The evidence of visitation

Dear Mom,

I feel as though I've grown somewhat accustomed to you not being with us in this world anymore. I have gotten to the point where I can speak of you without breaking down into tears. When I see the things that surround me — things that you've bought or made — they don't rip me apart and transform me into an emotional wreck. It isn't that I don't miss you, but at least the feelings are manageable.

But there are also those times when I believe that you still stop by and check in. There are things that happen, once in a while, that make me stop and smile in wonder.

A few weeks ago now, such an incident occurred.

I was in my study when I heard the unmistakable sound of a trumpet blow. It was a short puff of wind through the brass, by someone who was trying to play, but who clearly had not mastered the instrument.

As odd as that may sound, it certainly wasn't an unfamiliar sound to me. Jessica has taken up the trumpet and we have one in the house. In fact, she has made numerous attempts to play it in the recent past, resulting in just such an awful sound as the one I heard that night.

What was surprising and unfamiliar to me about the incident was the hour that I had heard it. I was up very late. The children had — or so I thought — been put to bed several hours earlier.

No one had stirred, I thought, except for me. But then, without any warning: the off-key trumpet blast.

Instantly, I got up, determined to scold Jessica for not only being up so late on a school night, but actually having the nerve to be blowing that instrument — knowing full well that others in the house were sleeping. The fact that she would defy me so boldly was completely out of character for her. I couldn't believe that she would do that. There was absolutely no mistaking the sound. It was as clear as anything I've ever heard.

I walked into the bedroom where Jessica and Hannah were sleeping. To my utter surprise, I found them both peaceful and quiet. I stood there for several seconds, highly puzzled. I waited to see if the girls were faking their slumber. In the dim light, I studied their breathing to see if it were a consistent, steady pattern. All indicators told me they were both asleep.

But how could that be? I knew what I had heard. There was no mistaking it. It had been as clear as any time she had blown it. I walked out of the room, totally confused. I knew I had heard that trumpet. I knew I hadn't imagined it. There was nothing else that could have made that sound.

Whenever we humans encounter something unexplainable, we always attempt to rationalize it away. We always seek to package an incomprehensible mystery into a container of logic and reason. Nice and neat, we attempt to tuck it away, so that it can be easily forgotten — never more needing our attention.

It was this normal human behavior, I suppose, that caused me to open the door to your room. It was the guest bedroom wherein you slept when you were staying here with us. I didn't really expect to find anything there. Certainly, there wouldn't be anything there to satisfy my curiosity. I don't even know for what I was searching. Did I expect to find a toy that was capable of making a sound like the one I heard? I don't recall.

After turning on the light, I looked around the room. A second or two later, I saw it. A cold chill ran throughout my body and goosebumps formed on my arms. It was the trumpet! It was in your room! It was still in the case, but it was there, on the floor in your room.

I had not been thinking about you, when I heard the sound. You hadn't been on my mind at all. I was pre-occupied with whatever I had been doing at the time. The sound had interrupted me, out of nowhere. In fact, I had been so sure that it was Jessica that I had become instantly angry with her for what I perceived to be a flagrant violation of what she knew to be a rule. There was no way that I could have imagined that sound.

Yet, not only was Jessica and Hannah clearly asleep, but the trumpet wasn't even in their possession. It wasn't in their room. Indeed, the trumpet was in your possession! It was in your room!

Fascinated by this unbelievable development, I opened the case to the instrument to make sure that it was really there. The shiny brass reflected the light from the ceiling back at me. I hadn't been aware that Michelle had told Jessica to store it in that room.

I was filled me with a sense of awe. The belief that you were letting me know you were checking in with us was a comfort. It was a confirmation that you haven't forgotten about us, and more importantly, you are still alive and are okay.

I'm thankful that God allows these moments to happen to remind us that there is life beyond this physical world. Miracles happen every day, but often we're unwilling to accept them as such. We feel the need to explain everything in scientific terms that we understand.

But sometimes, in the absence of any rational answer, we are forced to admit that things sometimes happen that cannot be explained by any other exposition than that of the supernatural. As last Sunday was the two year anniversary of our losing you, I'm grateful for these times of irrational miracles, because they serve as priceless evidence of your visitation, and reminders of the hope of a better life to come.

I love you.

Darren

P.S. After writing this letter to you, I went back and read the letter I wrote to you last April, when it was your birthday. I hadn't remembered writing it, but the words now stood out: "I hope things are going well in your world, where ever that is. It sure would be nice to hear from you."

