Preface

My mother’s death in 2004 appeared to mark the end of my lifelong unsuccessful attempts to communicate with her intimately. Her name was Lois Janes. She was a child of the Depression who grew up to marry a West Point cadet in 1939, just as Hitler marched into Poland. My mother’s fear-based Catholic faith became her anchor in wartime and her albatross twelve years later when my father divorced her. Since Catholicism did not permit divorce, Mother could not find comfort by participating in church sacraments or talking to her priest. Judged by her friends, family, and culture as a divorcée, she slipped into a long and silent depression.

Mother decided against therapy, as did many people in the 1950s, and so was left with deep pain she could or would not express. I can’t recall one instance when she shared how she felt about anything. At least not with me. Her lack of trust in general, and of me in particular, grew worse with each passing year. My hope of ever having an intimate connection seemed to die when she did.

Witnessing my mother’s beautiful death left me overwhelmed and confused. I longed to know how she had turned from a terrified woman into a peaceful angel in a few hours. Most of all, I needed to understand why she felt she could never trust her only daughter.

Those questions haunted me for months after she died. One day I found an old journal of mine written in 1976 to unravel problems one of our sons was having in first grade. Back then I took a course in meditation and journaling. My teacher was a Dominican nun who encouraged our class to pray, then meditate, before writing whatever words came into our minds. Desperate to help our son, I tried this unusual approach to find answers.

Ray Jr. was our fifth child. Though I was a seasoned mother of four other grade school children, I couldn’t figure out how to help him with his studies. Trying the nun’s approach for one year helped me uncover a number of impediments to Ray Jr.’s achievement in school. The journal writing encouraged everything from giving him extra hugs to exploring his learning disabilities and allergy issues. Each day I prayed for guidance, meditated to clear my mind, and put pen to paper, writing words that seemed to imprint themselves on my mind. When there were no more words to write, I read the page. If the writing had suggested any action, I followed through.

My son’s eye muscle problems and allergies were discovered and addressed. We hired a special teacher trained in learning disabilities and discovered another elementary school with the optimal environment for our son. One year after I started journaling, Ray Jr. was healthy and doing well in school. I stopped writing, never certain how the information flowed through my pen onto the journal pages. I felt the Good Lord and Ray Jr.’s guardian angel had guided me. Most important, the method helped bridge my son to a happy life. He never had another problem in school.

The memory of that success inspired me to think about trying the formula again after my mother died. For more than thirty years, I had studied healing and metaphysics. I knew life after death was well documented and that the noetic sciences and quantum physics were part of the new understanding of the universe. I was trained in Reiki, Therapeutic Touch, meditation and angelology. The works of Edgar Cayce, Dr. Raymond Moody, Dr. Deepak Chopra, and Louise Hay were as familiar to me as the Bible. The thought of talking with my dead mother did not intimidate me.

On February 22, 2005, after everyone had left the house, I sat in my favorite living room chair and, with hope in my heart, wrote in my journal:

Hi Mom,

This letter comes from the certainty that you have a different perspective now that you have escaped your broken body and fearful mind.

If she wanted to “talk” with me, she would. I had nothing to lose. So began six years of celestial conversations. Little did I know Mother would prepare me to converse with our daughter, Cyndi, who would die five months after I began transpersonal journaling with her grandmother. Eventually Mother answered all my questions, and my understanding of unconditional mother love grew exponentially. This process enabled me to forgive my mother and myself for not knowing how to connect in life. These heavenly correspondences also have taught me karma does not require physical rebirth. I have learned there are many ways for souls to connect.

I share this story in the hope you might open your own celestial conversations to complete your healing with a loved one who has passed on.

Lo Anne K. Mayer
Convent Station, NJ

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