God's Rainbow of Promises

I Am Too

Part One: An Accounting of Faith, Hope and Love

By: Alfred E. DuBois

The following is true. Names have been changed in respect of privacy. Family names are authentic.

The day was overcast and dreary as I sat alone on a bench on the north side of the village green. The green in the center of the town square was surrounded by non descript, concrete buildings devoid of any signs, neon lights or ads promoting businesses, although I was sure there were some there. With the overcast and fog they just weren't visible.

Where I was sitting was largely unpopulated, while the southern end of the green was quite crowded with men, women and children in abundance. That was fine with me. I just wanted to be alone and relax, not realizing this was not to be.

A couple approached me and the gentleman offered a courteous "Hello" which I returned. The woman spoke. "Al, are you coming to the Door and Window Festival tonight?" I was quite taken aback by how this woman I never saw before in my life knew my name and what the hell was a Door and Window Festival?

"I don't think so," said I, unknowingly encouraging her to tell me what a "Door and Window Festival" was all about.

"Oh, you should come" she said. "We do it every year. There's fun and games for the kids, lots of music, great food. I know you'll have a great time. See you there?" It was part question, part "See you there!" command.

"Maybe," I compromised. They continued on their way, leaving me alone once again.

At this point, a short, perky gentleman with a quick step was walking by my bench and said "Hi Al." I recognized him as Pat Marony, a former lector at a Catholic church I was organist at for fourteen years- about forty years ago, and returned the greeting. Pat and I had been quite friendly in those days and often had coffee and doughnuts together between Sunday masses. The only problem was Pat had died from Alzheimer's about fifteen or twenty years ago. Surely, although sharing a physical resemblance, this was clearly a case of mistaken identity.

I decided to get up and walk around the green to stretch and loosen up a bit. As I neared the crowd, a woman who looked all the world like a former neighbor, Loraine Weaver, approached me smiling.

"Al, so good to see you." She looked away for a moment, then returned to face me again. She looked totally unfamiliar- definitely was not Loraine and continued. "It'll be so good to see you two together tonight. It's been a long time."

I wondered, didn't she know my wife had died ten months ago? What was going on?

"Well, maybe one of us," I said.

She simply smiled and walked away.

One thing I should have mentioned earlier: in addition to the park benches like I was sitting on, the green was covered with picnic tables from end to end. There were far more tables than park benches, obviously in preparation for the night's festivities, but being alone, I had elected a bench.

While sitting and looking around at the people I thought for a moment I saw Marlane, my deceased wife among them. She was some distance away, not distinctly clear, but certainly resembled Marlane in appearance. I stood to get a better view but in the process lost her in the crowd.

I sat back down, disappointed at myself for thinking the impossible and noticing that while the tables at the southern end of the green were quickly filling up, the northern end was still pretty sparse. I decided to move to one of the empty tables for a change of pace.

I looked around, taking another view of the preparation for the upcoming event. I saw that it was beginning to take shape. Some food, buffet style, was being set up and the crowd was beginning to grow. I sighed, sat back, closed my eyes, reopened them looking to my right, then to my left and stopped. There, two tables away, she was sitting alone staring at me. "Hello there."

My heart was pounding. My hands were sweating. I had so many things to say. "Hi."

If you offered me a million dollars to tell you what happened next I couldn't. I know we exchanged small talk. It was pleasant, not profound or memorable. I looked around, sighed and looked back toward her, wanting to tell her so many things.

She was gone.

About this time I was approached by two men wearing official looking name tags, obviously on a mission. It turned out they wanted me to play the piano at the "Door and Window Festival" in exchange for which they would give me a free ten dollar admission ticket. I somewhat reluctantly agreed hoping another, more productive meeting with Marlane would result.

It's funny how things work. I might not be the quickest guy in the world or the brightest light on the tree, but it was finally beginning to occur to me that this entire happening, real as it seemed, was a dream. The people I was meeting, at once familiar and non familiar, were actually products of my desire to be with my wife of more than fifty four years, hold her and tell her what I should have told her more often over those years. A guilt trip that haunts me and I am sure many others who have lost a devoted partner they all think prematurely.

I was thinking about this when the two name tags showed up again. They couldn't find the piano, but wanted to give me the ticket anyway since I had offered to play it. I accepted and told them to keep looking. If they found it, I would play it.

Returning to my table, which was still unoccupied although those all the way to the middle of the green were quickly filling in, I relaxed as best I could, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. I opened them quickly. Marlane was sitting two tables away again staring at me.

