I wondered if Kaye was saying that over the past 26 years, Edwarda is slowly getting closer to waking up. Kaye’s response was emphatic: “I don’t think she will wake up. I know she will.” I looked into Kaye’s eyes as she spoke and saw not a flicker of doubt. Her gaze was steady, sure.
This woman, Kaye O’Bara, is the epitome of love and spiritual practice. Her home is open to everyone, including strangers and many friends. As we sat and talked, I learned that Kaye and her deceased husband, Joe, were school teachers. Some of their former students, grown up now, still stop by to visit. Edwarda’s childhood friends and their parents continue to visit and have remained close. Kaye’s niece, Pam, teaches special-needs children and is the mother of two daughters. She is there every Wednesday to help out and have dinner with Kaye.
Edwarda’s condition did not prevent Kaye from being a vital part of the world. The world simply began to show up on her doorstep. Priests, rabbis, and ministers call on the O’Baras. Once, while Wayne and I were there, Father Dennison arrived to say a blessing for the family. As he left, he said to me, “There’s a holy presence in this house. I feel it every time I come to visit them.” Kaye told me that several times religious leaders have said that they feel God’s presence there even more so than in their own churches and temples.
I know what they mean. As I was saying good-bye to Edwarda at the end of our first visit, I began crying. Kaye warmly said, “Those better be tears of joy, not sadness.” My emotions spilled over in response to the presence of love in that house, particularly in Edwarda’s room. I recognized this profound feeling. It had happened to me once before.
Last year Wayne gave me and our daughters, Stephanie, Skye, and Sommer, the gift of a trip to Italy. We had a terrific time. Our plans included the city of Assisi. We visited St. Francis’s small chapel, which is now completely housed inside a large cathedral to protect it.
When I walked inside his humble church, I was overcome with that same feeling. It engulfed me so completely that the infamous lump-inthe-throat could not be held, and the weeping began. Turning to find Wayne, I saw the same expression.
In Edwarda’s room, especially, this feeling held me in love, and the tears washed down my face. I knew I was somewhere very special. I said, “Thank you,” and was grateful.
During future visits, Kaye began telling us about her most beautiful visitor. Approximately four years ago, during the night, Kaye awoke to the alarm clock’s reminder of the next two-hour feeding. The TV was on, without the sound, plus the lamp was left on to light Kaye’s way down the hall to the kitchen.
Kaye prepared the formula that included the foods Edwarda most loved while she was growing up, plus some water and liquid vitamins. As she walked back down the hall, she saw that the light had gone out in the lamp. Entering the room, she noted that the TV was also off. Odd, she thought, the room is well lit.
As she looked toward Edwarda’s bed, she saw an apparition near the sliding-glass doors. Kaye sat down on the opposite side of Edwarda’s bed and stared at this illumination. There was no sense of time. Then the vision disappeared. Kaye said to us, “At first I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe not sleeping for more than 2 hours at a time over these last 26 years finally took its toll on me.” She told no one.
During the next visitation, Kaye knew that this was Mother Mary who was standing by Edwarda’s bed. This time she spoke to Kaye. She asked Kaye if she was still afraid. Kaye said she was not. She asked Kaye if she knew who she was, and Kaye said she did. They communicated, and then Mother Mary disappeared. Kaye was honored and humbled beyond words.
I believe in my heart that Kaye is completely honest about this. I believe she has communicated with a holy being. Since our initial visit, Kaye has given me messages from Mother Mary. I don’t know how else to receive these words except to believe that they came from heaven. No one else would know this information. Because of this, I have no doubts.
Kaye told us that when Edwarda got sick and fell into the coma, she did not ask God why. When her beloved husband, Joe, six years after Edwarda went into the coma, died at their kitchen table of heart failure, she did not ask why. Her only other child, Colleen, who was 18 months younger than Edwarda, lost her best friend and sister to the coma, then lost her father, to whom she was exceptionally close. And then Colleen lost herself. Kaye continued, still not demanding to know why.
