Historically this is a tough week for me. My mom crossed over on May 5th fourteen years. It’s a day that comes around with a thud whether I acknowledge it or not. To add insult to injury (boy, I love that expression), dealing with our special needs daughter, we now have frequent family therapy sessions. And in yesterday’s session, it came up that since I am not my daughter’s biological mom, I am not her “real” mom. It was a little insensitive oops-wording from our therapist. Ouch! With Mother’s Day approaching, all these mom injuries are hitting the fan.
Last night, my head ached. This is a sure sign that someone on the other side is trying to communicate. I saw lots of owls–my mom’s favorite creature, before she showed me a weird vision. It my childhood home. We had one fancy room that was the guest living room. Technically, it was highly impractical for a home with kids and a shedding dog. The couch was white with soft fur that you wanted to touch but couldn’t. In this room, there were fancy artifacts, expensive paintings and a glass coffee table. We were not allowed to hang out here, much less sit on the couch. (Although our beagle was known on occasion to sit there when no one was home.) It was the guest living room, after all, for entertaining, but my parents never entertained in it. Ironically then, the room sat like a museum. Out of all visions my Mom could send at this time was a clear picture of the white couch.
How did this vision apply to my mothering or grieving issues? When I told my pal Wendy this story she blurted out, “Don’t save the best for other people!” This of course, would follow my other posts here of leaving myself last often.
How much have we learned from our Moms about giving to ourselves vs. giving to others? Were there false messages along the way? Was that special couch that I couldn’t touch a symbol that I couldn’t have the special things and treatment? That was for everyone else? Was my daughter now that couch? I could see it, take care of her for the past five years, be mom, but the role of mom was reserved and belonged to others? How long was I taught this odd withholding?
The miraculous part of all of this is Mom, fourteen years later, must have done some soul-searching on the other side to have learned this lesson now, and is now anxious to impart this wisdom to her daughter as she must painfully watch as she repeats her past mistakes.
Ronni's Psychic Room & Readings 