Rowena Cramer and Barbara, 1944
"I like Willie Nelson!" said my mom with affection, while I wondered—who is that? But of the moments I’d had with her since leaving home—this one stuck.
Many years later, as I was closing my counseling office door this night, Jason interrupted my leaving to quietly say, "Your mother says, 'Thank you.'" Knowing that he receives messages from spirit, I said, "Thank you, Jason." The following morning I received a call that my mother had passed away. My sister guided us through a memorial service at a lovely nursing home on Narragansett Bay. When my moment to speak came, I turned on my tape recorder. My mother and I used to dance around my parents' living room on the blue, wool carpet—our feet pressing down its soft thickness in glides and turns, until the music ended with our laughter. Now, invisibly taking her into dance position, we glided around the platform to On the Sunny Side of the Street.
Three years ago, one daughter had helped me buy an iPod, downloading eleven songs—all I could think of. This year, by myself, I downloaded a list that included Willie Nelson’s recording of On the Sunny Side of the Street. As I listened to Willie’s voice, I felt an inner melting and knew what my mother had found, and that—just then—she was with me.
My realization is, "There are currents that come and go in our lives, carrying us all-knowingly, until we, for reasons beyond us, discover their guidance."