Colleen, perhaps trying to escape all the pain, entered the world of drugs. She left home and spent some time living elsewhere. Kaye looked after Colleen’s son, Ricky, who brings everyone much joy. Kay never asked why.
Then in 1982, Kaye had a massive heart attack. Her only vacation during these 26 years was her ten-day stay in the hospital. She didn’t ask God why. Instead, she said, “I’m glad it happened to me and not someone else, because I can take it. I’m strong enough.” That’s faith. Faith we can all learn from. Faith that doesn’t ask God for explanations. Faith that accepts what God presents, knowing that we are strong enough to carry the weight. Wayne and I are in awe and appreciation of the faith that Kaye symbolizes.
Each time as we drive home after visiting the O’Baras, Wayne and I share our feelings about the experience. Kaye and Edwarda have profoundly touched our lives forever.
Just as unique is Colleen, who has touched our hearts deeply as well. She is an extremely private person, yet she shared her life’s drama with us one day, giving us permission to write what we felt was appropriate.
Colleen single-handedly pulled her life together, using her incredible courage and strength to stay drug free. She has been deeply wounded in this lifetime and will always be in my prayers. She has my admiration and my love.
Her son, Ricky, private like his mother, seems like a wonderful young man. I haven’t gotten to know him yet, but I’ve seen him play a mean game of basketball in their driveway.
One Sunday, we decided to bring some of our children with us to visit. Kaye also loves children. She said she couldn’t wait to meet them. Shane and Stephanie were working that day, helping to support themselves as they attend a university nearby. Sommer was horseback riding at the ranch she so loves. Wayne’s daughter, Tracy, lives and works in Minnesota, so she wasn’t available.
We brought Skye, age 14; Serena, age 10; Sands, age 8; and Saje, age 6, to visit the O’Bara family. On the way to their house, we spoke to them about Edwarda’s diabetes and the blood tests that she requires each day. If her sugar is high, Kaye gives her an injection of insulin. We wanted the children to be prepared. We spoke of her coma, also. They asked questions, and we did our best to comfort them and allay their concerns.
Upon arrival at the O’Bara house, Kaye met us at the door and gave each child her complete attention during their introduction. I had taught the children to bring a small gift when they go to someone’s home. Kaye excitedly thanked each of them for the food they brought. Then she ushered them in to meet Edwarda. Kaye introduced Skye, Serena, Sands, and Saje to her.
I stood quietly by our children as they looked at Edwarda. Skye and Serena silently wept. Sands remained his mellow self and seemed completely at ease with the situation. Saje stayed closest to me. Kaye told Skye and Serena that their tears better be tears of joy, too, and they smiled.
Sharing stories about Edwarda as a little girl who loved to dance and read stories about saints made her appealingly different. She had a collection of books on saints and spent hours in her room each day reading. Quite unusual, yet I couldn’t help but feel Edwarda was preparing herself for her life on earth in the spirit world.
Serena taught us so clearly how naturally she adapted to her new friend. She stood silently by Edwarda’s bed, placing her thumb between Edwarda’s eyes on her forehead. She remained like that for several minutes. Serena began to rub Edwarda’s head, and I had the sense that Serena was speaking with her. She stared into Edwarda’s eyes for a long time. Walking back toward us, she said, “It’s not necessary to use words to speak to her. I talked to her with my mind.” Wayne and I kn
ew she was explaining telepathy to us.
I was surprised by her knowledge. Yet, children begin communicating spirit to spirit as newborns. My own seven children could tell me what they wanted before crying was necessary. Consequently, I went to them before they spent their energy on tears.
As they grew up, I noticed that their descriptions of other children were rarely about physical appearance. Most of the time they would say something like, “You know, Mom, he’s so nice.” Or, “Mom, you will love her, she’s so sweet and kind.” They don’t see the color of the hair, or eyes or skin. Nor do they see fat or thin, tall or short. It seems that this material vision has to be taught.
In my own family, my parents almost never gave me a compliment. I remember this well because the one time they said I looked very nice (I was going to a prom at my high school), I was shocked by their words. What a blessing for me to be as unconcerned about whether I felt I was beautiful or not.