I realize that now that I have.

Tribute to mother

Terry Janet Weeks
April 8, 1948—September 24, 2004

She was there as I took my first steps
Holding me gently by the hand
Instructing me with loving discipline,
She shaped me into a respectful young man
It is she, whose guidance has made me
The person that I now am
Knowing I shall see her someday again
Gives me the strength to stand.

From:
http://www.darrenweeks.net/2004/10/mother.html

Audio from the darkest time of my life

I am posting these on this blog, as it seems appropriate to do so. These are audio posts that I called into the website from my cell phone, while Mom was in the hospital. They are each only a few minutes long. You may have to wait for them to download first, but it should only take a few minutes.

September 22, 2004 at 1:22:18 PM Eastern Time

September 23, 2004 at 9:03:26 AM Eastern Time

September 23, 2004 at 9:56:47 AM Eastern Time

Happy Birthday

Dear Mom,

I just wanted to drop you a line and let you know that I'm thinking of you on your birthday. This has been a day that I have been avoiding in the past, so maybe things are getting a little easier for me when it comes to dealing with losing you in this physical realm.

I hope things are going well in your world, where ever that is. It sure would be nice to hear from you.

Love, Darren

Busy times

Dear Mom,

Things have been very busy lately. I've barely had much of a chance to catch my breath, let alone take time out to write you.

As you knew, the girls are both members of the United States Figure Skating Association. They have a new coach who has been excellent. She's taken a much more prevalent interest in them. Under her instruction, both girls have made impressive progress. She's gotten them involved in competitions now. They just had their first competition a week ago.

Both girls won medals.

Jessica came in first place in her group and Hannah third in hers. It was kind of unfair for Hannah because the boy who took first place actually had fell. Both of our girls did very well, and seemed confident. I wish you could have been there to see it — or maybe you were. I don't know.

So I've been busy picking them up from school and taking them to the ice rink for practice.

In addition to that, we found out that Jessica has to have a contact lens and eyeglasses. Michelle took her to the eye doctor and they put Jessica through "contact lens" school. She's been having a hard time adjusting to putting the thing in her eye and taking it out. I think she's finally getting it, however.

Thankfully, Hannah's eyes were both fine.

In addition to all of the aforementioned stuff, I have been working on a project that I hope will help us financially. Unfortunately, I can't talk too much about it publicly. But it's an opportunity that I hope pans out. Maybe I'll discuss it in more detail in the future.

I remember that you never stopped looking at ways to improve yourself. You took on challenges and tackled them without fear. At least, if you had fear, you certainly didn't let it show. That attitude inspires me today. I think about what you would do in my situation. I contemplate what you'd say to me if you were here and act in accordance to what I think your guidance would be.

I guess even in "death", you never really quit being a parent.

So how have things been going in heaven?

It's pretty much the same here in hell. The evil Bush is cohorting with the communist Chinese, just like his evil predecessor. Things never change and the population never seem to wise up that there is really no difference between these parties. Everyone gets angry at the man in office and never realize that he's just an order-taker for the international banking cartel. If we ever got an honest president in office, the bankers would have him assassinated.

The one thing that gives me hope is my belief that there is a better place, beyond this life, beyond the influence and reach of the elite satanists whose only desire is to control, steal, kill and destroy.

Even though I'm terribly sorry that we lost you from our physical world, I'm glad you were able to escape the pain and suffering that is undoubtedly coming. The planners are moving so fast in implementing their scheme; I wonder if our country will even be recognizable in ten or twenty years? I wonder what kind of future your granddaughters will have when our traitorous government is sending our jobs overseas.

But it's all temporary. I keep reminding myself every day that we're here for just a season, and then we graduate to the next level of life. Sorrows and cares will pass on that grand graduation day!

I'll see you there, Mom. I deeply miss you, and scarcely a day passes that my thoughts are not with you.

Love, Darren

Moving on?

Dear Mom,

I've been trying to concentrate on life's many challenges. I've been trying not to think about you. Being busy with life, makes it possible.

Even so, I wonder how you are doing in your new world. I wonder if you ever drop by and see us.

People often say that those who pass on to the next life remain nearby, yet I no longer see any evidence that you are with me. I can't help but feel that you've moved on.

In many respects, that feeling saddens me.

Early on, when oddities would occur, it would be a constant source of encouragement. Even though the pain was raw, the encouragement that you were not far away was a great aid in getting through those tough times.

Things have gotten easier, but there are still tough times.

