When we returned to Lexington, we slowly managed to get a temporarily-upright Dave into the house, down the hall and onto the bed. Our neighbor Pat emerged from across the street, followed by two of her four children, to help bring our stuff into the house while I nursed Debbie. Tanyalee and Sean rediscovered their toys and friends.
Later that day, Dave volunteered to answer the phone. Since they were all landlines with cords in 1977, this was a giant gift because the whole town seemed to be calling to check on us. His fifth-grade students sent notes and pictures. Their parents appeared at the door with food – a ham, a turkey, casseroles and more. Our friends Connie and Jim offered to haul our trash to the dump once a week. Because we lived three miles out of town, the trash truck was our station wagon. I gratefully accepted all help.
Dave’s swelling was alarming after the trip home, but day after day it did decrease until his previously gigantic-sized testicle was back to normal and pain-free. He returned to teaching a few hours a day until he regained his strength.
By that time, life had returned to a more normal routine of an infant, a toddler and a first grader. Dave taught school during the day while I parented. Connie kept the little ones when I did speech therapy twice a week. I taught Adult Basic Education on Tuesday and Thursday evenings while Dave took care of the children and worked on the perpetual homework of an elementary school teacher.
When I think back on the year and a half after Dave’s hospitalization, I notice the many ways we’d begun to change. At the time, we weren’t conscious of our catapulting growth. Parenting three little ones, plus Dave’s teaching and my part-time work, kept us in the present moment quite effectively.
I realize now that the years following Dave’s healing, we were experiencing major openings in our spiritual beliefs and willingness to act on them. We rose before the children (no easy feat) to meditate nearly every day, a practice we’d started back when we were dating. We hadn’t always been faithful to the practice, often skipping weeks at a time. After the hospital experiences, we were regular morning meditators. My husband pointed out that the practice must be helping me because I had become a more patient mother. Naturally, I didn’t deserve sainthood, but I wasn’t yelling as often, even when chaos ensued. Unnoticed by me, I had become more understanding, and yes… more patient.
Though we now believed in hands-on healing, we were adamant that allopathic medicine was essential. We’d never omit the doctor in seeking help for ourselves or the children. We did not refuse examinations, x-rays or medicines if they were recommended by the physician.
I could tell when the energy poured through me to help in the healing. My hands got burning hot; tingling heat radiated up my arms and into my face. The patient, be it person or dog, felt hot in the area beneath my hands. When that hot-spot began to cool, I moved my hands to the next place to which I was guided. As the energy flowed, a deep peace settled into my body and emotions.
About seven one evening, three-year old Tanyalee lost her balance near the wood stove, crashing through the barricade we had thought sufficient. She severely burned her arm. I ran cold water on the five-inch long blister, while Dave called the emergency room. After asking questions, the nurse recommended standard procedures for the burn and advised seeing the pediatrician in the morning, which we readily agreed to do. We did everything she said. I then took Tanyalee onto my lap. Intuitively, I put my right hand above, but not on, the raised blister on her little forearm. Healing poured forth as we sang songs together. Dave entertained the other two children, while keeping an eye on us the whole time.
Soon she wasn’t hurting, just singing as she cuddled into me. After about fifteen minutes we looked at her arm, and the blister had disappeared, leaving only a dark mark like smeared charcoal. Breathing giant sighs of relief, we got the kids ready for bed. Exhausted, we followed close behind. The next morning, Tanyalee had a thin scab where the giant blister had been, but no pain and had slept soundly through the night. Obviously, we immediately constructed a much sturdier blockade around the wood stove.
Sometimes I applied healing hands, and nothing seemed to happen. When Dave had a slipped disc, about a year after his hospitalization, I did the usual prayer, tuned-in to him and then allowed Spirit to take over. Nothing. His back never got hot, neither did my hands, and there was no cocoon of peacefulness. During the many days of his lying down to heal, he did, however, get the message that he was to change careers in the not too distant future.
After forty-three years, I accept the mystery, and leave the results to the Divine. I believe the person’s soul helps guide the needed process, that it knows the best path for the patient. Since spiritual healing, physical healing and the Soul’s guidance are all One, my explanatory words are inadequate, but my intentions are to let God do what’s needed.
During that first year and a half after Debbie’s birth, Dave and I puzzled these questions and many more. We shared our spiritual wondering like, Do you suppose we’ve lived many lives before this one? I really believed we had. Children are so often our teachers, and Sean had convinced me of reincarnation when he was too young to know the word.
We reflected on a recurring dream of his starting when he was barely three. Every now and then, he had awakened in a sheer panic screaming Mommy. Each time I ran to comfort him, he’d been dreaming he was drowning. He kept saying, I was going under water. I called for Mommy. She didn’t come. I called and called. I was choking. I couldn’t breathe. (He didn’t yet know the word drowning.)
Sweetie, I responded, I would come if you called me. I’m so sorry you dreamed I didn’t come. I am here, Love.
But you weren’t my mommy.
Sean Honey, I am your mommy.
I know. But when I was going under water, you weren’t the mommy, and she didn’t come. Together, we imagined a different ending each time he dreamed it. The dream persisted. When he had the recurring dream the last time, he was five and knew how to swim and to float on his back. After comforting him from the dream, I finally summoned the courage to ask, Do you suppose that was in another life?
He looked at me as if I needed a head-job, and said in an impatient voice, Of course. He never had the nightmare again.
During these post-hospital months of spiritual expansion, we read a book about Edgar Cayce, which a neighbor had given us four years before. We’d not even opened it. The Sleeping Prophet really spoke to us, though many of its truths were new to our conscious minds.
Longing for friends with whom we could share our new openings and wonderings, we started a small meditation and spiritual-exploration group. We never labeled any of this “spiritual growth.” Only much later, did we marvel at our willingness to trust God’s miracles and messages. We didn’t analyze. We just lived what felt right one leap at a time. The biggest leap – unforeseen of course – came in early 1979.
©2020 – Donna Spring Gulick