In late August of 1997, my husband and I took his mother and sister with us on vacation to the big island of Hawaii. One evening, we had just returned to our little beach house from an all-day outing around the island, when the phone rang. I had no idea when I lifted the receiver, that this call would alter our lives forever.

My son Michael’s voice greeted me with, “Where have you been all day? I’ve been trying to reach you since this morning!” I could tell from the urgency in his voice that something was wrong.

“We’ve been driving around the island,” I told him. “Grandma and your father wanted to see the Kilauea Volcano on the Hilo side.” Back in those days, cell phones had little reception on most of the island. He must have tried to reach our cell all day long with no success. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

Michael was house-sitting our home in Carmel. My first thought was that, since he was OK, something had happened to the house. I had spoken to our daughter, Jodi, at USF, just the night before, and she was fine. In fact, she was to have started back to classes, the first day of her senior year, that same morning.

“Mom,” Michael continued. “There’s been an accident.” My heart dropped. I was sure it was Jodi.

“Is your sister alright?” I asked quickly. She tended to do silly things like rollerblade to classes on the steep hills of San Francisco. It worried me that she could be seriously hurt since she never wore a helmet.

“Jodi’s OK, Mom, “ he replied, “but Casey was hit by a van this morning while he was working.” Casey was the love of my daughter’s life. Jodi was a dancer; Casey was an amazing artist. He was taking some time off from Academy of the Arts while he accumulated some tuition cash. In order to make as much money as he could, he worked as a bike messenger. Casey loved to cycle, and although San Francisco was a tough town for bike riders, Casey was cautious and always reiterated to Jodi that it was perfectly safe and the money was good.

“No, Mom,” Michael’s voice cracked, “Casey died this morning.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I remember saying “No, no, it can’t be.” Casey had just spent a few days with our family in Lake Tahoe and he was so full of life. He had shown me his portfolio, which was unbelievable, and we had all gone out dancing together. He hoped to work in animation with one of the major movie studios. His work was so extraordinary that I knew he would be successful.

While in Tahoe, one afternoon while Jodi had taken FOREVER to do her hair and makeup, Casey and I had had a long conversation about his work, his family and life in general. He adored his mother. I had always told Jodi to stay clear of guys who didn’t care about their mothers; that’s a guy you want to avoid. Casey, on the other hand, told me how beautiful and talented his mother was. Michael had also met Casey and had immediately liked him.

Jodi was convinced that Casey was the one she would marry. This loss would be devastating for her. My beautiful little girl was a drama queen on a good day, but this would be something she couldn’t possibly handle alone. I knew I had to fly home as soon as I could get a flight out to the mainland.

I hung-up and then told my husband, Jeff, and my family what had happened. Even though my Mother-in-Law and Julie, my sister-in-law had never met Casey, we all cried together. What a waste of a promising young life; and we knew that Jodi’s life and heart would be marked forever by losing him.

I called Jodi and, as I expected, she was in shock and sobbing on the phone. “He didn’t die until they found me and I got to the hospital Mama,” she told me. “He didn’t look like himself. It was so horrible but he held on until I had a chance to kiss him goodbye. I know he waited for me to get there.”

I reassured her that I was coming home as soon as I could. I told her not to go anywhere and not to drive at all. Then I called my best friend, Judith, who immediately got into her car, cancelled her appointments for the next day, and went to San Francisco to bring Jodi home to Carmel.

By the time I arrived home late the next day, Jodi was in my bed, curled up in a ball. I knew she was in bad shape. I held her, her father held her, we tried to reassure her that Casey was in a good place but she was still too overwhelmed to deal with anything more than Casey was gone. Even then, she kept asking me, “this is real, Mama, isn’t it; it’s real?”

That same night, Princess Diana died in a horrible accident. It seemed that we were surrounded by death and grief.

Jeff decided to sleep in Jodi’s old room and I tucked her into bed with me that night. I wanted to be there in case she awakened during the night and needed me. I gave her something to help her sleep. She was so weak from the emotional turmoil of the past couple of days that I knew she needed some real rest.

