A mother's journey to find her son, and ultimately, find out who she really is.
Journey from Darkness Into the Light
On November 26th, 2006, in what is called 'linear time', my son Joseph Henry Brown left his body, decided not to return to it, and joined his father , who greeted him into his real home.
I can say this now. I can say, with total assurance, that my son is with his father, and that there is no death, only a dropping of the manifestation of using a 'body'. Joey, as we called him, is no longer asleep in the cocoon he carried around.
How many many many years in linear time I carried this grief , an underlying current of pain and complete devastation that permeated every moment of my existence in this dimension.
I railed and screamed at god, the light, the higher power, I broke dishes, threw things, shook my fist at the evil bastard who allowed this experience to occur.
I was shaking my fist at myself, and everyone else, because now I know, we are all god.
When one is a child, one comes in as a baby, open, trailing the breaths of god within. The conditioning starts very early.
I was raised in catholicism, and taught early on that 'suffering' was the stuff of a high place in heaven. I was encouraged to 'suffer', to flagellate myself with guilt and assume the position. I was taught that I was a sinful little person, responsible for the horrific crucifixion of god/jesus, and as a female, I was also responsible for the downfall of all mankind from heaven's graces.
What a large burden to carry by the age of 7 years old.
Nonetheless, a specific part of 'me', which I call my highest self (the one connected to Joey and everything else that is REALLY god), never quite bought that conditioning.
I take, in this moment, to state that I am not angry about all that conditioning. It was what it was. I chose it, for some reason, before I was even born into this 'place'. Or, as I call it, 'manifested' my idea of myself into this dimension.
This is a dimension. I am aware of that now. Just one of many in an infinite number of dimensional frequencies of be-ing that are everywhere at the same time.
Thanks to quantum physics, and brave scientists who are pursuing the theoretical aspects of this phenomenon, (and having poured over their studies for years now in linear time), I am slowly unravelling the huge ball of conditioning that was suffocating me with it's guilt, shame, and horror.
When I found my son Joey's body on November 28, (he had passed out of his body in his sleep, and had been chatting on his computer with a friend), I remember in detail what happened. I walked into his apartment, not having heard from him by phone for a couple days. I had the keys in my hand , and unlocked his door. I walked in, stating 'Joey? You here?' and expecting to , perhaps, find him sleeping.
I looked to my right as I entered his room and saw his body sitting very peacefully on a couch. He still had his computer on his lap. His head was tilted back, as though he had fallen asleep.
I walked up to him and it struck me that it was only his body.
I remember that my highest spirit immediately took over every aspect of my being. I put my hand on his soft face, and spoke softly to him. "Go, my son, Mommy loves you..I am not angry...go..."
My conditioning, however, kicked in. I fell to the ground, screaming, screaming, screaming. People all over the apartment building came rushing out and called the police. Time was now an eternity, my whole being had been struck by lightning. There was no way , I thought at the time, I would survive this in a 'physical' body.
It seemed like eons before I could get back to my house and see my other 2 sons, one who had been at work and was driving in, the other who was in Chicago and had his friend drive him in. The unthinkable had occurred. When my other 2 sons arrived at my home, we collapsed into each other's arms.
Friends showed up..looking confused, askance, not knowing what to say or do.
I have had practice at this. I knew , from being widowed twice before, what was going on. But, the DEPTH of the grief was beyond anything I had ever experienced.
I could have gone through a million husbands, relatives, friends, parents...and it would not have come close to what this experience was.
THIS was the knockout punch, the TKO, the killer of everything I had ever known, the murderer of ego, the massive tsunami that would keep coming and coming and rule my existence with pain that had no bottom, no ending, nothing but suicide as escape could end this, or so I thought.
My oldest son took me to a psychiatrist that very next day. I had the infamous 'Thousand Yard Stare' and was incoherent . I sat in shock, perhaps one neurotransmitter was functioning. A shell of a body walked around, but 'I' as gone. I could not fathom or accept that my son, his body, was not there anymore. At that time, I thought his body WAS who he was...I had to learn, and I did. But at that moment, all I could do was barely breathe.
