Lorna J. Hines, M.S. Intuitive/Healer/Medium
Straight Talk From a Wise Woman
From My Heart to Yours Series One
Love Never Dies
By
Lorna J. Hines
Dear Friends:
First and foremost please accept my deep and profound appreciation for allowing me to share these writings which do indeed come from my heart and with God’s help will touch yours.
I am certainly indebted to God, and the many healers, helpers, guides and spirit persons who have provided their assistance and supported me in creating this first book which will be followed by others. There are numerous family members including my husband, children, both blood and fictive kin who have helped me take this important step. I have been so very fortunate to intersect the paths of some of the most talented, loving and caring spiritual teachers, pastors and priests. There are far too many to mention however, you will remain in my heart and soul until my own life’s transition. Several wonderful, friends who have become my bother and sister who shared their technical assistance, advice, support and counsel also humble me. Again I am so blessed and remain in a state of gratitude.
My continued hope and prayers is that my experiences expressed through words will promote insights, ideas and healing. Feel free to share with friends; loved ones and colleagues and hopefully some of the concepts which you may find worthwhile will have a positive cascading effect.
May God continue to keep you in his/her care.
Ava’s Passing
Are there those amongst you whose interest maybe tweaked by the title of this true story? No, it is not about someone trying to “pass” in terms of race or ethnicity but rather a more profound aspect of transitioning our body, mind, and spirit to what awaits us all.
At the outset, I will readily admit that I am both a spiritual and religious person-borrowing a theology and philosophy grounded in the concept of love. This honest and forthright admission is important because it underlies and punctuates the beautiful story I am about to share with you.
I did not fully shutter with fear as the diagnosis of my dear cousin who was 53 years young first was shared with us. As an African-American youngster growing up in the 50’s and 60’s, cancer was a known death sentence whose stigma was unrelenting. However, I was certain this was no longer the case feeling there were lots of options to explore. After all, were there not clinical trials, pharmaceuticals from other countries, and a host of alternative interventions? Had not Suzanne Somers and lots of other celebrities recovered? Yes indeed, my beautiful and loving cousin would recover!
Her husband, sons and a host of others set to work researching possibilities to challenge the deadly brain tumor. No stone was left unturned pumping the Internet for all available information. In the meantime, there were trials of chemo, radiation and steroids (to stop and prevent seizures and brain swelling) and a plethora of drugs whose names I do not know and recall. All of them rendered my beautiful Ava bald, with cheeks the size of cantaloupes, a flat affect and, this picture remained until her passing.
Her care in a number of institutions was noteworthy. The staff had no choice given the enormity of her immediate family and friends. What the staff refused or were unwilling to perform, her loved ones did without a moment’s hesitation. The armies of helpers were valiant in the completion of their tasks. In fact, their duties were completed diligently, completely, searching for additional functions with which to prove their dedication, love, and affections. Were there clothes to wash? What would she like to eat? Could they wipe down a table or chair? Could they run to the store for something she might like-as if their ministrations and efforts were absolutely crucial to her recovery.
Those that knew Ava loved her without conditions including her dear parents. Her arrival was cherished by the entire family composed of one of the best within the African Diaspora-the Caribbean and American. An only child, she grew up with a host of first cousins who were treated like brothers and sisters. Her mother, whose beauty and charm impacted a host of family, loved ones and friends, was also my Godmother. Her father whose handsomeness and social skills were remarkable, was my mother’s only living brother who assumed the paternal role in the family after the untimely death of his father. He helped my mother complete college and gave up his own education when his mother founds herself a widow at age 36 with five children to raise during the depression. She, a native of Barbados, West Indies, immigrated to the United States at age 15.
Are there those amongst you whose interest maybe tweaked by the title of this true story? No, it is not about someone trying to “pass” in terms of race or ethnicity but rather a more profound aspect of transitioning our body, mind, and spirit to what awaits us all.