I watched her sleep. I thought about what a beautiful child she had been and how she had grown up into a lovely, caring woman who was artistic yet driven to succeed in the business world, as well. We were so proud of our children and it hurt so deeply to see either one of them in pain.

I tossed and turned most of the night. I suppose I drifted in and out of a light sleep, but even though I was exhausted from the trip home and the emotion of the past 24 hours, I could not manage to fall into a really deep sleep. At one point when I thought I was fully awake, I sat straight up. There was something on our deck. Our bed faces the deck outside, and the beauty of the San Andreas Mountains beyond.

I looked out to see Casey, as clearly visible as he was the weekend that we had spent together in Tahoe. Casey was dead, yet he was standing out on my deck! It wasn’t a dream; it is difficult to describe but it was not a dream that I experienced. I heard a kind of music and the background behind Casey was that of a beautiful church. His face was radiant. He was dancing, as we had in Tahoe, and he was trying to tell me he was jubilant and that he was doing well.

I noticed a row of people standing beside Casey. One of them had an old-fashioned hat on, something one might have worn around the turn of the previous century. I didn’t recognize any of the others. But they were very real and standing right in front of me.

I got the distinct message from Casey that he had to move on but that I needed to take care of Jodi. He was worried about her. During this time, a matter of seconds, I suppose, I wasn’t breathing. It was as if, for some reason, I was holding my breath. Casey also communicated to me that I was right, that the discussion that we had had about reincarnation in Lake Tahoe was for real. He wanted me to tell Jodi that they would be together again and that death was only a transition.

I felt elated and a bit taken aback, almost frightened, all at the same time. Although I believed in the afterlife and in reincarnation, I had had only had one brush with the paranormal previous to this in my life.

Some years earlier, when Jodi was in high school, I was gravely ill. I was very close to death and I was fighting hard for my life in the intensive care unit of the hospital. I couldn’t close my eyes because every time I did, I saw people surrounding my bed. I was annoyed that they were there, and asked my husband to clear the room. I recognized my deceased grandmother’s best friend, Lucille as she stood at my right. I’m not exactly sure who the others were, but they were there, clear as day!

I also saw my grandmother, though she was visiting the people across the way, in another intensive care cubicle. Typical of Grandma Bell, I thought. She was so social and had had many friends whom I thought cut into our time together! Even though she came to visit me in the hospital, I reasoned, she was chatting with another patient, making friends. Later, I realized, she was most likely there for me, in case I needed her, but at the time I saw her, she was giving me the space to fight to stay alive.

As for the others around my bed, they were annoying me into keeping my eyes open. Had I closed my eyes and let myself drift off into unconsciousness, I might well have died.

During this critical time, at one point, my heart had stopped. I didn’t know it until I was recovering and back at my home. Then, my husband told me that the “odd spot” on my left side, just under my breast, was from the adrenalin shot that I had been given when my heart had stopped. I had not been told that my heart had ever stopped.

I had however, had an odd “tunnel” experience. I didn’t think too much of it at the time. I was so ill and was experiencing all sorts of weird things, that I had forgotten about the tunnel. I remember feeling like I was in a tunnel and there was a bright light at the end. I had not welcomed the light! In fact, I remember throwing my arms back against the edge of the black space and holding on. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wasn’t ready to leave yet! Just moments before, my daughter had come into the room and told me that I wasn’t going to die. I remember telling her, “Of course not, I’m going to be just fine.”

“I know Mama,” she insisted, “but they say you are so close to dying but I know it’s not your time, OK?” She was right. I was determined to live. I had so much stuff to finish, including raising my two children. I had a wonderful life and family. I certainly was going to fight to stay here and finish what I had begun.

