Believe It. Or Not.

I’m not a big believer in the fact that there is a G-D. Superstition and religious school learning is what prompts me to put the dash in the word, despite my lack of faith.

I recognize the fact that there is a need and desire for many to be able to put this faith that we are born with into something greater. I wish I could. I’ve tried, I really have.

What I lack in believing in a greater being, I make up for in a more spiritual belief. I do believe in something. I’m just not sure what it is.

One thing I can say is, I recognize signs. I recognize when the air shifts, my cats and dogs stare at something unseen by human eyes and strange things happen.

As you know, my mom died on August 1. It was one of the single, most devastating events in my life and I’m still reeling from it.

Now is when some of you might think I’ve gone off the deep end so, maybe you might want to hit the facebook like button or RT and hurry away. Because, what I’m about to tell you is the whole truth and nothing but the truth yet…it may seem like I’m writing another one of my crazy short stories.

Here we go…

Shortly after my mom died, my dad asked that I go to their house and pick out, from her vast collection, shoes and clothing that I would want to keep and wear. Lucky me, her shoes are size 7 and 7.5…my exact size. Lucky me, her weight yo-yo’d leaving clothing for both my sister and myself. Fabulous clothes.

So, in early September, I took a deep breath and went to their house, armed with huge garbage bags in which to transport my loot.

Back story, my mom was ALWAYS COLD. Even on record hot days mixed with record high humidity. When my dad wasn’t home, the heat was on, blasting. She would turn it off before my dad returned home from work, in hopes that he didn’t know how hot she kept the house during the day.

Back to my story.

I opened the front door and walked into the house. It was cool in there, since my mom died the heat wasn’t on in the throes of summer.

I made my way to the back of the house where my parents bedroom is. As I crossed the threshold of hall to bedroom and headed to the bed to lay my purse down…

The heat kicked on. Hot air screamed out of the vent in their bedroom by the window, disrupting the stillness of the room.

I was startled. Scared for a moment.

Then, a sense of calm took over me as I realized it was my Mom. NO, I’m not crazy, I promise. So, I said aloud, “Hi Mommy.” and the heat turned off. I laid down on their bed and started crying.

The whole time I was there, I felt my mom. Strongly.

Another back story…

My mom wore, daily, 3 small diamond bands and a cool replica of an antique wedding ring. I received these rings shortly after my mother died. I emotionally placed them on the ring finger of my left hand, explained to my husband that these are now my wedding bands, and placed my own wedding band on the ring finger of my right hand. This is now how I wear my rings.

There are 3 places in my house that I place these rings when I take them off. One of them is on a shelf in my kitchen, in front of a particular cookbook. ALWAYS. I NEVER put these rings ANYWHERE ELSE except in these three places.

One night, a couple of weeks ago, my husband and I were going out. I had taken my rings off and placed them in the kitchen in front of that cookbook. I REMEMBER doing that.

When I went to get them in order to put them on before I went out, they were gone.

OK, fine. I went and looked in the other two spots they could be.

THEY WERE NOWHERE.

I tore apart my bedside table. I tore apart my bathroom.

I looked EVERYWHERE.

My rings. My moms rings. They were gone.

Since we were in a hurry, and getting more hurried by the second, I put my original wedding ring on and we left. I was beside myself. Panicked. Wondering where in the heck I could have put my rings.

I ALWAYS! ALWAYS! ALWAYS! Put them in the same place.

My stepdaughter looked for them while I was out. She couldn’t find them anywhere.

Heartbroken, I still went to the movie and dinner with my husband. Our date night.

When I got home, my husband walked into the kitchen.

There. On the counter. In front of that pink cookbook. Were my rings.

I could hear my mother in my head telling me something she had been telling me my whole life…

“Don’t leave things just laying around. You’ll lose them.”

I was sure that she took them. To prove her point.

Now, when I’m leaving my rings in any of those three places…I make sure to tell my mom not to touch them because I know where they are.

So yeah.

My belief in a G-D may be faulty. But I believe in the fact that these strange occurrences are NOT coincidence.

Believe it. Or not.

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