Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.
Mary Frye
Native American Prayer
I give you this one thought to keep -
I am with you still — I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning’s hush
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not think of me as gone -
I am with you still — in each new dawn.
As I looked up to meet their eyes, I burst into tears. It was the best gift that I had ever received from friends. Each beautiful poem was needlepointed in different patterns. I understood instinctively that Peggy had done the first poem and Carole, the second. The craftsmanship was as admirable as the thought they had put into my gift; this gift graciously given after all that I had experienced in the past five months at O’Brien Manor. Only the three of us could truly understand the words spoken in both poems; each with their own interpretations. There is life after death, after all! Carole ran over and bent down to hug me, and then I bolted from the loveseat to hug Peggy in her rocking chair. Words were not exchanged about why they were giving this to me now and I was not going to question it.
Back at the manor, as Hanna and grandma prepared my birthday dinner, I chuckled as I sat down on the world’s longest living room sofa, and remembered the first day arriving at the estate. My parents and I sat on this very spot and wondered what year the formidable couch had been manufactured in.
“Surprise, Paige! Happy seventeenth birthday. We’ve missed you so much…”
Disbelieving my own ears, I looked up and stared blankly as my parents ran into the room with open arms. Seeing them brought tears to my eyes and I appreciated my tall, tanned, blond hair, blue-eyed dad contrasted with my short, lively, brown-eyed mom with her auburn hair and mole like mine. They were a sight for sore eyes. It was too good to be true. Wincing as my chest grew tight I realized how overwhelming it was to see them again without a hint of their arrival.
Mom pulled away from me, and grabbed my cheeks with both hands. “Look at you! You’ve grown up so much! Not another ounce on you though, I might add. Are you sure you’re feeding her enough, Hanna?” mom yelled towards the kitchen in a playful manner.
I shot her a glare. You haven’t been gone that long, mom! I cut my mood short and stared into the face that reflected my own. Mom always said our moles made us models like Cindy Crawford. Though I did not believe her, I appreciated her sentiment.
Dad took a step back and noted, “You are more beautiful than ever! There’s a glow about you that I haven’t noticed before. What’s changed?” Dad placed his hand on my right arm and together we sat down. “We want to hear everything.”
Mom stared at me and I knew not to outline the recent events at O’Brien Manor, especially around Halloween. I laughed and asked them what on earth they were doing home when our last conversation was about their visit at Christmas.
Grandma strutted into the room and interjected, “I called them home for your birthday. It is our first time celebrating such a special occasion together and I hoped they could at least come home for a long weekend. We’ve noticed you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, Paige.”
I reflected for a few minutes and personally felt the stress was actually last month, but they were correct, it had continued on into November. I nodded my head in agreement. I realized I had been extremely exhausted since Halloween and jumped up to thank grandma by hugging her as tightly as she could tolerate. Looking over her shoulder, I observed dad with his beautiful wide smile, sparkling, white teeth, chiselled face and his baby blues. He looked happy.
Dad laughed aloud and commented, “Careful, Paige, or you’ll be giving your grandma a chiropractic adjustment. Don’t squeeze her spine too tightly.”
I cut the hug short and looked at him with tears in my eyes. He always knew how to lighten the mood and I counted on that right about now!
Grandpa joined us. He confidently walked over to mom and gave her a bear hug and then turned and shook dad’s hand. “Thank you for bringing our daughter home safely. I worry about the two of you over there in Italy.”
“Well, we are only home for a short visit, Ted. And life in Italy agrees with my wife, I’ll have you know. We are staying in a posh villa called Degli Argentieri in Fegina, adjacent to Monterosso al Mare. Lori mingles every day with the locals in the shops. She loves it there and is writing articles daily.”
Dad had a sparkle in his eyes and unfortunately for me, I picked up that he was thinking romantically about mom. I interjected, “And I suppose the two of you don’t mind the empty nesting thing either?”
“Why, Paige, look who’s all grown up?” mom said light-heartedly. “We’ll have to chat later about what you’ve been up to. Yes, dad, I love it in Italy. The scents of the lemons, limes, olives and vineyards are magical. And I found out the hard way, in the shops, that the owners often understand English, though they pretty much pretend they don’t. Until they get to know you, that is. I love it there, mom and dad.”
It was the best birthday I could ever remember having. Everyone got along so well. There was laughter and even a few tears shed over the fact that we had all missed one another. The birthday dinner consisted of crab legs that mom and dad had flown in from the East Coast (thank heavens to online ordering) and quinoa with chopped herbs, garlic, zucchini and carrots. And there was also the to-die-for marble, double fudge chocolate cake. All this on top of the birthday cake I had already enjoyed earlier with Peggy and Carole made my stomach gurgle. It really touched my heart when mom presented the cake and everyone sang Happy Birthday to me, even though dad dragged out the ending of the song to you– that was a bit over the top.
