Ailish's memories

Discussion in 'Member's Memories - Archive' started by Ailish, Oct 10, 2004.

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  1. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    From the time I was a little girl, I've remembered past lives. It's something that has always stayed with me. My Grandma kept a journal for me, and interestingly enough I've been able to fill in many missing pieces from lives I spoke about as a child. Despite being very Catholic, my grandma never batted an eye when I spoke about other mothers, homes and families. Or about seeing the Light and speaking with spirits. Perhaps she knew something...;)

    I've always been very attached to the United States, even though in this life I was born in Vancouver, Canada. Nothing Canadian ever seemed to stick with me! I insisted, "Our leader is called a President!!" In Canada, it's a Prime Minister. When someone tried to teach me the Canadian National Anthem, I came out with a rousing rendition of the Star Spangled Banner (no one had taught me the words). I wanted to shop at Macy's (we don't have Macy's), talked about attending the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (had never been to one). When people would ask me where I'm from...standard response was always California. As a little girl I had an argument with my grandparents - they insisted the capitol of California was Los Angeles. I was adamant, "It's Sacramento!!!!!" They were stunned when they checked. I had no way of knowing that....I wasn't in school yet and I certainly couldn't name any Canadian capitols. I referred to provinces as states. I insisted that Thanksgiving was in November - in the US it is. In Canada it's in October. I was pretty miffed about celebrating at the wrong time! I also became very patriotic on the 4th of July, whereas I wasn't remotely excited on Canada Day. And the flag - oh my. To see that American flag blowing in the wind brought tears to my eyes. It still does. I feel like I am home when I see it. :)
     
  2. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Ailish's Memories

    In my life as Jessica, I had no idea what happened. One moment I was walking down the street holding my mother's hand.

    I let go because I saw a friend across the street. I waved, stepped towards the street, and then there was just excruciating pain. I didn't know at that point that I had been hit by a car because I never saw it coming. I was terrified. I could hear people screaming, hear the activity going on around me, but I couldn't see anything at all.

    I remember my mother crying and talking to me. I remember her touching me. I desperately wanted to see her, but I couldn't. My eyes felt like someone had dumped mud into them. I couldn't move, or speak, and I was so scared.

    When the regressionist asked me to step back and become an observer, I saw the car, the people around it and in the middle of it all I saw the little girl, crumpled like a broken doll in the street, covered in blood, her mother holding her, also covered in blood.

    I realized at that point that the reason the little girl could not see was that her eyes were filled with blood, as her head had sustained most of the injuries, and her face was badly damaged.

    It was a horrible thing to witness, but for me, seeing the blood was like reaching a clear understanding of what had happened. Since then, I have been able to let the pain and confusion go, but I still hate crossing busy streets ;)

    Ailish
     
  3. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    1640's Ireland and Italy during WWI

    I'd have to say that one of my favorite lives was the life I lived in Ireland as Sarah, during the 1640's. I lived with my parents & my brother. It's the simple, sweet memories make me miss this life...like walking barefoot in the grass after the rain on a summer's day, picking wildflowers in the fields to decorate the old wooden table in the tiny cottage, curling up in front of the warm fire in my mother's lap while she sang songs to us, trying to sit still while she brushed my hair and made me pretty for church on Sundays, working together in the garden, preparing meals together in the tiny kitchen, visiting neighbours and playing for endless hours by a beautiful river...these are just some of the memories that make this one of my favourite lives.

    I also miss my life in Italy when my name was Nicola -- I had a close knit family and a lovely home with a great childhood. I was especially close with my sister Lera, whom I shared a room with. She was five years older than I was. My brother Luca was 3 years older, but never minded me tagging along to climb trees with him and his buddies, even if I was a pest. :D

    Ailish

    This post and discussion is continued in the thread Favorite past lives
     
  4. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Remembering my mothers


    When I was exploring Jessica's life in the 1950's, I had some beautiful memories of my mother, Corinne. She was a fun-loving woman who liked to dance in the kitchen, made hanging the laundry outdoors an adventure, and loved to go to the beach. She liked to paint and play the piano, and she would often bring "goodies" into my playhouse and have tea parties with me. She very much inspired me to "seize the moment". I do remember my father in that life -- but I have clearer, more vibrant memories of my mother.