Yesterday, I was looking over some legal paperwork, dealing with the probate. I saw your certificate of death. For the first time, I really studied it.

As I looked at your name, printed all in capital letters, it dawned on me again the finality of your departure.

TERRY J. WEEKS, DECEASED

I focused heavily upon each word. Suddenly, all of the emotion of the days at the hospital came flooding back to me. It wasn't fair that I could never speak to you again. It wasn't right that such a wonderful person could ever die. Why can't the good ones live on? Why can't death be reserved exclusively for the traitorous scum who victimize everyone on the planet?

You lived such a short life here. During that time, you only sought to help people, and never tried to hurt anyone.

I wish to God that I could bring you back. Just one more laugh. Just one more visit. One more conversation over a cup of coffee. Why can't it be so?

I confess that I don't understand life any more than I understand death. But I am aware that the latter is a part of the former, and I have to accept that. You are gone, and nothing will ever bring you back.

But letting go proves difficult. Months sometimes pass, and then something out of the blue, without warning, hits me — maybe a thought, maybe something someone says, or maybe it's a song on the radio that played in your hospital room...

It hits me like a ton of bricks and takes me back to the starting point. It's as if it all happened yesterday.

My father-in-law told me, after he lost his Dad, that you never get over it. I believe him.

I hope you're happy in your new world. I don't think I'll ever be in this one.

I'm so sorry,

Darren

When autumn leaves start to fall

Dear Mom,

It's been a while since my last letter. Life seems to pass so quickly. From one event to another, from challenge to challenge, when you pause at various points to survey your progress in life, it seems inconceivably amazing how distant childhood has become. Yet, in mocking contrast, my memories project themselves as if childhood might have occurred only yesterday.

How I often long for those days of innocence! Sexual revolution was in full swing at the time of my birth; military were being needlessly slaughtered in a pointless entanglement in Vietnam. Yet, I was untouched by the dangers and realities of the evil world. I had no concept of the horrors others encountered and endured. I was too young to understand.

As an adult, I understand the realities and the horror of wars. I understand that war exists, though I must confess, understanding the rationale behind creating wars still eludes me. If it were a mere question of national defense, then certainly moral justification would be present. However, how can national defense be a consideration when nations are presently being eradicated?

Unlike children in the war-torn countries, I was not acquainted with the meaning of losing a loved one through death. Many foreign children suffer daily with painful losses. I've long pondered the question of why I was blessed to be spared this unimaginable suffering.

It has only been since last September that my world would change irreparably with your departure.

Since that time, scarcely a day has passed that I haven't found myself thinking of you, wondering where you are and what you are doing.

I sometimes sit in my study, working on a project, and hear the door open across the hall to the bedroom you used when you stayed with us. No one is home during these times. The first couple of times it occurred, I dismissed it, figuring the furnace must have changed the air flow to the room, prompting the door's movement.

When it happened again, recently, I went to investigate and discovered that the furnace hadn't kicked on. Not having any other logical explanation, I wondered if it could have been you. Was it possible that you were visiting? Could this have been your subtle way of letting me know?

I decided to begin playing "Autumn Leaves" on my radio broadcast in remembrance of you every September. The song says,

"I miss you more and more...when the autumn leaves start to fall."

During those young, innocent times of my life, when you and Dad were together, September was a happy time. I always looked forward to my birthday in the fall.

Now the month marks the anniversary of your graduation from this world to a life that seems as mysterious to me now, as the foreign wars of my childhood. Although, I trust, the afterlife is much more pleasant.

Wherever eternity finds you at this moment, my sincerest desire is that the only tears you will ever shed in the future, will be the ones of joy and happiness. For I am convinced that there is no one in this world who has ever deserved a bright rainbow in a cloudless sky more than you.

And after this life of wars and heartache have ended for me, it is my heartfelt prayer, that the Creator will find me worthy to join you in your blissful world.

Until that day, I must be faithful to my purpose on earth. But I will always miss you. I will never quit wishing to hear your voice again. You will always live on in my heart, until we reunite.

Love, Darren

Happy Mother's Day

Dear Mom,

Sunday was our first Mother's Day without you. I would have written you then, but I was trying my best not to think about it.

As I wrote an article about the importance of a Mother's role in society, I thought of you the whole time.

You were always strong, independent, and proud. Yet, you possessed a vulnerability that was evident when a soft word from the heart was spoken to you. Your heart would melt and the tears would flow.