Those experiences were rather vague in my mind; I suppose partially because I was so ill and weak. But the night of Casey’s visit was quite clear. It is difficult to explain to someone who has never experienced a glimpse into the afterlife, the difference between a “visit” and a dream. But there is a huge difference between the two. My dreams never come with unusual musical accompaniment, nor do I experience the feeling that I can’t breathe.

As I looked onto the scene playing out on my deck, I tried to get the messages that were coming to me. I know I got the most important message, that Casey was well and that I needed to take care of Jodi until she healed from the trauma of his death. Suddenly, I saw a white dog on the deck. We had had a white Eskimo Spitz who had died fairly recently, but this wasn’t him. This dog was more of a terrier mix and his fur was short and fuzzy, not long and smooth like our dog. The dog was jumping around, and when he saw me, he jumped through the window toward me. I was so shocked by his antics that I caught my breath and came out of whatever state I had been in.

The next morning, I had decided not to tell Jodi about my experience. She believed, as I do, in an afterlife and in reincarnation. During our many lives, we try to better our soul, and to help others who might reincarnate with us, to grow, as well. At one point that day after Casey’s visit, Jodi was so upset that I told her about my experience the night before. I wanted her to know that Casey was ready to cross over; that he was happy but that he didn’t want to leave until he knew Jodi would be alright.

My experience with the death of a loved one has been that, even though you believe with all of your heart that the person you love so dearly has moved on to a different plane and a better place, it doesn’t help protect you from the sense of complete despair and grief that we feel at the time of the loss. Later, as time goes by, even though we miss the person we love, we are more able to let the assurance of eternal life soothe us.

Jodi was glad to know that Casey was so joyous, but SHE was not feeling so happy! She had begged him not to go to work that morning of his accident. She told him she wanted him to stay home and that she had a bad feeling about him cycling that day. If he had only listened… He had laughed, kissed her goodbye and told her that he would be going back to art school soon. He was going to discuss the plans with his parents and he would find a less hazardous, part-time job. He also pointed out that she worried about him every time he got on his bike in the City. She had insisted that that particular morning, she had a more strong feeling that he shouldn’t go.

The next day we prepared for Casey’s memorial service. Jodi was still in obvious shock and Michael was distraught for his sister and his new friend who had been taken so suddenly. We drove to Casey’s family home to drop off some food, things I had prepared, and met his grieving parents. The family was in shock. They put such a strong face on the loss, but we all knew how much pain they were in.

At the Church, Casey’s sister had prepared a short slide show with slides from Casey’s life. He was the youngest child and adored by his older siblings and his parents. “Forever Young” played as we saw slides of Casey as a baby, as a schoolboy and as a young man. One particular slide got my attention and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My heart pounded and I grabbed my daughter’s hand. “I know, she said softly, “it’s the dog from the deck. Casey loved that dog; he grew up with him. “ I was so surprised to see the dog in the slideshow but Jodi didn’t seem surprised at all. She simply nodded and said that she knew.

Time passed, Jodi graduated from USF and was a very successful businesswoman. I don’t remember her dancing anymore after Casey left. It was as if she needed to go a completely different direction. She began to date again but no one compared to Casey until she met her husband to be. Both her father and I feel that Jodi never quite recovered from Casey’s death. She was different afterward.

Her health began to deteriorate. She was often depressed, and who wouldn’t be if you suffered from chronic migraines, neck and back pain, and a plethora of other issues that included stomach problems and a horrible run of dental problems that required one root canal procedure after another?

She and her husband had a beautiful wedding and for the first time in a long time, I thought Jodi was going to get past her troubled life and move on. Our first grandchild was born to them exactly 9 months after their honeymoon! He was a beautiful baby boy with Jodi’s blue eyes and blonde hair. We were all so excited for our daughter and her new family. Her baby boy was the light of her life.

Things began to go wrong with the marriage within a short time span after the baby was born. They bought a home, settled in, but things just got worse with Jodi’s health and her husband’s patience finally wore thin. She moved out with baby Ryan and back home. The marriage didn’t last for even three years. But Jodi was convinced that she could handle being a single mom and with her degree, she would get a great job and they would be “two little peas in a pod.”