When I fell in love at 15, my friends asked me what “he” looked like since he didn’t go to our school. I couldn’t tell them his eye color or hair color or even his height. They were aghast. I only knew I liked “him,” not what I saw. It didn’t even register.
So, that day, in the O’Bara home, my nonjudgmental daughters, Skye and Serena, were singing a song for Edwarda and Kaye. Skye sang, “I Will Always Love You” so perfectly and purely. Serena sang, “I Enjoy Being a Girl” with such personality. I love to hear them sing. Sands spoke up and said he could play the piano. Then I heard little Saje, who was still standing against me, finally speak. She wanted them to know that she was taking piano lessons, too. It was all so natural.
We were standing at the side of a woman’s bed while she lay in a body with the needs of a newborn. We were not talking to this body. We were singing, talking, and looking beyond this form to the soul. There we were connected. Whether her eyes were opened or closed, Edwarda was with us in spite of being in a coma.
The definition of the word coma suggests a state of deep unconsciousness. Sleep would be more of a natural, periodic suspension of consciousness. Kaye and her husband, Joe, were told that Edwarda slipped into a coma in the early morning hours of January 3, 1970. Was there ever a question that they would place their 16-year-old daughter in a nursing home? Never. She was always going to come home.
If a doctor ever mentioned that if this was his daughter he would have her cared for in an institutional facility, Kaye fired him. She would not tolerate that attitude around her child. Maybe her body was unconscious, but Kaye knew that her soul was alive and hearing everything.
Over the last 26 years, Kaye has kept Edwarda up to date on the music scene and shared television shows with her. Edwarda hears the rap, the rock, and the reggae. Kaye sits and talks to her and tells her funny stories. She sees her daughter’s laughter, too.
I’ve been at their home on numerous visits now, and I’ve watched Kaye pick up Edwarda’s hand, fold it over hers, and then place it against her face and under her chin. I’ve witnessed the depth of love that is there, unspoken and rare.
Kaye doesn’t hold any resentment and shows no anger or sadness. Since Joe died, Kaye has single-handedly found a way to provide for her family. Although heavily in debt at all times, she manages to get by. To me, this is nothing short of miraculous, considering that her income and medical insurance disappeared long ago. She has, over the years, found a way to raise a little money.
Recently, our family and our best friends, Jeff and Bonnie Krich and their two children, attended an auction that Kaye put together. I could only imagine the amount of work that went into organizing such an event.
Pam, Kaye’s niece, gives freely of her time, and for almost 20 years, Kaye has had a nurse’s aide named Ethel come in a few days a week to help her with Edwarda. Kaye told us that on many of her days off, Ethel will show up just to help out. What a love she is, and she gives the best hugs! Because of Ethel, Kaye could attend the auction that night. Colleen and her son, Ricky, were there, too.
Many people came by and reached deep into their pockets to help the O’Baras. It was a warm and friendly evening. Kaye didn’t care if she made a lot of money; she was so thrilled to see everyone together. Her joy was seeing all of her friends. It would be impossible to not love this family.
When Wayne heard of their financial situation, he said to me, so matter-of-factly, “I’m going to write a book about Kaye and Edwarda. All of the profits will go to Kaye. What do you think of that?”
I looked into the blue eyes of this dear, kind man, and I saw his resolve. I have personally seen him evolve over the years into that spiritual teacher we all love, and I saw this as his greatest act of serving yet. He would not only write this book, he would promote it worldwide and take nothing from it. All was a gift from him.
Was Kaye’s unstoppable faith and love of life, no matter what has befallen her, to be rewarded? Was Wayne’s need to do more for others being fulfilled? Isn’t this the stuff of miracles?
As a woman and a mother, I understand about sacrifice. Particularly, it is the mother or the woman in a family who will be the one who takes care of and nurtures the baby or child. The ill person or invalid is almost always cared for by a woman. Not always, of course, but quite often.
Some would say it is our nature, our maternal side. We will be the last one to sit down, the last one to eat a meal, and the last one to rest—these are not so much the acts of a martyr, but rather, the truest way to show our love. Kaye is the epitome of this idea.