At the outset, I will readily admit that I am both a spiritual and religious person-borrowing a theology and philosophy grounded in the concept of love. This honest and forthright admission is important because it underlies and punctuates the beautiful story I am about to share with you.
I did not fully shutter with fear as the diagnosis of my dear cousin who was 53 years young first was shared with us. As an African-American youngster growing up in the 50’s and 60’s, cancer was a known death sentence whose stigma was unrelenting. However, I was certain this was no longer the case feeling there were lots of options to explore. After all, were there not clinical trials, pharmaceuticals from other countries, and a host of alternative interventions? Had not Suzanne Somers and lots of other celebrities recovered? Yes indeed, my beautiful and loving cousin would recover!
Her husband, sons and a host of others set to work researching possibilities to challenge the deadly brain tumor. No stone was left unturned pumping the Internet for all available information. In the meantime, there were trials of chemo, radiation and steroids (to stop and prevent seizures and brain swelling) and a plethora of drugs whose names I do not know and recall. All of them rendered my beautiful Ava bald, with cheeks the size of cantaloupes, a flat affect and, this picture remained until her passing.
Her care in a number of institutions was noteworthy. The staff had no choice given the enormity of her immediate family and friends. What the staff refused or were unwilling to perform, her loved ones did without a moment’s hesitation. The armies of helpers were valiant in the completion of their tasks. In fact, their duties were completed diligently, completely, searching for additional functions with which to prove their dedication, love, and affections. Were there clothes to wash? What would she like to eat? Could they wipe down a table or chair? Could they run to the store for something she might like-as if their ministrations and efforts were absolutely crucial to her recovery.
Those that knew Ava loved her without conditions including her dear parents. Her arrival was cherished by the entire family composed of one of the best within the African Diaspora-the Caribbean and American. An only child, she grew up with a host of first cousins who were treated like brothers and sisters. Her mother, whose beauty and charm impacted a host of family, loved ones and friends, was also my Godmother. Her father whose handsomeness and social skills were remarkable, was my mother’s only living brother who assumed the paternal role in the family after the untimely death of his father. He helped my mother complete college and gave up his own education when his mother founds herself a widow at age 36 with five children to raise during the depression. She, a native of Barbados, West Indies, immigrated to the United States at age 15.
I am related to Ava from her paternal side. I know much more about that side of the family. Her paternal grandparents arrived to New York via ship from the beautiful island of Barbados. Her grandfather had been among the many who found enormous opportunities in the building of the Panama Canal. Preston was a civil engineer who worked hard on the canal in the company of many blood relatives who were relied on for love, support, and mutual aid. They worked round the clock, sleeping in shifts, sharing modest and close accommodations. Her Grandmother Edith Amanda’s sojourn was equally interesting and perhaps more courageous. She boarded a ship at the tender age of fifteen, having secured a position as the “upstairs girls” in the home of a wealthy white in Dobbs Ferry, New York. Her cousin was already in their employ and secured the job in her behalf.
The actual story behind the meeting between Preston Egbert Pilgrim and Edith Amanda Hoyte, was not known to me. It is clear however, that it was a loving and passionate relationship.
Unable to find work as a civil engineer due to racial discrimination, the couple worked hard at an assortment of jobs including eventual ownership of a taxi medallion. Like many immigrants they lived on the lower eastside. Both always took care to send money to less fortunate relatives. I recall helping grandmother send money orders to her brother in the “canal zone” of Panama. I believe Preston was equally generous to his mother “Coolie Carrington” and also helped other brothers and sisters to immigrate to the United States.
Grandma Edith (Ava was named after her with middle name Edith) continued the intense pattern of generosity and was chided by her husband for always taking in “strays”. Her heart was very big and she always actively helped others-seeing this as her Christian responsibility... I can recall during my school age, her amassment of parcels of clothing, food, and money to help homeless individuals in our community. Once cleaned up, helping them to find work and motivating them to take steps to remain clean and sober. Indeed she was in many ways a one person social service and civic organization.