She did exactly that. She pulled her life together, determined to be “better” and landed “the dream job” that she had always wanted as a marketing director for the largest mall in our area. Ryan loved preschool and he spent lots of time at our home, with Papa and me, and I picked him up from school often so that we could spend time together.

A few short months after Jodi began her new career, her migraines and neck pain began to worsen. One evening on the way home from work, exhausted as working moms tend to be, she wasn’t paying attention and rear-ended a big truck in front of her. She called me, quite upset, to tell me it wasn’t a big deal but that she didn’t feel right. She went to the emergency room but didn’t want to be admitted to the hospital even though the doctor insisted that she should stay.

Three months later, the pain was still there and intense as ever. Jodi continued to work, against doctor’s orders, but she was always afraid that someone would think that she was doing less than a perfect job of her work so she pushed through.

On March first of 2007, we picked Ryan up after school as Jodi had requested. She was going to stay home that day and see the chiropractor late in the afternoon again about her neck, but would pick Ryan up immediately after. She never stopped for coffee or for a drink with friends, so it was odd when 7:30 came around and she still wasn’t home.

We called and called and finally, her father went to her apartment to see if she was OK. He found her slumped over the dining room table. She had booked a chiropractor appointment that day, but had never made it out the door. We had no idea she hadn’t made it to her appointment. I had called her cell all afternoon and didn’t get an answer. I thought she was getting some extra rest. I had no idea that she had died late in that morning.

Our whole family was shocked and devastated to think that we could lose a young adult at the peak of her life. I was beside myself. I was filled with the despair that a mother feels when she fails to save her child. The if onlys filled my head and her father’s, as well. We had spent our entire life adoring our children. The loss was so deep, we couldn’t even express it.

I remembered a day years before when Jodi was in high school. I had been in her room, straitening up a bit. She had made the honor roll that semester with a perfect 4.0 grade point average and we had redone her room as her reward. As I turned to leave the room, I was hit by the most unsettling thought; that I should love this child because we wouldn’t have her for long. I had never had any real premonitions before, but this hit me so hard that I sat down and cried. I knew deep in my heart that Jodi wouldn’t have a long life. Later I hoped that I was just being a crazy, obsessive mother; but it turned out that my gut instinct was, unfortunately, correct.

After Jodi died, I wanted so much for her to visit me. Once, soon after she died, I did catch a glimpse of her in our room in her white nightgown that she often wore when she stayed at home with us. In an instant, she was gone. “Why wouldn’t she come to me?” I wondered. We were so close, I thought she would want me to know that she was in a good place.

Several months later, my niece who is a sensitive, was at our home for a visit. I asked her if she had heard from Jodi. “I’m rather upset with her,” I told my niece. I would have expected her to drop in by now!” I didn’t say it, but I was beginning to have my doubts about my beliefs. What if you just die and that’s it? What if the afterlife and reincarnation is just a way for us to gloss over a horrible loss?

My niece smiled and said that she had heard from Jodi but that she was not going to say anything until I asked. She told me that Jodi had moved on after a short, confusing time when she wasn’t quite sure what was happening. She had waited until her baby was safely with his father and then she had crossed over.

She had told my niece that Casey had met her and that he was as cute as ever! She had been so happy to be with him. It felt good to know that they were together. Jodi had also conveyed to Kim that she was happy with all of the attention that she was getting since her death. That’s my girl! Jodi had always loved being the center of attention and I guess that nothing much had changed in the afterlife!

At that particular point in time, we were still in the process of designing a headstone, and the family had finally agreed to a final resting place for my husband’s parents. Our children were so close to their grandparents, and both Michael and Jodi had spent time with their grandmother after their grandfather died. Jodi and her Grandma Jan were very close. When Jodi had had enough of college for the week, she would go to Jan’s house, put on a white satin nightgown that Jan kept for her, and they would watch cooking shows all day together.

