Messages From My Patients: Chapter 18

July 28, 2007

1604

On Saturday, July 21, 2007, as I cleaned the kitchen, I heard a male voice saying, “I love you. I love you.”

I didn’t know who it was. I was told to write it down, but I didn’t.

That is the day Dr. Ed Stemmer died. He was Chief of Surgery at the Veteran’s Administration Hospital when I was an intern. I used to be afraid of him, then I grew to love him.

He was Chief for forty two years, and raised his family in the house on the grounds.

At Dr. I James Sarfeh’s going-away luncheon, I’d introduced myself to his wife, Lois Stemmer. She’d just had hip surgery. I asked her when he was going to retire? She said he wouldn’t. He loved working too much. One day, she figured, they would have to take him out in a box.

Actually, he made it to Long Beach Memorial Hospital, not the VA.

I heard him last week-proud, happy in that corn-boy way he had. He was very proud of his life and wouldn’t change one thing… except perhaps to raise one more child with Lois.

I’ve never seen anyone happier with their life than him.

I still haven’t heard from Aunt Edna.

(she is here now)

I love you. I love you Carla. I am all right. I am pretty—I look like me. I saw your heart when I passed. How you were praying for me. Those special prayers. They helped. I thought I’d thank you. Once you were still enough and listening. (you are a busy girl!)

Thank you for going to my funeral when your mother and father couldn’t. Your presence meant a lot. Not just to me but to my family. Steven appreciated it the most…you are 'stable' and 'a success' to him, and 'loving'.

Your uncle Ben had a harder time when you were walking to the gravesite than he let on. I saw it and I felt it.

The time for him is near, and also for your Nanna. I know that you are going to miss them. Try to see as much of them as you possibly can (but not get them sick). I will pray for you at their hour, just like you had prayed for me. You shall be torn with grief.

(Kneels and looks at me)

I knew about your mother the whole time, honey. How she said lies and wasn’t very nice to you. She had a problem, honey. Carla, she drank! I knew about it from your father. We used to talk about it when we went garage-sale shopping and had our pie at the Fiddler's Three after. It really was bad then, darling. Like, 'was she going to have an accident and kill somebody' bad. I want you to know the truth. I couldn’t say it earlier until I saw the damage on your soul. Your mother drinks. Your mother drinks. Your mother drinks. She is an alcoholic. Just like (another) was and is. They have the gene. I am telling you that they have an illness. It wasn’t your fault. There was not anything you could have said or done to change what she put into her mouth.

That is why you relax around those who are functioning intoxicated. That is why they are drawn to you and you to them.

God can change it. God can change ANYTHING.

I am sorry that you hurt and I always tried my best to be truly there for you.

Your mother wasn’t a bad person. Neither is (another). But can you count on them? Not really. Not anyone. They have their problem with the bottle and the fish (they drink like them).

I am sorry that my girls pushed you away when you were gone to make the drive to Baldwin Park. I got the flowers. They were tiny. I knew you could not afford better. But I appreciated it much.

Up here in heaven, I have a job. Yes, I have a job!! Dr. Galusha (her dentist whose office she ran for him in life)  tried to hire me back—just kidding.

I have a job and in that job I pray. Intercession. I pray a lot for my grandkids but also for other things (the common good). I kind of see things ahead before they happen and I want to make the best of it for everyone involved. Sometimes you can’t change the overall course of things but you can change the perception. Like anesthesia—anesthesia for the heart and soul and body.

God listens.

I want you to understand this message—that God listens to your heart honey. The kind of prayer that is hidden. You are kind of worried about your life, honey. I know it. Try to enjoy the passage of your life. Remember, things don’t have to work so hard when God is at the helm.

Not to be afraid.

God answers our prayers—even the tiny ones (she gives an example with a picture of theCrystal Cathedral Preschool--and the wish I made as an intern when I got to see it for the first time touring the campus--it was so beautiful and happy I wished if I ever had a child they could go there.)

Everything will work out for the best. JCM? Offer it to God. Offer it to everything you think about. All your decisions have been blessed by me in advance. But offer it up anyway—it is really good practice.

Don’t be afraid of dying/passing. I don’t want to scare you. The cancer part I had a lot of pain you will not die like this. In your sleep, as you have always wished. (Your son) will see it, you are blessed. And everyone will have a lot of tears when you have passed. More than for me, Carla. More than for me. You have made a difference in a lot of lives. You are working with the best.

I am smiling. I found out about the Blessed Mother part! You are friends! You know Her! How you could have hidden it from others is amazing—She makes all the news if they have a piece of food--a pancake-- that has Her image. You know the real thing that talks and embraces you. I sensed an inner calm in you.

I am so proud of you for passing your echo boards exam my pet. So very proud of you. So very proud.

I want to say goodbye-that you are with me. Our souls are connected in a higher sense. This is our last time through it. I had to suffer to keep up. (L) has Grandma Lucille’s spirit. All of us will be done—together—in a long time from this.

Not to be afraid and know I miss you.

I saw you crying at my funeral and my heart went out to you.

I am your mother in spirit. I am the one that chose your name. I want you to be proud of it. If I ever had another daughter I would have named her it—it was the prettiest name that I could think of in my whole entire life.

I want you to think about the party that I threw for you in January—you were pregnant. Beef Burgundy and a cake and family and friends. A warmth in the storm, it was raining so hard, wasn't it, on that day?

We are your life and we are here for you. I want you to keep Sally and my friend Cindy near your heart.

Let Uncle Dave live his new life (I want him to have fun with it he worked so hard. Remember he is dying, too. Short visits and calls are quite all right.)

I have to go back. A half hour is all I was given. So early in this life. My first ‘vacation’ so to speak.

I love you and have lots of work. Just like you do with your house. Have rest.

C:   Aunt Edna can I give you a hug?

E: I am giving you my sweater to console you. It is white cashmere with lots of pearl buttons, ¾ sleeves. I will find a way to get it to you. When you put it on, remember me. I love you very much. I have a gift (lets me hold a baby). You shall have another child when you are 46 (pregnant at 45).

I want you to be proud of it. It is Julius (my next is to be names 'Jules') as you suspect. Not from T. From someone higher (more advanced). God loves him.

Bye,

Aunt Edna Louise (both last names, married first then maiden)  In-the-flesh


(editor's note--I didn't have the child. I am now post menopausal. Sometimes things regarding time don't work out. There are many possible timelines, and predictions are often not right because of this distortion between the dimensions and the timelines.)