Continued from Singing and Dancing in Heaven
The
bubble of isolation I inhabited the days following Roma's death created some
divine time with God. And maybe even with Roma. I don't know the protocol in
Heaven.
The silence I had initially felt in a world absent Roma was gradually
filled with a different awareness of
him. It is hard to describe, but I could almost recognized an enhancement in the
spirit of Roma. He was more than he had been before. I wondered if all the friends who visited with their kind compassion thought I was delusional, out of touch with
reality, or if I was relieved that Roma, often a challenge, was gone. How could
I almost be joyful at such time of excruciating loss? Or does everyone feel this
consciousness of their loved one who has passed?
My
sister, Weegie (a nickname given her at
birth by our grandmother) must have also been feeling this consciousness of
Roma. Weegie and Roma had "clicked" before they spoke the same verbal language.
When Kellie graduated
from high school in 2002, a month after we brought Roma home, Weegie drove our mother and
stepfather from North Carolina to attend her graduation ceremony in Maryland. The North Carolina relatives were eager to meet their new family
member newly imported from Russia. Weegie is a fun aunt and the tease of the family. Once she sized Roma
up as tough enough for her playful style of teasing, she showed her new nephew no mercy. She made
funny faces at the non-English speaker, which delighted the witty boy. He "got" Weegie's humor, which was not very different from his
own. After some playful banter between them, Roma's face grew "all business." He threw his finger in her direction, pointing at her for a moment, then
pivoted his little pointer back toward his temple, and in a dramatic gesture, circled it quickly, round and round. Yes, the universal sign for crazy! Roma understood his new aunt.
We
had called Weegie at midnight as we left the hospital Sunday night with bad
news. The next morning she was three hundred miles away and couldn't help us
during the devastating blow. Our mother had died fourteen months earlier.
Weegie had been her main caregiver in her last years. Weegie walked through her
house, wringing her hands, asking God why. Why now, when Roma was doing so well? Why, after calling us to adopt him, would He
take the boy who was so loved by everyone he met. Then Weegie elicited Mother's help in getting answers.
"Mom, do you have him? Is he okay?" she repeated. Walking through her rarely used living room,
newly decorated for Christmas, she noticed a battery operated candle was lit. The
candle was on the shelf above Mother's urn. "Okay, I guess you have
him."
She
twisted the candle off, and felt comforted. Later, she went back through, and the light
was on again. "Mom, are you trying
to tell him he's okay?" Then she heard a noise on the other side of the room. An elf had fallen off the shelf. Then she
corrected her words as she relayed her story. "No, it didn't fall. It couldn't have fallen."
"Okay Roma, I guess you're alright,'"
she picked up the smiley elf, noticing a remembrance to smiley Roma. Weegie finished her story, "I will never forget that experience."
Her
story reminded me of a post from February, 2015, The Applause of Heaven. The "light-bulb" image came from a casual comment made by a friend who said, "that's what you can hang on to, the idea of the light bulb going on." Wise words from a wise and Godly friend. So "Light Bulb" has became a Sacred Echo, one of many.
I'm
hoping Heaven involves getting answers to all the mysteries that have me
puzzled by a world and a God too big for me to wrap my little ant-brain around. One day I might have EYES to SEE.
Now, THAT sounds like Heaven to me.
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