    As Sarah in the 1600's, I have mainly memories of my 'mam', brother and uncle. My father worked away from home, so memories of him are limited and usually revolve around mealtimes. Mam was a very "outdoorsy' woman, who wasn't as conservative as everyone else in those times. She often let me get away with running bare-headed in the sunshine (I hated my hat). We often made chains of flowers and took long walks through the woods. We visited neighbours, taking food to those who needed help. We had a great relationship until her death.


    As Anyana, I was raised by my Aunt Saya. She was soft-spoken, kind and oh-so-gentle. She taught me the things I needed to know about everyday living -- cooking, spinning, harvesting. I considered her to be a mother. My real mother lived there as well, but I was not raised by her. She was an important and knowledgeable woman -- I learned from her as well, but she taught me the things that no one else could. I loved Saya and looked up to her -- but sadly, she could not compare to my real mother in my eyes...and she knew that. I could see it in her eyes every time I looked at her. When our settlement was destroyed, Saya was killed. My mother rescued me and we escaped with some others, but I acted out with her for not saving Saya. I think I had much guilt over these two mothers -- I loved them both, but I did not want to choose between them.


    This post and discussion is continued in the thread Remembering Mother
     
  5. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Nicoletta's first dance with a boy


    When I was living as Nicola, one of my favorite things to do was to tease my sister (older by five years) about boys. We shared a room -- and I thought it was completely disgusting when she would sneak out of the window to meet a boy. I teased her mercilessly, I am afraid. :tongue: Yes, I was a pest.


    I remember very clearly her 17th birthday party held at my grandparents' home -- it was an all night event with dancing, and plenty of delicious food. She had helped me to dress for the occasion -- and I was proud and feeling very grown-up.


    It turned out to be the place I had my first "official" dance with a boy -- with all of the relatives looking on. I remember blushing almost scarlet and giggling like crazy. My father, mother and grandparents were standing off to the side pointing and smiling. I was mortified by all of the attention. I looked for my sister and saw her in in the middle of a crowd of boys -- watching me. She caught my eye and gave me our special "sister sign".


    That night in our room, my sister was the one teasing me... :D


    Ailish


    This post and discussion is continued in the thread Funny Memories
     
  6. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Sarah Roberts, Kilkenny Ireland - 1600's

    I have memories of being a young girl in Kilkenny, Ireland in the 1600's. My name was Sarah Roberts. I have very vivid memories of running through a forest and going into hiding -- with my mother.

    A group of men came to the cottage where we were hiding -- among them were my father and brother. They had accused my mother, Susannah, of witchcraft.

    They took her from the cottage directly to the river. There was no "trial" ~ but they performed what is called a "floating test" on her. I watched from the riverbank -- as my father held me back, whispering to me "See what happens to women who don't obey, Sarah."

    I am lucky -- in that many of my memories have been validated by a dear friend of mine -- who remembers being Susannah. ;)

    Ailish

    This post and discussion is continued in the thread The Burning Times
     
  7. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Northern Italy - a shared life


    Hi Everyone,


    Deborah and I promised to share a little bit about our recent past life discoveries. We’re still working hard and documenting a lot of our shared experiences – which we’ve realized will be quite an extensive, on-going thing! ;)


    As we mentioned in the California Adventure Thread -- the most recent life we shared together – was in Northern Italy. You may have read Deborah’s threads about Italy – and the trip she took there this past summer.


    The odd thing – is neither of us made the connection regarding this life – although we’d both read each other’s memories on the forum, it wasn’t until that last day together -- when we actually sat down to do some past life work – and have a discussion that we started to realize…


    Deborah asked me about my Italy life – and the excitement in her voice when she said “I had a sister in Italy!” made me look at her twice before I could speak. The conversation was flying back and forth as we were quizzing, comparing and questioning. The description of the bedroom we shared – down to which way the windows opened – the house, the vineyard – the barn, Mamma’s garden on the side of the house, stone wall, and the big olive tree in the front yard – everything matched.


    Since I’ve returned home from our visit – we’ve been exchanging e-mails with our journal entries – sharing our memories, documenting and researching.