I would be remised if I did not share what I do know of my cousin’s maternal grandparents. As I mentioned the marriage between Ava’s parents was a perfect match representing the best of the African Diaspora. There was a genetic predisposition of strength when the two families melded together netting progeny who were focused and determined. Her maternal grandparents were opposites to me growing up– Grandma “Beau” vivacious and outgoing while her grandfather was quiet yet intensely loving, referring to us as his “baby dolls”.
Her parents’ marriage can be easily described as “brilliant” Her father, Carlton Terrence Pilgrim, a smooth brown-skinned , wavy haired gentleman who flowed easily from uttering a multitude of languages in the course of providing meat and poultry, to the dapper gentleman in a tuxedo dancing a tango or waltz. Her mother, Ruth Cunningham, was a gorgeous woman who was masterful in interior design. I am certain she could turn several hovels into palaces with less than one thousand dollars. They were a fun-loving couple who enjoyed all sorts of festive events, but true to their ancestral roots, saved and obtained property in the North Bronx, where eventually Ava was reared and educated. Seeing private parochial school as an advantageous opportunity for their daughter, Ava attended a number of prestigious Catholic schools and ironically made her transition in a Catholic hospice institution.
I am moving along rather quickly in this strong emotional treatise, but I would be less than honest if I did not share an important fact in the course of rearing both Ava and I. Besides intense family loyalty (which spanned to non-blood line kin) the importance of education was foremost in the minds of our elders within both sides of the family. During holidays and other celebrations, adults took time to talk with us about school, future plans, and the importance of education. This was done within a loving and caring demeanor although our nuclear parents were harder and often used corporal punishments. Our parents were not focused on just good grades, but proof beyond a shadow of a doubt we did our best. When indicated, they advocated for us against the might of teachers.
I can tell you there was enormous love for children in our families. We were reared in love; affection was poured out without hesitation. It helped to prepare us for the rigors of “isms” and insults (i.e. racism, sexism, segregation, etc.) we were sure to encounter. Our nuclear parents also did not hesitate to utilize beatings when they saw fit. Back talk, anger, getting “fresh” or “womanish” was never to be tolerated and a befitting beating was easily carried out. Of the two of us, I believe I was the more assertive. Ava, avoided trouble and beatings at all cost. I guess her religious education and background helped to inculcate her. I on the other hand would push the envelope.
Those that knew Ana in the context of a loving relationship were unquestionably in awe of her. She inherited her mother’s beauty and stylishness and parents’ penchant for celebrations. During her eulogy, fellow teachers talked about her unconditional love and availability as a friend. Many others talked about the many brunches and cook-outs she hosted. Her second and loving husband spoke of losing his best friend- as they had shared so very much in common including avid shopping and planned to retire in South Carolina. Her sons and husband totally devoted and caring till her transition were at her bedside morning, noon and night responding and constantly anticipating her every whim. Together with her husband and many others there was a dynamic and multi-talented support team who searched relentlessly to the very end seeking a cure to the disease that cut short Ava’s life.
And so, many of the people including myself were called to the Catholic hospice where committed and loving nuns cared for her. Earlier that hot day July 23rd 2011, I hurriedly tried to complete the menu of errands and responsibilities that filled each Saturdays’ list. We knew the potential for her passing was near so my focus was to get to the hospice as soon as humanly possible.
My last errand led me to Target Department Store, where I was trying hard to complete the camp “needs” list for my son who would be attending camp the following week.
