchen next minute dead on the kitchen floor.
Dramatic, but true.
We rekindled our friendship one snowy day after Christmas when she showed up at our door, crying, and needing to see me.
I hadn't seen she or Bob in a few years, but thought of them often concerning a new recipe, a good laugh, and the idea of a "perfect couple".
I went to the door, and Jo was standing there in a snow storm crying and said "Bob is dead, I need to know if he is alright?" "You died when you had your heart attack, didn't you?, please tell me he is alright?"
I invited her in out of the cold, she refused, so I left with her and we went and sat inthe parking lot of the Dunkin Donuts in town.
We talked.
We cried.
I told her everything I could remember about my "dying" experience. I also told her about my beliefs concerning what its ALL about.
I have never said I have it all figured out, just that I have my own ideas of what happens.
I felt a peace like never before. I felt a warmth and comfort that I can only compare to the most perfect cozy blankets on the most lush of beds without lying down. suspended.. comfort, beyond description.
I was not afraid, uncomfortable, in pain or concerned about anything.
The most amazing things I recall were :
1. The idea of time, somehow I knew that time was not a piece of this existence. It just didnt matter. THIS place was ETERNAL.
2. I knew everything. Somehow I felt as though all the worries, concerns, questions, just disappeared and seemed... so simple. almost "oh, well that was easy why didnt I think of that." Eureka.
I also recall making a choice, a choice was given tome and I made it.
I LOVE my family as much as the next woman. But at that time, inthat place the decision to go back to my body was not an easy choice.
I could have stayed there. Then the vision of Andy, Allie, Missi raising Jack without me.
I had to go back. And it would be ok.
These are the questions she had. What did I feel and see so that maybe she could draw some comfort concerning where Bob was. It worked. We both felt better, and we have built a friendship based on loss, understanding, acceptance, and a bit of goofy sense of humor. More than goofy, we are outright odd ducks, strange. But I love her, and she loves me.
Posting a few pics from our walk this morning. As we walked and talked about, kids, caterpillars, dead husbands, jobs, new cars.
We watched aiplanes land and take off. talked about her Dad that used to take her flying as a little girls in a plane he bought without her mother knowing.
Some men bought motorcycles, sports cars, he bought a small plane, took lessons and took his Joann flying. I love that story.
We watched alot of airplanes at the little airport today. And thought about our Dads.
JoAnn and I a have been friends over ten years. We starting to get to know each other about three years ago. Her husband died, in her arms, at the age of 50 from a heart attack. One minute doing dishes together in the kitchen next minute dead on the kitchen floor.
Dramatic, but true.
We rekindled our friendship one snowy day after Christmas when she showed up at our door, crying, and needing to see me.
I hadn't seen she or Bob in a few years, but thought of them often concerning a new recipe, a good laugh, and the idea of a "perfect couple".
I went to the door, and Jo was standing there in a snow storm crying and said "Bob is dead, I need to know if he is alright?" "You died when you had your heart attack, didn't you?, please tell me he is alright?"
I invited her in out of the cold, she refused, so I left with her and we went and sat inthe parking lot of the Dunkin Donuts in town.
We talked.
We cried.
I told her everything I could remember about my "dying" experience. I also told her about my beliefs concerning what its ALL about.
I have never said I have it all figured out, just that I have my own ideas of what happens.
I felt a peace like never before. I felt a warmth and comfort that I can only compare to the most perfect cozy blankets on the most lush of beds without lying down. suspended.. comfort, beyond description.
I was not afraid, uncomfortable, in pain or concerned about anything.
The most amazing things I recall were :
1. The idea of time, somehow I knew that time was not a piece of this existence. It just didnt matter. THIS place was ETERNAL.
2. I knew everything. Somehow I felt as though all the worries, concerns, questions, just disappeared and seemed... so simple. almost "oh, well that was easy why didnt I think of that." Eureka.
I also recall making a choice, a choice was given tome and I made it.
I LOVE my family as much as the next woman. But at that time, inthat place the decision to go back to my body was not an easy choice.
I could have stayed there. Then the vision of Andy, Allie, Missi raising Jack without me.
I had to go back. And it would be ok.
These are the questions she had. What did I feel and see so that maybe she could draw some comfort concerning where Bob was. It worked. We both felt better, and we have built a friendship based on loss, understanding, acceptance, and a bit of goofy sense of humor. More than goofy, we are outright odd ducks, strange. But I love her, and she loves me.
Posting a few pics from our walk this morning. As we walked and talked about, kids, caterpillars, dead husbands, jobs, new cars.
We watched aiplanes land and take off. talked about her Dad that used to take her flying as a little girls in a plane he bought without her mother knowing.
Some men bought motorcycles, sports cars, he bought a small plane, took lessons and took his Joann flying. I love that story.
We watched alot of airplanes at the little airport today. And thought about our Dads.
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