    We’ve found so many validations – from words spoken in Italian – to Christmas, Valeria’s 17th birthday celebration and various other traditions. It’s been – absolutely fascinating.


    The first thing that caught our attention was – a name. I called my sister Lera. Deborah’s name was Valeria. My sister was 5 years older – hers was five years younger. We both knew Valeria was the oldest. We both had a brother and lived on a vineyard. She remembers a photo of an Uncle on our mantle – who went to war. I had described a young, fun-loving Uncle – Papa’s brother – who used to make faces at me so I’d laugh in church.


    We’ll share a few snippets here…


    Deborah has memories of hiding a wounded German soldier in the family barn – underneath the floorboards.


    I have memories of my sister sneaking out our bedroom to meet a boy after everyone had gone to bed. The following entries are from my journal:


    I am 11 years old. I am in bed, staring at the light on the wall. I hear my sister, Lera stir and look over at her. She is sitting, fully dressed on the edge of her bed putting on her shoes. I know where she is going. To meet that boy again. I sit up and tell her not to go. Papa will be so angry if he catches her. She sits on my bed, touches my cheek and tells me not to worry about her – she tells me she loves him and will marry him when she is eighteen. I am torn. I adore my sister and want her to be happy…but it is not right to go against Papa. She tells me that one day I will understand and she kisses my forehead. I watch as she moves to the window and climbs out. I know the soldier has put a ladder from the barn there. He always does. I wait a moment and go to the window – I watch as he kisses her, takes her hand and they run across the yard. I feel like I am losing my sister and I feel dislike for this boy/man of hers.


    Valeria lost her entire family in an air raid in WWI. I didn’t know how I died exactly – but this was my description from my journal:


    There is noise and confusion. Loud claps of noise like thunder. Flying objects. Something hits me, knocks me down. I hear Papa calling my name. There is smoke. I cannot see him. I am coughing. I see flames. I feel hot – burning – my dress is on fire. Where is Mamma? Papa is calling her name “Maria!” He’s calling for Luca and for me again “Nicoletta!” I hit at the flames, but they spread, my hands are burned…the skin is bubbled. I can’t move under the rocks. My legs are trapped. It’s hot. My head is on fire – my hair. I smell it. Smell the flesh. I’m scared, so scared.


    In this life -- I have a terrible feeling of dread when I hear planes flying overhead. My stomach clenches and I hold my breath until they pass – it’s something I’ve done since I was a little girl. I remember being certain someone would drop a bomb on me. I didn’t grow out of that fear until I was over ten years old – but I still hate planes.


    I also never liked the sound of thunder. To me, it sounded like bombs dropping – flashes of lightning on a dusky skyline looked like explosions in the distance. I can appreciate the beauty of a storm now – but occasionally we get some major storms where I live – and the sheet lightning reminds me again – of bombs.


    For some reason – I never connected either of those things -- to Nicoletta’s life.
     
  8. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Continued from above post............


    My sister was the only family member to survive the attack -- she didn’t come to town with us that day. Deborah has memories – of hearing the sirens – and witnessing the raid from a “vista point” on our family’s property.


    The following is from my journal, and it is the last memory of my sister:


    My sister stands glaring defiantly at Papa, refusing to dress, refusing to come with us. Mamma keeps telling him to leave her be, and pretty soon all three of them are arguing.


    Luca leaves the house. Lera runs upstairs and I hear a door slam. Papa is mad again. Mamma’s looking worn out. I go up the stairs and open our bedroom door. I am mad at her – but I am sadder when I see her crying again.



    Lera is sitting on her bed by the window. The window is wide open despite the chill in the air. I walk over and close it, then sit on the bed.



    I ask her to come. It’s important to Papa. She doesn’t speak, just shakes her head and turns away from me. I try all of my tricks to get her to come, but she just becomes angry and upset and pushes me away from her. I move closer to her and she pushes me away really hard saying “non me par larra” (?) and something about “Pachuh”(?) and “romperruh” (?)



    I feel tears in my eyes. I yell at her that she is selfish and run down the stairs, my feet pounding hard on each step. I hear her call “Nicoletta,” but I don’t care.