There's a song by a Christian artist, sung many years ago. The artist's name is Twila Paris. The song reminds me of how you always were. It is called The Warrior is a Child.

Lately I've been winning battles left and right

But even winners can get wounded in the fight

People say that I'm amazing, Strong beyond my years

But they don't see inside of me I'm hiding all the tears

And they don't know that I go running home when I fall down

They don't see who picks me up when no one is around

I drop my sword and cry for just a while

Cause deep inside this armor, the warrior is a child

Unafraid because his armor is the best

But even soldiers need a quiet place to rest

People say that I'm amazing; never face retreat

But they don't see the enemies that lay here at my feet

And they don't know that I go running home when I fall down

They Don't see who picks me up when no one is around

I drop my sword and cry for just a while

'Cause deep inside this armor,

Deep inside this armor,

Deep inside this armor,

The warrior is a child.

Through your tough life, you endured untold pain and suffering. As I ponder all you'd been through, it fills me with melancholy to imagine your loneliness in this world. Your struggles to get ahead, financially, in this impossible world. Your tough-as-nails determination that if you were down, you'd never stay that way. It is an inspiration to me, this day.

But in all of the cumbersome battles that you faced, you never hardened your heart. Though certain attitudes may have changed, you never ceased to be impenetrable. Though weary of the battle, you were willing to fight on.

And you never ceased to be a child inside. Tender, caring, innocent in so many ways. I wouldn't trade you for a million others.

Happy Mother's Day.

Darren

Our purpose

Dear Mom,

It's funny how odd this life can be. My perspective has changed so much since your departure from this physical world. In my head, I knew that this life was only the preliminary event — that there was something greater and better on the other side. That's what I've always believed. And yet, I was certainly in no rush to get there.

Since you left the physical realm, it has caused me to examine a lot of things. My own mortality being one of them.

I once asked a co-worker if he ever wondered how much time he has left on earth. Without hesitation, he responded, "no". When I pressed him as to why he didn't, he said, "Because when you focus on that, you stop living".

If what he said is true, then I stopped living that night, at the hospital. The night you took your last breath. The night we had to come to terms with the reality that your body was shutting down. Your lungs were clogged with cancer and blood clots. Your ability to breathe was only dependent upon a machine. Your blood pressure was only supported by a constant flow from the IV drip.

We realized that we couldn't keep you like that forever. Day by day, you worsened. You looked like you had already gone. Praying for a miracle, we gave the hospital permission to begin to shut it all down.

I wasn't going to stay in the room with you. It was too painful. I went to find your sister who was praying in the parking garage. Yet, I had to return. I wanted to know what was happening. Had we received our miracle?

I couldn't stop weeping that night. As your pulse became weaker, your blood pressure became lower, I couldn't believe what was happening. It couldn't be true! How could such a precious woman be dying? It was like a nightmare from which there was no awakening.

It's been about seven months, and I still haven't awakened. They say time heals, yet I find myself raw when I see another picture of you. When something is said a certain way, in floods the emotions anew. Michelle and the girls think of you constantly. They believe they feel your presence at times. I hope you are able to come visit us some times, but I'm not so sure.

As I look at this evil world, the threats that we face from a few power-hungry people, the bleak future that seems to be ahead, I sometimes wish that I could escape what lies ahead here. Sometimes, I wish I could join you in a happier world, free from government oppression and greed.

Yet, I will continue to live. My family needs me. Others need me. I have some strange purpose to fulfill, evidently. Why else am I here?

Maybe that's the purpose of life. To be placed in a world of hell, and to rise above it all. To learn that your life isn't about you; it's about others. To understand that your purpose is to make others stay here more pleasant. To help others when you can, and to hurt others as little as you can.

Your life is a testimony to that philosophy. No, you weren't perfect. Nobody in this life is perfect.

But your brief time in this world made the lives of those around you far richer than they would otherwise have been. In short, you fulfilled the purpose. Your purpose. Our purpose.

And hence, you graduated.

I only hope to do as well as you.

I love you,

Darren

Happy Birthday

Dear Mom,

It's been a while since I wrote you. It's certainly not because you haven't been on my mind. In fact, I think of you now much more than I ever did when you were in this world in bodily form.

Yesterday was your birthday; you would have been 57 years old.

I often wish that I could turn back the hands of time. I wish that I could relive the moments that you were here with us. I wish that I could have been with you more.

To say that I miss you would be a drastic understatement.

I love you, and happy birthday, Mom. You are always close to our heart.

Darren