I recall one of my friends taking me to see her shrink, also. The well meaning therapist smiled and told me 'Now your son is in the light!' I wanted to punch her in the face. I was not ready to hear that, and was prescribed Ativan after she saw my eyes and slumped destruction.
My oldest son was adamant I see a larger psychiatrist..who took one look at me and decided to send me straight to a psych unit. I recall, as I stared at this man, saying 'No. I want to go home with my son and stay with him for a while.'
My spirit, the highest part of who I am, had taken over once again. I was not insane. I was conditioned to be insane with grief, but I was not insane.
I spent over a week at my oldest son's home lying on a mattress, pumped full of Seroquel, in a daze. I knew what was coming, and I knew I was , well, fucked. For life. I knew this would be my complete destruction , at the time. I knew it in every fibre of my existence. There was no way out.
Except suicide. My research shows that bereaved parents have , compared to the general population of grieving people, a 70-80 percent higher risk for suicidal intention. I have already had one woman, a friend, commit suicide over the 'loss' of her son.
I had a choice, I knew it. I had a bottle of pills, a car with an exhaust, anything I needed to use. The pain I had been 'conditioned' to feel was too much. Just too much.
The guilt kicked in immediately. What could I have done? Why did I not save my son?Why did I not check on him earlier?
My ego-mind decided to inundate me with every guilty thing it could muster.
You evil mother!! You yelled at Joey when he was 6 for drawing on the walls with crayons!!
You horrible mother!! you left your son on his own at 20 when he became addicted to drugs from his degenarative back disease!!
You horrible disgusting mother!!! even when he got off drugs and was clean and had back surgery, you let him go back to his apartment and did not keep him at your house!!!!
Every small thing was blown into my mind by my conditioned ego..every hatred of me, every guilty thought poured out into my mind and screamed.
There was 'no way out', or so I thought, of this. I was supposed to DIE, and I realized that the only way, as I believed at the time, OUT of this, was to physically die.
On the other hand, I still had 2 sons and a grandson on the way.
Now, I was really stuck.
I wanted to take that bottle of pills. Oh she looked so good sitting there on the counter. so. easy. just swallow. and lay down. Go to Joey, get the fuck out of here.
Someone asked me once, what is it like to have your son pass over?
I asked them if they had ever lost their child in a store.
Yes, they said. They said it was the most terrifying few moments of their lives.
Okay, I explained to them.....now, magnify that terror by infinity, and live in it for years....
You lost your child in the store, you are in a massive panic, you cannot find them. you CANNOT FIND YOUR CHILD.
That is what it is. You cannot.You were taught that it was YOUR job to protect your babies, and you did not protect your babies. Simple as that. Is what I 'believed' at the time.
I actually do not recall much about that 'time period' after Joey left his body. I recall snippets of moments, the funeral, (there seemed to be a lot of people there), my sons sitting next to me, the stupid black shirt and shoes I wore, the urn his ashes were in, pictures of him shown to the people, crying. crying. crying. me, crying. crying. crying. always crying. That did not end. Never ended. for years and years, anger, tears. always fecking crying.
I remember the week before he passed out of his body, he was staying with me and I had been making mounds of cookies for the christmas holidays. I had them all stacked neatly in the freezer, and he tried to sneak a few. I laughed and told him 'Save them for Christmas!'
Those same cookies ended up being served at the funeral.
Someone had asked me.."What will we serve at the funeral dinner?"
I slowly mentioned, in my trance, I had cookies in the freezer.
I swore I would never bake another cookie at that moment, and , in truth, I have not baked any to this day.
Since my own physical suicide was looming so heavily on me, I kept coming back to how it would affect my other sons in this realm of existence. I knew it would be devastating to them, and I called both of them and asked them to call ME and remind me not to do it. They did. I was so close. so close to leaving this 'body.' I had no qualms about it, and probably would not be writing this now had they not begged me to stick around.
A few weeks before Joey left his body, he was recuperating from serious back surgery he had received when one of his spinal discs had pierced his spinal column and caused nerve damage. Early on in his life here, he had been diagnosed with degenerative back disease, or, as the spinal doctor told us 'He had the spinal column of a 50 yr old man...'
Joey was 6 years old when his father, Bob, my first husband, also left his body at the age of 36 in an explosion that occurred at his job at a chemical plant. Joey never really recovered from that incident.