    I stop at the kitchen table and put ********* there. Let her find it. I don’t care. I wipe at my tears.



    I walk out the door and over to Luca, Mamma and Papa. I take Papa’s hand as we walk. I feel sorry for him. He keeps looking back at the house as we leave. I don’t look back.



    I didn’t say what it was that I left on the table – or the significance of it. Deborah and I are very cautious in our approach -– not to give away something to each other that could prove to be another great validation.


    Aili :)


    This post and discussion continued in the thread Sisters - A Shared Life in Italy
     
  9. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Anabaptist Child in Germany - 1550's


    I have only shared with the innermost details of this life with one other person. It is interesting to note — that I recognize several people from that lifetime in my present one – and the revelations were somewhat startling -- at least to me! ;)


    I will share a few memories and validations, from what I believe are Anabaptist times.


    Quotes from my journal are in italics throughout:


    First I found myself back in that little wooden house in Germany. I was small -- perhaps 5 years old and I was sitting in the corner. I was in someone's lap. The woman who held me was pregnant -- I could feel the bulge of her stomach, and had to sit sideways to avoid the bump. I knew -- I must be quiet. The old man was speaking and there was silence in the house. There were several families that lived there -- in the same house -- and it was mainly comprised of women and children. The older man seemed to be in charge of the house and younger men who came and went at all hours. All of the men had a lot of facial hair -- long beards, hats and very simple clothes. The women and children were also dressed simply -- all had head coverings and dark clothing.

    Then we were running through the forest. The woman was holding my hand. There were several other people there running with us. The woman stopped and put her hands on her pregnant stomach. Someone said "Johanna." She was panting -- and seemed to be in pain. She sat on the ground. I was holding onto the dress on her back -- it was gripped in my hand. It was dark but there were flames of light in the trees and voices. Hands were grabbing me.


    Now, I naturally assumed my mother’s name was Johanna – even though it didn't really "feel" right. When I wrote about her in my journal -- I used "Johanna (if that was her name)" In fact, she was calling out for my father, who had already been killed months before. His name was “Johann.” Later on -- I found out her name was actually Ilsa.


    A tiny little wooden box. Just my parents together in the house. My mother is making clothes for the baby brother. My father is giving that baby a bath in the wooden tub. All of him is blue. I don't understand. I am confused. My father asks me to wash the baby's feet. The water is cold -- I pull my hand back. My mother says "Johann," and has tears steaming from her eyes. She is sewing and sewing and not looking at my father. The "Will of God" echoes in my ears.


    My mother and I ended up – in some sort of jail. She was extremely pregnant, without a husband, and trying to keep me – her five-year-old, safe from the men who had killed her husband – simply for his religious beliefs.


    We were in a dark place. There was some sort of straw on the floor. Men were coming in and taking people out. The woman picked me up and was carrying me out. The sunlight hurt my eyes. There were people gathered all around. A wooden block was in the middle of them. They took me from the woman's arms -- she was screaming. Two men were holding her. The were speaking about God. She was shaking her head and screaming, still holding her stomach -- reaching one hand out in front of her.


    A man was holding me around the middle, my left arm pinned under him. Another man put my right hand on the wooden block. A third man was standing above -- he had an axe of sorts -- and he swung it down, cutting off the fingertips of my right hand.



    I found validation in that memory:

    My death, also follows the above pattern – it came soon after the incident with the fingers, although I am not too certain about the passage of time, it couldn’t have been that long.


    Then we were outside at night. Men with torches were all around. Again -- they took me from my mother's arms. The man who was holding me -- was the pitt-faced man I saw before. My mama screamed my name "Christina." They took her and stood her on a platform -- a noose around her neck. She was still pregnant -- her belly was very large now. She had both arms wrapped around her stomach. She was crying. The men put me in the large tub of water. They were holding me under. I couldn't breathe. I felt -- it was a baptism of sorts -- but it went horribly wrong.


    My mother is screaming. I am in the water. I am cold. My hand hurts. I cannot breathe. Each time they bring me to the surface I hear her more clearly. She is calling my name. I am choking. They hold me above the water for a few moments and I look her in the eyes. She is cradling her stomach, her arms around her unborn child, singing. I feel my mother's love and as I call her name "Mama", they push me under the water again.