As I walked into the store the lights and colors seemed much brighter than usual. As I have climbed the ladder of older adulthood, I pay less attention to things like this thinking perhaps there were changes in blood sugar or perhaps because I had not eaten, and of course because I had been rushing. However, once I secured a shopping cart and started pushing it I distinctly heard a familiar whistle. Now, since the advent of IPods, cellphones, and lots of other ways to communicate, you rarely hear whistling. However, Ava’s father, Carlton, who made his transition in 1976, had a distinct whistle that was his alone. Now, when he was alive and made that whistle you were supposed to whistle back the same tune. The purpose being to confirm you knew it was him and you were you. Other family members and friends also used this but we all knew it was distinctively his. Not wanting to miss an opportunity, and following my intuitive feelings, I whistled back only to “hear it” once again. This continued for at least a third of my shopping trip, and honestly I was filled with glee at the thought my uncle was some place near. Had you been in Target, during this entire process you might have thought or said surely this woman is responding to voices or perhaps is mentally ill!
After completing this task, both myself daughter and husband were able to make our way to the hospice. Once we arrived Ava’s two sons were already in constant vigil, one being jet lagged and sleeping. In spite of being in a coma for several days, she did not appear appreciably deteriorated. Her skin did not seem dry or haggard, her cheeks remained enormous and eyes were shut. She was also receiving oxygen. She was being fed water periodically through droplet from a straw and at this point no other nourishment in line with her expressed wishes was being provided. Ava’s strong sense of planning and organization was the same in planning for her eventual transition. Her immediate family did not have to make difficult decisions. She planned for it.
The room remained essentially as it was on previous visits to the Catholic Hospice. Everything was immaculate and in its’ place with no hint of “hospital” and/or body functions malodors. During previous visits, I wondered how the nuns, who cared for the patients day in and day out, managed this immaculate smell. Ava was in the bed closest to the door with multiple pillows strategically placed for comfort. During the course of her treatment, she had lost mobility of one side of her arm and leg needing lots of pillows to achieve comfort. Owing to her care at the hospice, there had not been breakdown in her skin, rashes, or other types of discomfort.
I shared with our family my experience at Target and spoke with them about my uncle and other family members who had transitioned. I wanted to thank them for their love and caring for Ava and for all of us. As I walked over to Ava’s bedside, I took her hand and spoke quietly in her ear letting her know we were there and loved her. Later, when her eldest son was nearby she began to murmur something which sounded like “no” and began to move the mobile hand up and down as if seeking our attention or speaking to an unseen spirit or guide. In retrospect, I wonder if this was the last of her resistance to an all too short life.
As time passed I noticed her breathing was becoming more labored. A year before I had been with a friend who was making her crossing and difficulty breathing was the prelude to complete transition. I resumed my position holding her hand and lightly touching her face. I thought it important to update her condition with the nurse overseeing her care. The nurse came hurriedly, checked her pulse, and agreed there were changes in her breathing leading me to believe we were approaching her life’s end. I continued to hold her hand and thought that prayer was a likely balm in this tremendously difficult situation. Those assembled joined me without hesitation in the Lord’s Prayer completely in unison as if we were in church, just before communion. This is a prayer that crosses all religious affiliations. As we prayed her breathing was increasingly labored and at times would stop effortlessly. The group of family and loving friends encircled Ava with love, intense spirituality and comfort. This sacred circle and its energies were strong and forceful. There were times given the strong energies of love and spirituality, combined with continued and unceasing prayer that caused me to feel that both myself and others in the room were levitating. I felt neither fear nor uncertainty.
As I had been taught by forefathers, I led the prayers as we continued holy murmurings sounding like my personal recollections of Monks or Buddhists chanting their various mantras, and as we continued, I am certain the room was filled with a sacred presence again crossing all boundaries of Muslim, Jew, and Christian. As we encircled Ava with comfort and love we too were surrounded by the manifestation of the Holiest of Spirit, as well as important members of our loving family who had already made their transition- assuring us that this was a sacred time.
There were times I took a step outside of myself to watch and feel this beautiful assembly. I am also sure that this circle of prayers and love helped Ava to detach herself from loving family and friends and move on to the next scheduled dimension. And then, without warning there was no more breathing and her transition was completed.