For the rest of the evening, I doted on every word they had to say about living in Cinque Terre, five lands making up a National Park in Italy, a conservation area. I was especially excited when mom’s face lit up about the fairytale land they had entered from the moment they arrived on the train and stepped out onto the tarmac in the middle of nowhere smelling the fragrant air and then spied the Mediterranean Sea across the road as they walked to their villa. She described it as similar to the feeling Cinderella must have had at the ball. And the more she researched the fascination by tourists of the area, the more she discovered it was actually a very spiritual place: hiking the trails that join the five lands is not only an educational journey but physical as well. They discovered Mary Shelley, author of the novel Frankenstein, summered there with her family and it was said that her husband Percy — a romantic poet — drowned while sailing in La Spezia located further south down the coast from them. They hiked all the way to the village of San Terenzo and Lorici to stand where the Shelleys once stood, and rumoured to vacation with Lord Byron, author of dad’s favourite poem. It was a beautiful moment until dad began to recite the poem to mom:
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
&nb
sp; Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
I sat through the poem and as if that wasn’t bad enough, mom, with flushed cheeks, explained that looking out from their villa balcony over the Mediterranean Sea was ‘the giant’, a carving at the edge of a cliff representing the god Neptune, naked. Now that’s where I drew the line and bid adieu. Ugh.
That night as I lay in bed talking to myself, I thanked all those responsible for my parents safe return home: my grandparents, dad’s supportive colleagues who approved a few days’ vacation and Creator for allowing it to happen. I gave thanks over and over and over again, looking up towards the ceiling at the beautiful angels that I imagined were hovering and listening in on my thoughts.
Mom came by to tuck me in, a bedtime ritual she hadn’t done in years, and I allowed it. She was the best mom in the world and I was grateful for her. I looked forward to the next day, knowing we would spend it together exploring the estate. It was comforting as she kissed me on the cheek and said goodnight, from dad as well.
I slept like a baby, no voices or scary spirits trying to mess with me, nothing at all. My dream was peaceful and seemed to last all night — I dreamt I was an eagle perched in a nest on the edge of a cliff. I pushed off with my powerful talons soaring through the air exercising the full span of my wings, free-falling over a valley surrounded by a mountain range covered in pine and evergreen trees. When I spied a magnificent waterfall cascading down from the crest of the mountain to the valley floor, I careened towards it, felt the residual spray on my body and expelled a resounding cry expressing my delight to the universe.
Awakening rejuvenated and happy, I bounded out of bed. Mom and I decided, before brunch, we would have a mom and daughter day much to the displeasure of everyone else. She added, perhaps only a half day, to manage the objections. Dad grinned and agreed daughters need their moms and then winced as he looked past me to grandma. She was frowning and I guessed it was because of the years she and mom had been disconnected. I tried to include grandma, but mom remained firm reiterating it would be just the two of us. I knew enough not to get myself caught between two strong-willed ladies, hugged grandma, and then departed with mom arm in arm.
“So, dear, shall we go to our secret hide-away?” mom giggled. “And don’t worry about my mother — she’ll get over it, Paige.” She steered me towards the showpiece of the manor: the black walnut staircase. A part of me wanted to stop and ask her about the hidden room in the wall, adjacent to the landing. However, I refrained, as I was sure it would lead to a whole day of discussion, particularly if mom did not know about it.
“Let’s go!” I exclaimed and ran up the stairs taking them two at a time. I was nicely surprised mom kept up with me. Well, almost.
As we reached the attic stairs, mom stopped briefly and looked me in the eyes. “I know you’ve been through a lot on your own, but do not fear, your mom is here.” She laughed and pulled down the stairs. It was random she would say that so flippantly.
As I scaled the stairs behind her, I felt tightness in my chest and then a wave of sweat; a small panic attack had reared its ugly head which I attributed to the memory of Bradford and his nephew and events from my last visit to this very room. As certain as I was that they had been cleared from the manor, there was always a slight chance it had all been in my imagination.
Mom stood in the center of the attic and exclaimed, “I don’t remember it being so warm in here. My parents must have put the heat back on in the second story and it has found its way up here. Fantastic!” She circled around the room looking at her dolls before she spoke again. “I asked you up here, Paige, because I’ve been getting some very dark images of what’s been happening to you, especially over Halloween. Can you tell me about it?” Mom looked concerned, her brown eyes dilated.
“I don’t know how to begin, mom. Grandpa and I have grown closer and Hanna as well, by default, since she knows about...our gift.”
“Wait, Hanna knows? Since when?” She sat down at the dolls’ table that hugged the ground and I almost burst into a nervous giggle.