    Aili


    This post and discussion is continued in the thread Germany in the 1550's
     
  10. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Memories of Mamma from WWI Italy


    Mamma from Italy. :) She was a woman of small stature, but average weight. Her face was beautiful, but tired looking. She had eyes like mine (Nicoletta's) and a long nose – with very red lips and a smile that was slow to start, but was always soft and sweet.


    She had fairly curly brown hair – which she pulled up in a sort of knot while she was working. She spoke softly much of the time – and used her hands a lot when talking – but she could yell really loudly when she wanted to.


    My earlier memories of her include a happy, hard-working woman. Many of my later journal entries include Mamma not feeling well. Many times – she is lying in a darkened room, and I am bringing her tea. I have memories of being told not to disturb her – to go and play outside – or to be very quiet because “Mamma is resting.”


    I know, that despite whatever plagued her, Mamma still worked diligently in her garden -- and around around the house as much as she was able to. I remember my sister Lera doing a lot of the cooking and cleaning up -- with me helping, of course!


    This post and discussion is continued in the thread Remembering Mother
     
  11. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Wales in the 800's


    Henry Leo Bolduc states the following about children and their past life memories:

    As a little girl, I often played in the backyard collecting leaves and sticks and putting them in my “cloth bag” which I wore tied around my waist. I would make “healing drinks” pouring water into a plastic cup and putting in various leaves, grass and a few twigs for good measure. In my cloth bag was also a rock – a special “amulet” of protection.


    I used to go on long “journeys” to find my real mother, through the dark scary forest (the trees dividing our property from the neighbors’ place). Along the way I’d meet up with people who needed my help and people who were trying to get my amulet (usually my brothers hiding in the bushes!)


    Once I was old enough to write – I began to record the dreams I had. I have always been a vivid dreamer -- with an excellent memory for detail. I have had several recurring dreams since I was a toddler that definitely have their roots in a past life.


    Long before that, my Grandma kept a journal for me. For me personally – it is interesting to see how much of my early “play” coincides with my current memories.


    Here are a few snippets from my journal:


    It's extremely interesting for me to note -- that I have several journal entries from childhood that support various past lives. None of them are spectacular, but rather they are just ordinary memories of everyday life throughout the ages.


    Ailish


    This post and discussion continued in the thread When Childhood Play Validates Past Lives

    [/QUOTE]
     
  12. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Everyday memories from life to life


    I was talking to a friend the other night – and he reminded me that there is comfort in the simple things in life – from walking to work in the morning, to chores on the farm in the evening.


    Many people I have spoken with – feel there is nothing “exciting” in sharing their past life memories of regular life. I completely disagree – I think there is beauty to be found in the most simple of memories – a smile between two people, a favorite “spot” in the forest, a family picnic….

    I am going to share a few moments from a couple different lifetimes – that were taken from my journals. They're simple, and not extremely exciting -- but they highlight everday life -- and they are treasures to me.

    This post and discussion is continued in the thread Everyday Memories
     
  13. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    An Italian Christmas


    In keeping with the holiday season, I am adding one of the memories I have of our Italian Christmas:


    I am small perhaps 6. I am excited because it is Christmas season and there are so many good foods – especially sweets. Lera helps me hang my stocking on the end of the bed, but changes her mind and gives me one of hers – it’s bigger.


    She does the same on her own bed and tells me “Go to sleep La Befana is coming to fill our stockings with goodies.”



    I jump onto my bed and scramble under the patchwork quilt. It’s cold in there! I swish my legs and feet around to warm up the bed and Lera laughs at me. That makes me giggle.



    Papa and Mamma come in to kiss us, and Papa laughs when he sees Lera’s stocking on my bed. I close my eyes as Papa kisses my forehead and then Mamma reminds us to say our prayers. I jump out of bed to kneel by Lera at her bed. She is saying words – but not praying – I can tell. She is smiling too much to be praying.