As you can imagine, there ensued many tears and much sorrow. I was among them as well but was struck with the simplicity, beauty and love of her passing. I recalled at that time my Uncle Carlton’s whistle and thought he had been with me earlier bringing the message that this was Ava’s time. I whispered silently to him thanking him and all other family members for their continued love that continued to love despite death.
And, for those who are unsure of the love that awaits us once we all transition, please accept this guarantee. Love remains the fundamental entity while we are on earth and then ultimately during and after our passing.
Were there lessons I learned from this experience? Yes absolutely and unequivocally, there were many lessons learned. I speak only for myself and do not seek to judge others with what I am about to say. In life transitions such as I described foundational elements of strong spirituality, loving family and friends, as well as being in a therapeutic environment are all essential elements in life’s transitions which are inevitable. It is challenging to live and to die and individuals need support-even if they wish to die. Additionally, I am assured Spirit and loving family and friends are with us and love us especially in the course of transition. In addition, if we remain peaceful quietude, we will receive important messages from loving spirit persons communicating love and healing. And last, that love continues
Several weeks after Ava’s passing she came to me in a dream. All remnants of the disfigurement of her disease were gone. She presented as her beautiful and loving self stylishly dressed in a pink suit. She let me know she was well and feeling ok and I am so very thankful I received reassurance,
And so dear friends I am sure that love continues beyond the confines of the transition of death.
Lorna J. Hines completed 9/2011 Mykonos, Greece
The actual story behind the meeting between Preston Egbert Pilgrim and Edith Amanda Hoyte, was not known to me. It is clear however, that it was a loving and passionate relationship.
Unable to find work as a civil engineer due to racial discrimination, the couple worked hard at an assortment of jobs including eventual ownership of a taxi medallion. Like many immigrants they lived on the lower eastside. Both always took care to send money to less fortunate relatives. I recall helping grandmother send money orders to her brother in the “canal zone” of Panama. I believe Preston was equally generous to his mother “Coolie Carrington” and also helped other brothers and sisters to immigrate to the United States.
Grandma Edith (Ava was named after her with middle name Edith) continued the intense pattern of generosity and was chided by her husband for always taking in “strays”. Her heart was very big and she always actively helped others-seeing this as her Christian responsibility... I can recall during my school age, her amassment of parcels of clothing, food, and money to help homeless individuals in our community. Once cleaned up, helping them to find work and motivating them to take steps to remain clean and sober. Indeed she was in many ways a one person social service and civic organization.
I would be remised if I did not share what I do know of my cousin’s maternal grandparents. As I mentioned the marriage between Ava’s parents was a perfect match representing the best of the African Diaspora. There was a genetic predisposition of strength when the two families melded together netting progeny who were focused and determined. Her maternal grandparents were opposites to me growing up– Grandma “Beau” vivacious and outgoing while her grandfather was quiet yet intensely loving, referring to us as his “baby dolls”.
Her parents’ marriage can be easily described as “brilliant” Her father, Carlton Terrence Pilgrim, a smooth brown-skinned , wavy haired gentleman who flowed easily from uttering a multitude of languages in the course of providing meat and poultry, to the dapper gentleman in a tuxedo dancing a tango or waltz. Her mother, Ruth Cunningham, was a gorgeous woman who was masterful in interior design. I am certain she could turn several hovels into palaces with less than one thousand dollars. They were a fun-loving couple who enjoyed all sorts of festive events, but true to their ancestral roots, saved and obtained property in the North Bronx, where eventually Ava was reared and educated. Seeing private parochial school as an advantageous opportunity for their daughter, Ava attended a number of prestigious Catholic schools and ironically made her transition in a Catholic hospice institution.