“She’s always known, I guess. Hanna insisted that grandpa should be the one to tell me about our heritage and our supposed inherent gene — the one that the gift comes from.”
“I really don’t know why Hanna’s involved at all,” mom said, exasperated, brushing off my remark about our gene pool. “I guess if she is helping…it must mean dad is growing weak. His energy must be waning. Well, enough of that. I’ll concern myself with dad later. I want to hear more about what has happened with you.” She smiled and gestured for me to continue.
I spoke about the day grandma and I rode Molly, and grandma ignored Peggy as she waved as we passed by and then later ordered me not to see her again. Mom frowned. I skirted over the stories that involved Allan Brewer, the spirit wolves, and Dexter, since mom seemed more pensive than I would have expected. My parents would soon be leaving for Italy. I knew in my heart if I told her everything, mom would remain behind and that would not be the best for her. The healing rock did not seem to surprise mom which I found very peculiar. When I mentioned the man dressed in tribal head gear, she reacted briefly and then insisted I carry on. I could tell she was happy that Carole and I had become good friends. Mom knew of her family. And she seemed extremely delighted I had connected with Peggy. In fact, she encouraged me to continue to visit with Peggy and hang out with Carole. And I knew she was thinking of her childhood phrase, you can never have too many friends.
We heard some huffing and puffing below the attic floor. Mom put her index finger to her mouth signalling me to stay quiet. Next we heard someone struggling up the ladder and broke out into hysterics when grandpa beseeched, “Well, one of you, come and help me! I’m an old man!”
I ran to grandpa’s assistance, and pulled him up and into the room.
“I knew you two would be here, especially since we told you not to when you first arrived at the manor.” He laughed and continued, “That’s why Dexter moved temporarily into the guest house and was hard to find this fall. He worked steadily on fixing up the second story and the attic — did you notice the heat?”
Mom sat back down and said, “Phew, I thought I was having hot flashes and I had entered menopause! I’m too young for that! Thanks for telling us, Dad.”
“This seems to be the only place where your mother or Hanna won’t find us. And we definitely need to talk. You don’t mind, Lori?” He carefully sat on the floor next to mom’s doll chair and rested his hand on mom’s right knee.
“Not at all, dad,” mom replied and leaned onto his shoulder.
That tender moment between the two of them was one I would always treasure; grandpa, with a big, wide grin against his rusty complexion, white hair and beard, contrasted against mom’s auburn, curly hair and pale skin, smiling and so happy.
“It’s time we talk openly about our psychic gifts. We’re all different so why don’t we start there?” Grandpa gestured towards mom to begin.
Mom sat up straight, hesitated and then started, “I first knew I was gifted when I had what I assumed was a dream of you and mom talking about my hyperactivity and what you were going to do about it.”
Grandpa raised his eyebrows as he motioned for mom to continue.
“So, Paige, they wanted me to see the doctor the next day — when I woke up, I concocted a story that I couldn’t go to school because of a stomach ache. I knew they were going to take me to Doctor Thornton and I didn’t like him. He was an older, insensitive man and did not know how to talk to girls. That morning, when they left my bedside with my supposed aching stomach, medical appointment thwarted, I overheard them again, talking in the hallway about calling Doctor Thornton to make an appointment for the next week. That’s when I discovered it wasn’t just a dream. I knew I had somehow overhead them in my sleep, or so I thought; it happened many times after that. It wasn’t until I came across an article in the school library — I think it was the librarian’s journal on parapsychology — I grasped that perhaps, I had an out-of-body experience in my sleep and that’s how I overheard their conversations.” Mom looked up at me and I smiled, nodding in agreement. “So you can do it as well, Paige?”
I shifted back and forth on my feet and confessed, “I sure can! The first time I can recall — I travelled one night to Bradley Adam Parkman’s house and overheard Brad talking with his mom, you know Sarah, whom I’d never met before. They were talking about how frightened he was for all of us at the O’Brien estate. Sarah recounted a story from her childhood about her mother and a very scary interaction with a supposed ghost on the staircase while she was cleaning. I knew the next day by Brad’s behaviour that it was related to the conversation with his mom. I also had another experience recently on Halloween.” I paused to study grandpa, then continued, “Hanna and grandpa were talking about me by the Hallowfire. They were worried about me.”
Grandpa’s chestnut brown eyes widened, again, and he responded, “You mean, when we were talking about whether or not you could handle the bewitching hour on All Hallows’ Eve? Well, I’ll be jiggered. We share this gift, one and all! I also have what’s called ‘second sight’ and see earthbound spirits and know how to protect myself from them. The two of you should know — I say — The Light of God surrounds me, the Love of God enfolds me, the Power of God protects me, the Presence of God watches over me. Wherever I am, God is...and all is well. It seems to do the trick!”
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