    This post and discussion continued in the thread Sisters - A Shared Life in Italy
     
  14. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Holland in the 1400’s


    Love – what a great topic! There is such a beautiful innocence in the memory of one’s first love. It’s something most people I know remember in their current lives with great clarity – so I can definitely understand how that feeling would be remembered from other lifetimes as well. ;)

    I had some wonderful memories from a meditation I did not too long ago about a lifetime in Holland in the 1400’s. Dmitri was a student of my father’s friend. He was basically “boarding” with us from the time I was 8 years old. I adored him right from the start. He treated me like the child I was at first – and teased me mercilessly about being exactly like his little sister back home. That was definitely not what I wanted to hear at the time. :tongue: I’m not certain when he stopped seeing me as a child – but I think the following moment was important:

    Aili :)


    This post and discussion is continued in the thread Memories of your "first love"
     
  15. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    The baby cradle


    Here's another "everyday memory" -- it's the simplicity of the moment -- that makes it precious to me:

    Aili :)


    This post and discussion is continued in the thread Everyday Memories
     
  16. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Losing a child


    The phrase I heard from Deborah “From Grief to Grace” really struck a chord deep within. Grief is such a personal experience – one that no two people experience in the same way. Some people grieve in private – some prefer to be surrounded by people. Some people experience the grief in stages – as presented by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. Some people appear stoic and reserved in their acceptance – while others openly weep with a pain only they can know.


    Nathali's recent post in her thread Memories of the Alhambra about Ibrahim's mother, the grief over the loss of her son -- and how she reached out to the other boy to offer him comfort -- started me thinking more about past lives...


    I’ve discussed how seeing my own death – has never been an issue for me – there are “good deaths” and “bad deaths” and I accept them both for what they are – a transition into another life, a new adventure – a part of the journey of my soul.


    Recently, I had a different kind of experience in a meditation. This time – I was not the one leaving for the next adventure – I was the one left behind to deal with the loss. Certainly, in other lifetimes I’d lost people close to me – but this time it was different – this time, I’d lost my child.


    I was about 14 when my daughter was born (Quite an acceptable age in the 1400’s). I was married to a wonderful man – the love of my life. This beautiful child, Elena, – was our sunshine. My husband Dmitri was a painter – and he was different than many men in that day – he saw beauty in everything. Our time together – was simply joyful. So when Elena came to us -- it was an amazing blessing.

    When she was between 8-9 months old – our little Elena died:

    I felt utterly lost and filled with guilt. I felt – there was something I should have done as Elena’s mother to save her – to protect her. In those times – babies died all of the time; it was a common occurrence. I still held on to the guilt – the pain of losing this perfect little girl. I felt so – empty. I tried – to turn away from the people who loved me – I wanted to crawl up in myself and never come out. Dmitri would not allow it – despite the fact that he was also grieving, he understood that for Elena – there was more to come. Death is not final.


    He also knew that by holding on to the feelings of loss – instead of concentrating on the beauty and gift that was Elena’s life – I was actually keeping myself in a place of grief – instead of moving through the process into healing. (Did I mention he was a very wise man?)


    I’ve remembered bits and pieces of the funeral:

    Mainly – I remembered my husband’s words to me as I looked into the grave at that tiny wooden box “…she’s not in there. Our Elena – is already flying.” Dmitri knew then – that our Elena was already on her way to a new journey. The knowledge he shared with me – that death is simply another state of being – helped me to understand that Elena needed to go. She would always be our daughter – and always be with us, yet she had – other things to accomplish. Instead of turning away from each other – Elena’s death brought us closer than ever.


    Eventually – we found our joy again in learning to live each moment of life. From grief to grace………… ;)


    Aili


    This post and discussion continued in the thread Moving Through Grief
     
  17. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Madeleine loses her Maman - a child's grief


    I thought I’d share a different kind of grief…from the point of view of a child losing her only parent. These are probably some of my more difficult memories to share – and even writing about it makes my heart ache and tears well up in my eyes.


    Let me explain firstly, that Madeleine was raised primarily by her Maman, and her mother’s friends/co-workers who lived in the house and shared accommodations with them. To Madeleine – Maman “sparkled,” and she made life exciting and fun. Maddie had already lost everyone dear to her – including her homeland when they moved to the Southern US. Every familiar thing was gone, so the loss of her Maman was magnified by being in a foreign country surrounded by strangers. The only person to reach out to Maddie was Cora, her grandmother’s black housekeeper. Cora’s whole family took to Maddie – and she was best friends with Cora’s granddaughter, Charlie.