His back was a mess. I do believe, now, that whatever trauma we experience in this bodies we are manifesting, shows up in odd ways. Joey's father was his backbone, his foundation, he and his father were close and when his father passed over, he crumbled.
His back was crumbling, and he was in constant physical pain. He begged the spinal physician for drugs, and he got them. He would cry for days and weeks from the pain.
What else could they do?
His recuperation at my home was after one of his discs decided to try and severe his spine. He was in my 2nd bedroom , a catheter in place, barely moving. But, finally finally, out of pain. I was seeing a new Joey, one that could walk again without crying out in pain, one that had decided to clean up the mess of drugs the doctors kept giving him , and I was pleased , but still concerned.
Nonetheless, Joey was happier than I had seen him. He came out of the room one day, and very excitedly asked me to 'go to the library and bring home a book!!'
A book? from the library?
This was a kid who did not read books, except for pilot manuals. He had his pilot's liscense, had always been a risk taker, went to Bali when he was 18, and planned on travelling the world as an adventurer. A lot like his dad, actually. No fear of sailing, flying, climbing. He loved it all. I used to send him on adventures with a guide when he was young. He loved it.
But his back prevented him, now, from such fun. His back was holding him hostage.
He asked me for a book..okay....I asked him WHAT book.
"House of Spirits! By Isabelle Allende!" he was adamant.
Well, I went to the library, and got him the book.
I brought it back. He said "Thanks!" grabbed it and went back to his room.
I scratched my head. Why in the world would he ask me for a book, let alone a fictional book by Isabelle Allende called House of Spirits? Oh , well. I found out later.
He came out of his room a couple days later holding the book.
"Okay here, I am done with this." he advised me.
"Did you read it?" I asked him , puzzled by his grin.
"No," he smiled "But look at this sketch I drew of Isabel Allende from the back of the book jacket! She is beautiful like an angel.."
Again, not only did Joey not read fictional writing as a rule, he also did NOT sketch pictures. Ever. I was handed one of the most beautiful sketches I have ever seen. I looked at it and was in delighted shock.
"Joey, you drew this??"
He was pleased as punch. "Yeah, pretty good?"
YES. it was. I put it in my desk, this beautiful sketch that I now have hanging in my home, and I had no idea why, at the time, any of this was happening.
A few weeks after Joey stopped using his body, I was in my home, still in deep crying, lying on a couch in constant grief, and I remembered the sketch. I walked over to my desk and pulled it out.
I stared at it for a long time. I wondered, why. Why would he do this. What does this mean.
I decided to pursue it. What did I have to lose, I was pretty sure I had already 'lost' my child, so I went for it.
I accessed Isabelle Allende's website and wrote her an email, and explained to her that my son had sketched a picture of her only a week before he passed on. I told her the unlikelihood of this even happening, and did not understand why he was so fascinated by her that week before his passing over.
I did not expect an answer from her. I had learned, already, have no expectations. That only brings disappointment.
But, she did, indeed, answer. The next day. She not only answered, she wrote back in detail.
She asked me about Joey, she asked me everything. She wanted to know how he passed over, because, she, too, had 'lost' her child. Her child was 26, and a young woman named 'Paula'. She had written a beautiful book called 'Paula', about her daughter, who was felled by a coma, and for over a year she held onto her daughter's body in that coma, until her daughter's spirit came to her mother and showed her to 'let her go'.........the book describes, in detail, Isabelle Allende's journey as her daughter shows her the JOY she is experiencing OUT of her body..she even took her mother on a 'shared experience' to show her that JOY and beauty of being OUT of the body..and asked her mother to take her body off life support..and quit holding on...
Isabelle Allende sent me that book. With a beautiful note and a little flower inscribed on the inner cover.
Joey knew, even before he left this dimension, his spirit was involved in helping me heal. In helping me understand we do..not..die.... In that moment, I also knew as I read Isabelle Allende's mail to me, that Joey had been overtaken by his highest self that very day, to give me my first gift, one of many, to help me through this dimension, and to help me let go, to help me let go of not only thinking of him as a 'body', but also to look closely at my OWN personal journey, and recognize that NO ONE is only their body.
So many gifts from Joey. More to come.