She had changed and was wearing one of my favorite outfits. Her red blouse was gracefully framed by a white sweater and she looked radiant. There wasn't a wrinkle anywhere on her face and looked to be in her early forties. She was smiling that infectious grin and I was angry.

Angry because I realized this was a dream, that I would awaken soon and it would all be gone. How could I tell her gently? How could I not show the anger and frustration I was feeling?

I gripped a hold of the edge of the table while rising to a standing position. This was it.

"This isn't real" I said loudly. "I am dreaming!" Almost a scream.

She had a three word reply but it wasn't to come within the dream. As I lay on my back in bed I felt her breath in my right ear and heard her voice, not loud, but clear, personal and up close. "I am too!"

The vision in the dream disappeared before I could open my eyes. I almost expected to see and feel her next to me but knew she wouldn't be.

This had been far more than a dream. She was in mine and I was in hers at the same time. "I am too" calmly, clearly in control, unlike my angry outburst. No longer agnostic, there is no doubt in my mind that there is an after life, she is in it, enjoying it and is okay.

Therefore, "I am too."

I Am Too

Part Two: The Connection

I had made one of my rare visits to the cemetery where my parents Alfred and Ellen, son David and wife Marlane are buried on Wednesday, October fifteenth, 2015. This was probably my third time since my wife had passed away January third of this year. Although I have a short conversation and offer some prayers daily, visiting cemeteries is just not my thing. We all react differently to these situations.

In part one I wrote about what occurred within and after the dream Thursday night. I did this Friday morning while the vivid details and the feeling of Marlane's warm breath upon my ear were fresh on my mind.

What happened Friday night blew me away.

I have three wonderful daughters named Debbie, Ellen and Lori in their forties and early fifties. None of us have ever really been into the psychic or paranormal. I say that fully realizing some events defy explanation.

Lori, the youngest of the three has a daughter who began her freshman year in high school this fall and a son who entered middle school the same time. Her friend Kerry has the same combination so they have come up with a perfect carpool arrangement to efficiently transport their kids to and from school each day. Debbie, Ellen and I have never met Kerry so we do not know her, although she and Lori as well as their children are good friends.

That Friday evening Kerry attended a showing by a well know medium which drew an audience of about two hundred people.

I am attempting to recreate what happened next as accurately as possible since I was not there and am relying on descriptions by Lori and Ellen originally, given to Lori by Kerry.

As the medium was moving around the hall she reported strong vibes when close to Kerry. "Does someone near me know an Ellen?" A few hands raised in response. All knew a deceased Ellen, some passing away years ago, others more recently. "No, this Ellen is alive and someone from the other side is trying to communicate with her." The medium explained.

As she moved around the room the vibes grew weaker but became strong again when Kerry was approached. "Does someone near me know a Lori?" Kerry hesitantly raised her hand. "The vibes are really strong" said the medium. "Are you sure you don't know an Ellen?"

"Positive" was the reply.

"All right" said the medium, abruptly changing direction and leading into another question. "Did the Lori you know recently lose her mother to lung disease?"

Kerry, dumbfounded, nervously answered "Yes."

The vibes were very strong and the following quote is exactly, word for word, as Kerry reported to Lori. "This woman is very adamant you get this message to Lori. I'm okay. I'm breathing."

"That's it?"

"That's it!"

Upon returning home later that evening, Kerry knew exactly what she had to do in spite of the late hour.

She phoned Lori, explaining that she had seen a medium earlier and she had to ask Lori the question that had been on her mind the entire drive home. "Do you know anyone named Ellen?"

Lori replied, "I have a sister Ellen."

"Oh, my God."

At this point, bursting with curiosity, Lori shouted, "What?"

"I have a message from your mother. The medium said she was adamant I get this message to you and Ellen. I'm okay. I'm breathing!"

Moments later Lori was on the phone with Ellen. Needless to say, they were overcome with emotion and excitement. As they began to calm down, Lori wondered aloud why Debbie and I were not included in the adamant message. They had the answer the next morning when I called Ellen about a completely unrelated matter.

At the very moment they were on the phone together, I was sitting in the kitchen at my house reading Debbie the recently completed manuscript for "I Am Too. An Accounting of Faith, Hope and Love." The messages, though different, were being exchanged among family members at the exact same time and were meant to reassure us that all is well. We know it is real.

That's the way Marlane plans things.

Note: This was written by my father, Alfred E. DuBois.

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"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all

And sweetest in the Gale is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm

I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest Sea
Yet never in Extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.- Emily Dickinson 1830–1886

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