Kaye prepares the formula of the foods that Edwarda loved before she went into the coma. There are 12 feeding times each day. She sets the alarm clock at two-hour intervals throughout the night to make sure she doesn’t sleep through a feeding. Kaye’s body is compressed on one side—the side she stays on so she can see Edwarda. It has been over 26 years since Kaye has had an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Could we even imagine that?
When Joe died, Kaye had to learn how to give injections and check Edwarda’s blood-sugar levels throughout the day. Edwarda’s throat must be suctioned because the swallowing reflex is asleep, too. Kaye bathes her daughter, dresses her, turns her often, and exercises her muscles with the physical-therapy exercises she’s learned. Kaye is always thinking of her daughter’s happiness. If a doctor is needed, she asks him or her to come to the house in regular clothes. Edwarda was afraid of hospitals and the doctors who worked there. Kaye doesn’t want to upset Edwarda by having her see the all-white professional attire.
Edwarda’s daily needs are carefully thought out and attended to by Kaye. She fills the needs of her daughter way beyond the physical care. She connects to her child’s spirit. Therein lies the truth. Therein lies infinity. This is what I feel when I am in their home.
Oh, the material world is there, also—the “stuff.” There’s untidiness and clutter around. But it has no meaning, no voice. I could wear the same clothes at each visit. No one would notice. Kaye often has her false teeth in her shirt pocket; she doesn’t care. The hairdo is just that—on her head. So what?
Kaye and Edwarda have traveled way beyond what most of us are caught up in, and they have experienced the bliss of being. A human being stripped of its cloaks. Glowing spirit. Singing of God, of love. There is a large, lacquered plaque hanging near Edwarda’s bed. It says: “Where there is great love, there are always great miracles.” It speaks to the healings that have taken place on many levels.
On one of those levels, I see myself as I climb back into our car after one of our visits. I have continually felt a calmness about my own life. Ongoing doubts or questions that I have seem to disappear. Wayne and I have acquired a new and holy closeness of great depth. Our priorities seem clearer, and our lives have more meaning. We feel that the O’Bara family has given us these personal gifts.
Edwarda is alive, not by artificial means. She breathes on her own. She may be one of the longest-living people in a coma alive today. As I stand by her bed, looking into her eyes, I see life, not emptiness. We
are so simplistic to think that the outward signs of life, such as talking, walking, and doing are indications of living.
All of me that is alive—those inner feelings, my joys, my pains, my loves, my disappointments, my knowings, my brilliance, my weaknesses, are on the inside. Is it inside this body? Or is it inside my soul? A part of my spirit forever? Yes, that’s what I believe. My spirit, the connection to the unseen world, houses the true me.
Edwarda is only in the spirit world today. She’s our connection to it because, as our teacher—the very reason why I believe she is alive— we are guided to see her that way. She has taught me to once again look to the spirit of the person. To bypass all the trimmings. What does the soul whisper?
“A promise is a promise” are the last words that Kaye spoke to Edwarda as she asked her mother, “Mommy, you won’t leave me, will you?”
Kaye said, “Never. I will never leave you. And a promise is a promise. If I can’t keep it, I would say I’ll try. I will never leave you, Edwarda. I promise you I will never leave you, baby. A promise is a promise.” Quietly, Edwarda slipped into a coma.
Edwarda had a 43rd birthday on March 27, 1996. Kaye gave her a birthday party, as she’s done each year. It’s a lot of work. Over 50 people stopped by throughout the day. Why does she do it? Kaye said, “Edwarda loved a birthday party. I do it for her.”
A mother’s love. I understand.
Chapter Five
The Magic and
the Miracles
“Her life makes our lives meaningful.”
— Illiam Quinn, Catholic priest
The presence of the Blessed Mother has brought many changes into the household and lives of the participants in this incredible story. The vision that first appeared in the fall of 1991 brought a new sense of meaning into Kaye and Edwarda’s continuing symbiotic relationship. The most significant thing that the Blessed Mother has brought to Kaye is an inner kind of knowing that there is much more going on here than appears on the surface.
A Promise is a Promise Page 7