A Saint Helps My Mom Cross Over

This moving story by my friend Judy is both a reminder of the promise and power of prayer and the infinite love and compassion of those to whom we pray. Even when prayer doesn’t seem to be accomplishing anything, the loving energy you transmit may ease the recipient’s pain, comfort their soul, and bolster their strength and resolve.

A SAINT HELPS MY MOM CROSS OVER

“The hospice nurse was just here,” my sister told me over the phone. “She said Mom will probably last another month.” As a public health nurse, I knew that hospice nurses were skilled at recognizing the signs and symptoms of approaching death and predicting how much time a patient had left.

My mom was two thousand miles away in St. Louis and there was nothing I could do to help her. She lay suffering, short of breath and wheezing. She had always told us that she could not handle being “an invalid.” Even the thought of using a wheelchair horrified her. She had never been seriously ill and took tremendous pride in living an independent life.

While caring for hundreds of patients as a nurse, I had been able to be caring and empathetic while maintaining a healthy emotional detachment But my mother’s helplessness ripped through my heart. I felt on a deep level that she was unable to deal with the experience of a slow and possibly painful death.

I left my home, drove to a place that was sacred to me, and focused my mind at the point between the eyebrows, the “sending” center for prayers. “God, please take her now,” I implored, my fervent prayer rising from the depths of my soul. “She’s suffering and can’t handle this.” I chanted “OM” (the universal sound for healing) continuously as I lifted my hands, sending her quiet deep vibrations of peace. Over and over, as I prayed for my mother’s release from her body, I asked for help from Paramahansa Yogananda, my spiritual teacher who had left this world many years earlier. I chanted Om quietly, deepening my loving intention. My inner focus grew stronger and more determined as I continued to pray. With my mind now fully interiorized, I intuitively saw a vision of my mom in her wedding dress, waving goodbye to me as she got into the honeymoon car with my dad. At that moment, I knew God had taken her. Shortly after returning home, I received a call from my sister telling me that Mom had passed peacefully during my hour of prayer.

A week later, after the funeral, I was in my car about five minutes from home. Silently, in the casual tone I had used when we had phoned each other so many mornings, “So how are you doing, Mom? What’s happening?” I paused as grief welled up in my heart, then added, “And could you give me a sign that you are doing okay?” As soon as I had finished forming those words, I glanced up at the street sign directly in front of me, one I had never noticed before. The sign read “Sylvia,” my mother’s name.







Click here to view all my posts about Paramahansa Yogananda and Self-Realization Fellowship.





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