I am moving along rather quickly in this strong emotional treatise, but I would be less than honest if I did not share an important fact in the course of rearing both Ava and I. Besides intense family loyalty (which spanned to non-blood line kin) the importance of education was foremost in the minds of our elders within both sides of the family. During holidays and other celebrations, adults took time to talk with us about school, future plans, and the importance of education. This was done within a loving and caring demeanor although our nuclear parents were harder and often used corporal punishments. Our parents were not focused on just good grades, but proof beyond a shadow of a doubt we did our best. When indicated, they advocated for us against the might of teachers.
I can tell you there was enormous love for children in our families. We were reared in love; affection was poured out without hesitation. It helped to prepare us for the rigors of “isms” and insults (i.e. racism, sexism, segregation, etc.) we were sure to encounter. Our nuclear parents also did not hesitate to utilize beatings when they saw fit. Back talk, anger, getting “fresh” or “womanish” was never to be tolerated and a befitting beating was easily carried out. Of the two of us, I believe I was the more assertive. Ava, avoided trouble and beatings at all cost. I guess her religious education and background helped to inculcate her. I on the other hand would push the envelope.
Those that knew Ana in the context of a loving relationship were unquestionably in awe of her. She inherited her mother’s beauty and stylishness and parents’ penchant for celebrations. During her eulogy, fellow teachers talked about her unconditional love and availability as a friend. Many others talked about the many brunches and cook-outs she hosted. Her second and loving husband spoke of losing his best friend- as they had shared so very much in common including avid shopping and planned to retire in South Carolina. Her sons and husband totally devoted and caring till her transition were at her bedside morning, noon and night responding and constantly anticipating her every whim. Together with her husband and many others there was a dynamic and multi-talented support team who searched relentlessly to the very end seeking a cure to the disease that cut short Ava’s life.
And so, many of the people including myself were called to the Catholic hospice where committed and loving nuns cared for her. Earlier that hot day July 23rd 2011, I hurriedly tried to complete the menu of errands and responsibilities that filled each Saturdays’ list. We knew the potential for her passing was near so my focus was to get to the hospice as soon as humanly possible.
My last errand led me to Target Department Store, where I was trying hard to complete the camp “needs” list for my son who would be attending camp the following week.
As I walked into the store the lights and colors seemed much brighter than usual. As I have climbed the ladder of older adulthood, I pay less attention to things like this thinking perhaps there were changes in blood sugar or perhaps because I had not eaten, and of course because I had been rushing. However, once I secured a shopping cart and started pushing it I distinctly heard a familiar whistle. Now, since the advent of IPods, cellphones, and lots of other ways to communicate, you rarely hear whistling. However, Ava’s father, Carlton, who made his transition in 1976, had a distinct whistle that was his alone. Now, when he was alive and made that whistle you were supposed to whistle back the same tune. The purpose being to confirm you knew it was him and you were you. Other family members and friends also used this but we all knew it was distinctively his. Not wanting to miss an opportunity, and following my intuitive feelings, I whistled back only to “hear it” once again. This continued for at least a third of my shopping trip, and honestly I was filled with glee at the thought my uncle was some place near. Had you been in Target, during this entire process you might have thought or said surely this woman is responding to voices or perhaps is mentally ill!
After completing this task, both myself daughter and husband were able to make our way to the hospice. Once we arrived Ava’s two sons were already in constant vigil, one being jet lagged and sleeping. In spite of being in a coma for several days, she did not appear appreciably deteriorated. Her skin did not seem dry or haggard, her cheeks remained enormous and eyes were shut. She was also receiving oxygen. She was being fed water periodically through droplet from a straw and at this point no other nourishment in line with her expressed wishes was being provided. Ava’s strong sense of planning and organization was the same in planning for her eventual transition. Her immediate family did not have to make difficult decisions. She planned for it.