    From my journal:

    Madeleine only lived about a year and a half after her mother’s death. Despite the profound sense of grief and loss I feel at re-experiencing Maman’s death – I can still remember the feeling of all of the good times – the fun times, and all of the special moments that Maddie got to share with her Maman and for that I feel truly blessed. ;)


    Aili :)


    This post and discussion is continued in the thread Moving Through Grief
     
  18. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Madeleine - Daughter of a French Courtesan


    I thought I’d share a different kind of grief…from the point of view of a child losing her only parent. These are probably some of my more difficult memories to share – and even writing about it makes my heart ache and tears well up in my eyes.


    Let me explain firstly, that Madeleine was raised primarily by her Maman, and her mother’s friends/co-workers who lived in the house and shared accommodations with them (Madeleine's Maman was a courtesan.) To Madeleine – Maman “sparkled,” and she made life exciting and fun. Madeleine thought her Maman was famous. :D


    For some reason (unknown to me!), we had to leave France and move to the US. My real father's mother - who I'd never met - lived there. At first, I thought we were only going for a visit. I didn't know my Maman was dying.


    Maddie had already lost everyone dear to her – including her homeland when they moved to the Southern US. Every familiar thing was gone, so the loss of her Maman was magnified by being in a foreign country surrounded by strangers. The only person to reach out to Maddie was Cora, her grandmother’s black housekeeper. Cora’s whole family took to Maddie – and she was best friends with Cora’s granddaughter, Charlie. I have many memories of Maddie's life - but for me, this is the hardest one.


    From my journal:

    Madeleine only lived about a year and a half after her mother’s death. Despite the profound sense of grief and loss I feel at re-experiencing Maman’s death – I can still remember the feeling of all of the good times – the fun times, and all of the special moments that Maddie got to share with her Maman and for that I feel truly blessed. ;)


    Aili :)


    This post and discussion is continued in the thread Moving Through Grief
     
  19. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Same family reincarnation in Italy


    As many of you know from our post in the spirit section, I was recently in California visiting Deborah again. :D We did several meditations and we had some interesting things come up – small validations, with a big emotional impact – for us both.


    If you haven’t already – you can read about our lifetime together as two sisters, Valeria and Nicoletta, growing up on a small vineyard in Northern Italy in the early 1900’s.


    During our meditation we both asked at the beginning to be shown what we need to see. I believe Deborah asked for healing – and I asked to see more of the connection between us. Neither of us knew what question the other had asked, it was done in silence - in fact, we never discussed beforehand that we were even going to ask a question. It was only after the meditation while we were discussing our experiences, that Deborah asked me - if I had asked a specific question. ;)


    Interestingly enough – we had some wonderful cross-over experiences. I will share what I wrote in my journal:

    This is where it gets even more interesting – at least in my opinion ;) For a while – I have been having memories of our house in Italy, through dreams, spontaneous flashes and meditations. I am seeing it not from the point of view of Nicoletta – but from the point of view of another little girl named Alessandra who was born over 20 years after Nicoletta died. I had not mentioned this to Deborah at the time – except to ask her if the names I remembered meant anything to her.


    I did know that Lera had two small girl cousins – and she was much older than they were, closer to their mother’s age. However, I didn’t know how they were dressed or what they were wearing, and that proved another small validation for me. ;)
     
  20. Ailish

    Ailish Administrator Emerita

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    Same family reincarnation in Italy continued


    Continued from above post........

    I have many more things to share from my earlier journals – including some great validations from that lifetime, but I will share those a bit later – I don’t want to get too far away from the meditation and the shared experience with Deborah. ;)


    Back to our meditation:

    At this point – we were interrupted by ringing phones and banging doors – and decided to end the meditation. I will let Deborah tell you her experiences, and you can see from her post how we get our validations ;)


    Aili :D


    This post and discussion is continued in the thread Italy - Our Story Continues
     
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