Her grandmother had called the white nightgown, Jodi’s “angel suit.” So, it seemed fitting to have her grandparents’ ashes buried with Jodi, and Jodi was buried in her “angel suit.” The day my niece visited, we discussed the headstone. I told her I wanted to show her a picture that would be lasered into the marble. Kim had said that she kept having a feeling about a particular picture whenever Jodi visited her. It was of an angel reaching to dust off the stars in the sky.

I was shocked. No one but my husband and I had seen the picture that we planned to use on the stone. I went into the house and got the print and asked Kim, “is this what you are seeing?” She smiled. “Yep, that’s it!” We both laughed and agreed that Jodi must be pleased with our decisions for her resting place and the headstone. The arrangements had been made with so much attention to detail.

Her service had been horribly sad, and yet a wonderful tribute to her life. Her cousins, brother and his wife had prepared a beautiful slide show accompanied with music and two large frames with collages of photos from her childhood to motherhood. Ryan picked up the mike and told everyone that his mother had been the best mom ever. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house when my little angel said those loving words about his mother.

In January of 2008, my father was so ill that hospice was called in to help keep him comfortable during his final days. There was a point where I had gone back home to make some homemade pureed soup for dad; he couldn’t chew anything and he was feeling hungry. As I packed up the soup, my sister called to tell me that I shouldn’t dally and that Dad was failing fast. I drove as fast as I could to my parents’ home.

Dad wasn’t too coherent but he liked the soup and, although he could no longer speak, he looked up at me and I knew that he knew that I was there. All of his grandchildren were surrounding the bed that evening. We never left him alone for a moment. I had suggested that we help Dad in his last moments because he wasn’t a particularly spiritual man and that I knew how afraid of death he was.

I was surprised to find that my nieces and nephews agreed completely but hadn’t wanted to upset their grandmother by suggesting it. They had, in fact, been with a favorite uncle when he passed, and had done the same ritual with him. What enlightened young adults! To understand that death is a passing and that helping a loved one to leave us is among the greatest gift a person could give to another.

We held Dad’s hand and spoke to him. I told him not to be afraid. We assured him that he had done his job here and that it was OK to go. I asked him to say hello to Jodi. We also told him that we would take care of my mother and we kissed his forehead and saw him visibly relax. He left peacefully with a final breath. I saw no fear in his eyes, only the recognition that we were all there around him and that he was surrounded with love.

When Dad passed-on, I felt relieved that he was no longer in pain. He had suffered so much during the last years of his life, and now, he could be free of the pain and feel good again as he had before the crippling arthritis had set in. There was a brief moment after his last breath that I felt like a child again; I was upset that he had left without me! I love my life, even though the past several years have been filled with grief and sadness. I’m not ready to move on but I no longer fear death.

That night, we were all exhausted and both physically and emotionally drained. I slept there at my mother’s house so that I could handle the details of Dad’s burial and service for my mother. In the early hours of the morning, I saw a crowd of people at the end of my bed. I would say that I was in a semi-conscious state at the time. I heard a strange background “music” of sorts, and the crowd parted. Suddenly, my beautiful Jodi floated through the crowd, smiled a peaceful smile, looked into my eyes and disappeared.

I was so happy to see her. I only wish she had stayed longer. She must have known that my father had passed and that I needed her, so she came to me to let me know that she was doing well.

Jodi talked about Casey’s visits after he passed away. She told me that he would come for her often, in her sleep, and take her to the beautiful place where he “lived.” They would talk and she knew that when she left this life that Casey would be there for her. I wish with all of my heart for her to come and take me to that place. I want to see her again, to look at my lovely girl and say so many things that I never had a chance to say.

When the time is right, I believe that she will visit me again. Until then, I will miss her with all of my heart. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t think of her constantly. Her life was so short and so horribly sad. She is in a better place now, this I know. She no longer lives in pain; her body is well again. And somewhere, she dances on a heavenly stage as Casey draws on his sketchpad in the wings.