Angelic Pathways (14 page)

That’s the general consensus among people who have had an NDE and souls I’ve connected with, such as my mom and my spiritual mentor Ella. But there’s always that minority of people who fight death with everything they have. Jake told me that if he hadn’t felt so mentally drained from being overworked, he probably would have fought Raphael right there on the spot. But he was so tired and confused that he followed the angel with only a few heated words of protest.

“Besides, it’s sorta hard to fight someone when you’re butt naked,” Jake said with a sheepish grin one night while we were talking by candlelight.

“You were naked when you crossed over?” I asked, leaning in closer to him.

“So embarrassing,” he groaned. “I think they do that to disarm those of us who will put up a fight.”

“Yikes. I thought you’d at least be in a white robe or something.”

“Nope,” he said as he rolled his fingers through the dancing flame. “The white robes are just a device that artists use.”

“Well, I’m glad to see you got your clothes back,” I chuckled.

He gave me a sidelong glance with a dry “thanks.”

As someone who could pass for Archangel Cassiel’s twin, Jake wore black from head to toe—a black leather biker jacket, tank top, jeans, and biker boots. If the angels hadn’t given him any clothes, I can’t say I would have objected. The boy wasn’t hard on the eyes at all. Of course, if the boot were on the other foot, I’d be screaming in horror if I had to run around Heaven naked. Though I’m sure if Archangel Michael had his way, we would all be naked in Heaven. I haven’t said it in previous books for fear of a backlash, but the Master General of the angelic armies is the patron of nudists.
Au natural
is the only way for him. Yes, I’m talking about the legendary “I kicked Lucifer’s butt and got a trophy for it” Archangel Michael. There’s no greater exhibitionist than him, and Sandalphon has even teased that the reason Lucifer had to go is because Heaven wasn’t big enough for the colossal egos that both he and Michael have.

But I digress.

So as Jake was walking around naked and sorting through his emotions while trying to arrive at an acceptance of his fate, something very interesting was still happening to him in the human realm.

His body was in the hospital having emergency surgery in what doctors hoped would save his life. It was only the day after the incident that Jake was pronounced dead. By then, his soul had already visited loved ones and he had gotten enough of his bearings to remember, “Oh yeah, that was all just a dream.
This
, where I am now, is reality.”

This little piece of information regarding my spirit guide already being gone hours before he was pronounced dead shocked me to my core. I didn’t discover it until I began doing research for this book and it came up in conversation with Jake.

“Why didn’t you bring this to my attention years ago?” I grumbled at him.

“You didn’t seem to be fazed by it, so I thought you might have known something I didn’t,” he shrugged. No, spirit guides aren’t always savvy about spiritual matters. They are, after all, humans training to be guides.

Though I didn’t know about the phenomenon of a soul vacating the body while still alive where Jake was concerned, I had become very much aware of it with my mother in her final stages.

Mom had lung cancer with metastasis to the brain. She had become bedridden immediately after being diagnosed, because she had problems walking and was often assailed by mild seizures. And I crumbled emotionally as I watched this strong, independent woman become confined to a bed, tethered by IV tubes and monitor wires.

“Chantel, it is your destiny to teach and heal,” I heard God whisper in a faint and distant memory that had been haunting me since I began college.

I clenched my eyes shut and placed my hand to my mother’s head as she lay there in bed. I had no idea what to do or how to do it. I just knew I was not ready to lose her so early in my life. I felt I still had so much more to learn from her.

“You’re a woman now. You’re going to be just fine,” Mom spoke.

“Mom, I can’t help it. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not losing me, child.”

It was then that my eyes popped open and I realized that my mother was still very much unconscious. She had fallen into a coma just days prior, but hearing her voice so clearly made me forget that for a moment. And then I saw her, standing bedside next to Jake, both of them smiling at me.

I broke into sobs and turned away.

“No, Mom. Don’t do this. Don’t go. Please.” I held her cold and unresponsive hand. Still, in my mind’s eye I could see her watching me. She was so young and radiant. And though I wept, she never lost her smile, as if she were patiently waiting for me to release my selfishness and let her go.

“I’m not leaving you, Chantel. I will be with you until you get back on your feet.”

“Until? What about
always
?”

“You’ll understand what I mean later.”

“Jake, no. Stop her, please! If you want to be my guide and guardian, help me! If God wants me to heal others, tell him to show me how and make me a believer. Heal my mother!” I was on my feet and yelling at the air in the room. I then crumbled and, like a child, crawled into my mother’s hospital bed and held her tight until a nurse gently pulled me away an hour or so later.

Mom passed away two days after that.

The night of her passing left me feeling numb. I returned home to the darkness of the family room as I had so many nights before, as I had the night Jake first came to me. I turned on the television to keep the tears at bay for a while, but after an hour or so, I looked up into the dark dining room to see my mother standing there, still smiling.

“You know, most people just go to Heaven when they die,” I growled at her in spite. Yes, I was very angry, and much like a spoiled brat, I wanted either all of her or none.

“I told you I would be here until you got back on your feet, Chantel.”

“I’ll be fine.” My words were clipped. “Enjoy your vacation.” I turned off the television and headed upstairs.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I know. Good night, Mom.”

As I look back on those instances with Jake and my mother, as well as on my research into those who have had an NDE, I’ve come to call the moment when the soul separates from the body the “twilight period.” Twilight is the blue hour, the cusp between day and night. That moment when the soul leaves the body but has not moved on to the Realm of Spirit is the cusp between life, as we humans know it, and death. For those who have an NDE, it’s that moment when they review their lives and see loved ones, angels, and even those who are still living in the human realm. Invariably, the soul is told by luminous beings that now isn’t the time to cross over and hence must return to the realm of the living.

