“Oh! so disturbed! I have been selfish in my new joy, and how could I have been so forgetful; so unnatural? My husband and babe; my son and daughter weeping; and I have not thought of them!”
I wept, and my companion folded her arm around me and gently said: “You have been under our control, and are not responsible. To have been subject to the griefs of those you left, would have been painful and useless. You are now able to bear a full knowledge, you feel that of your family and friends. I will go with you, and you will find what I tell you is true, and you will bless us for our thoughtfulness.”
We were poised, as it were, over a promontory beyond which the earth hung in space, as the full moon in a summer sky. Beyond were the stars. I was aghast at the journey, and fearful of the abyss which seemed deep as infinitude. While I trembled it was passed. I was in my old home. A great flood of human memories came over me. How I loved the dear familiar walls, the chairs, the glowing fire and, more than all, the family group. My husband sitting with his head bowed in his hand, my daughter performing the tasks that had been mine; my little boy and girl at play; the babe asleep. There were tears in my eyes as I turned to my companion for strength to bear: Did I not leave my body? Was there not a funeral? Why is it so quiet if I have not truly passed the ordeal?
“Listen,” said my companion, supporting me. “Listen. It was in October when you passed away. The bright foliage of the trees, then burning in scarlet and gold, had been blown away by the blasts of winter, and the snow covered the earth with its icy shroud. All you think of has been done. It is finished. Were you to go to the churchyard you would find a mound by the side of relatives gone before.”
It was so unreal and absurd that I was bewildered, and laughed at my misunderstanding, and wept the next moment when I saw my family. I went to my husband and placed my hand on his head and called him by name. I called with all my strength to learn that my lips gave no sound to his ear, and that my touch was imperceptible. Then I turned to my daughter and threw my arms despairingly around her. She was singing a song we had sung together, and continued not heeding my embrace. Oh! how keen my grief when I found I was not known in my own old home. I, who had come from such a distance, my heart beating with love, found no response! My daughter finished her song, and her eyes filled with tears. I read her thoughts for they were of me. “Mother! Mother!” she was saying, and I responded. It was the call I had heard beyond the bars of heaven! I could not bear it, and my companion said as she again placed her arm around me:
“Come, my sister, you can do no good here. There is your child sleeping in its crib. It is cared for as by yourself. Kiss it, and we will go. Be assured whenever you are wanted here you will feel the desire.”
I kissed my child. “Let me stay,” I pleaded; “I want to sit in my old place, in that vacant chair. Then I will go.”
“As you will; and I will endeavor to impress your daughter with some ray of sunshine.”
She bent over my daughter, and by means I did not understand, her mind responded to the spirit’s thoughts: “Your mother is with you, and retains the same affection for you she had in earth-life.” With the influx of that thought a smile lit up her face, and turning to the organ, she sang, “Annie Laurie,” a song we had often sung together. How thankful I was that one ray of sunlight gladdened her heart, and the memory of me was yet dear. I was grateful to the kind spirit who had assisted me, and then she said we must go, for the trial was too great for my strength.
“You must calm yourself,” said my companion, “for this sorrow is without the least benefit. Believe it is for the best, and though the hour is dark, it will bring a perfect day.”