The room remained essentially as it was on previous visits to the Catholic Hospice. Everything was immaculate and in its’ place with no hint of “hospital” and/or body functions malodors. During previous visits, I wondered how the nuns, who cared for the patients day in and day out, managed this immaculate smell. Ava was in the bed closest to the door with multiple pillows strategically placed for comfort. During the course of her treatment, she had lost mobility of one side of her arm and leg needing lots of pillows to achieve comfort. Owing to her care at the hospice, there had not been breakdown in her skin, rashes, or other types of discomfort.
I shared with our family my experience at Target and spoke with them about my uncle and other family members who had transitioned. I wanted to thank them for their love and caring for Ava and for all of us. As I walked over to Ava’s bedside, I took her hand and spoke quietly in her ear letting her know we were there and loved her. Later, when her eldest son was nearby she began to murmur something which sounded like “no” and began to move the mobile hand up and down as if seeking our attention or speaking to an unseen spirit or guide. In retrospect, I wonder if this was the last of her resistance to an all too short life.
As time passed I noticed her breathing was becoming more labored. A year before I had been with a friend who was making her crossing and difficulty breathing was the prelude to complete transition. I resumed my position holding her hand and lightly touching her face. I thought it important to update her condition with the nurse overseeing her care. The nurse came hurriedly, checked her pulse, and agreed there were changes in her breathing leading me to believe we were approaching her life’s end. I continued to hold her hand and thought that prayer was a likely balm in this tremendously difficult situation. Those assembled joined me without hesitation in the Lord’s Prayer completely in unison as if we were in church, just before communion. This is a prayer that crosses all religious affiliations. As we prayed her breathing was increasingly labored and at times would stop effortlessly. The group of family and loving friends encircled Ava with love, intense spirituality and comfort. This sacred circle and its energies were strong and forceful. There were times given the strong energies of love and spirituality, combined with continued and unceasing prayer that caused me to feel that both myself and others in the room were levitating. I felt neither fear nor uncertainty.
As I had been taught by forefathers, I led the prayers as we continued holy murmurings sounding like my personal recollections of Monks or Buddhists chanting their various mantras, and as we continued, I am certain the room was filled with a sacred presence again crossing all boundaries of Muslim, Jew, and Christian. As we encircled Ava with comfort and love we too were surrounded by the manifestation of the Holiest of Spirit, as well as important members of our loving family who had already made their transition- assuring us that this was a sacred time.
There were times I took a step outside of myself to watch and feel this beautiful assembly. I am also sure that this circle of prayers and love helped Ava to detach herself from loving family and friends and move on to the next scheduled dimension. And then, without warning there was no more breathing and her transition was completed.
As you can imagine, there ensued many tears and much sorrow. I was among them as well but was struck with the simplicity, beauty and love of her passing. I recalled at that time my Uncle Carlton’s whistle and thought he had been with me earlier bringing the message that this was Ava’s time. I whispered silently to him thanking him and all other family members for their continued love that continued to love despite death.
And, for those who are unsure of the love that awaits us once we all transition, please accept this guarantee. Love remains the fundamental entity while we are on earth and then ultimately during and after our passing.
Were there lessons I learned from this experience? Yes absolutely and unequivocally, there were many lessons learned. I speak only for myself and do not seek to judge others with what I am about to say. In life transitions such as I described foundational elements of strong spirituality, loving family and friends, as well as being in a therapeutic environment are all essential elements in life’s transitions which are inevitable. It is challenging to live and to die and individuals need support-even if they wish to die. Additionally, I am assured Spirit and loving family and friends are with us and love us especially in the course of transition. In addition, if we remain peaceful quietude, we will receive important messages from loving spirit persons communicating love and healing. And last, that love continues
Several weeks after Ava’s passing she came to me in a dream. All remnants of the disfigurement of her disease were gone. She presented as her beautiful and loving self stylishly dressed in a pink suit. She let me know she was well and feeling ok and I am so very thankful I received reassurance,
And so dear friends I am sure that love continues beyond the confines of the transition of death.
Lorna J. Hines completed 9/2011 Mykonos, Greece