But for those who must move on, there is first the moment of denial, followed by the moment of reconciliation and peace, after which they are gently guided back home to the Realm of Spirit.

Originally, I was going to write here that some souls go on to Heaven and then later may return to connect with loved ones. At least, that’s how I perceived it to be with Jake and my mother. But Jake informed me that time works so differently between the realms that what I perceived as a few hours between my mother’s death and her contacting me would have seemed like days, if not longer, to her.

And there are moments when the opposite occurs. Archangel Gabriel has told me that, in general, eighty-five human years is only about a fifteen-minute dream. Why the paradox? The answer is easy: Time is an illusion. It can become whatever our minds want it to be. This is why “time flies when you’re having fun,” or it seems to stand still when you’re anxiously awaiting news. Five minutes is five minutes, but it can seem to rush by or drag on, depending on how we feel and how we perceive the world around us.

Regardless, Mom wouldn’t be the only one I’d receive a visitation from directly after her passing.

One afternoon in the spring of 2004, the phone in my office rang.

“Hello, this is Chantel,” I chirped.

“Hey, hon. It’s Britt.”

I knew by the sound of the tears in my friend’s voice what had happened. My spiritual mentor Ella had passed away just moments ago. I was stuck at work for the day, but maybe that was for the best. Britt and I talked briefly, and when I hung up the phone, I sobbed. Dabbing at my tears, I closed my office door, told the receptionist to hold my calls, and simply sat at my desk.

“Ella, I’m lying to myself. I really need you here. I don’t know if I can do this all by myself.” I was thinking back on all the spiritual skills she had helped me to hone, including my intuition, Reiki, and meditation.

“Why would you think I’m leaving you, baby?” Ella’s voice was soft and I could see her in my mind’s eye walking into my office as casually as a coworker.

“It’s not the same. Besides, how do I know you’re real and just not my imagination?”

“Chantel,” she said as she sat at my desk, “I can’t believe after everything I’ve taught you that you would even doubt this moment. What is it going to take for you to believe that you have a gift?”

“A lot more than voices and an overactive imagination.” I sniffled and kept my voice low just in case someone out in the hall heard me talking to
no one
.

“Ella, I’ve had to deal with this for years.” Jake said as he approached the desk. Then I broke into even more tears, as seeing him made me think of the times he’d been there when my mother had passed away.

“You gotta be joking. I don’t need both of you cramping my thoughts. Isn’t there medication for this?” I whined.

“See what I mean?” Jake huffed and folded his arms. I sniffled and looked at the two of them as they stared right back at me. A moment of silence passed before I threw up my hands in surrender.

“Oh, good grief! Ella, this is Jake, the spirit guide I told you about. Jake, this is Ella.” I sighed and blew my nose as I casually gestured between the two of them. And as one would expect, they shook hands in pleasant greeting. I, however, had a sinking feeling very reminiscent of when my mother had come to a parent-teacher conference when I was in grade school.

“She’s always been this stubborn?” Ella asked as she stood and leveled a stern gaze at me.

“She’s getting better, thanks to you. But yeah, it’s not been easy between the two of us.” Jake grumbled a bit.

“Okay, I can hear you two! You said I have a gift. Well, I’m using it!” I was damn near frantic and felt cornered by not one but two powerful spirits now. And as if to add kerosene to the brush fire, they pulled away to the corner of the room and whispered between themselves. I couldn’t hear much of what Jake was saying, but I imagine it was a lengthy report, as all I heard were Ella’s responses of, “Yep. Mm hmm. Really, now? Oh, that will stop. I’ll see to it. She what? No, we’ll cut that out, too.”

I just sank in my office chair, feeling that any moment I was going to be sent to the principal’s office. At one point during their conversation I just felt the need to interject “tattletale!” at Jake, to which he laughed and disappeared with a farewell.

“Ella, she’s all yours,” were his last words.

That’s when I lowered my head in defeat, as I not only heard Ella giggle wickedly but saw her rubbing her hands together like a villain in an old, silent film.

“Okay, fine. So I’m a skeptic. I have a right to be, you know. You want me to believe all this stuff? Fine, Ella, prove it!” I was fuming at that point and couldn’t have cared less if anyone outside my office heard me arguing with
no one
.

“Easy. Look for a rainbow. That’s my sign to you.”

“A rainbow?”

“A rainbow.”

“Riiiight. Fine. Okay, I’ll look for one.” I said flippantly, and Ella disappeared slowly with a grumble, something to the effect of, “I’ll fix that little red wagon of yours, young lady.”

Later that afternoon, I called my friend Britt to see how she was holding up. Naturally, I asked if there was anything I could do for the family hour and memorial. She asked if I would stop by the bookstore and pick up a journal so people could write their condolences, but more importantly, their memories and stories about Ella. Britt would later give the journal to Ella’s sons. Thinking that was a wonderful idea, I made it a personal quest.

The day of the wake, I found myself standing at the local bookstore looking over their selection of journals. I chose one that was simple and earthy—nothing too frilly for her boys. But then I thought an engraved bookplate would add just the right touch, so off to the shopping mall engraver I went. To my relief, the bookplate would only take a few minutes to make. During that time I wandered around the store and looked over the figurines and knickknacks offered there. I finally came upon a table of pens, and it dawned on me that if we were going to have a journal, we should also have a special pen to go with it. So, in a time crunch, I circled the table with hopes that the engraver could engrave the pen as well.

Well, being the picky person that I am, I had circled the display table twice, seeing nothing that spoke of Ella really. “Ella, this is your life, your journal.
You
pick the pen!”