I mentioned in another post that I deleted, where I wrote about my earliest memory when I started seeing things from spirit and the other side, which happened to be a kind witch, who I saw in the middle of my bedroom when I was in Kindergarten, that led me to write the middle-grade book, Why is there a Witch in my room, a Zombie in the shower, and a Ghost driving Mom's car?, very many years later. And I think that may have been the only reason why I saw that kind, grey witch, to write that book because I never saw her again.
I used to say that when I'd turn 60, I'd write about those spiritual, and sometimes earthbound experiences, because there's enough of a lifetime at the age of 60. And now that it's sneaking up on me, this is a good place and age to start. So, the second vivid memory of experiencing spirit and the other side, was when I was in the first grade.
I think her name was Pat Plant, and she was a co-worker friend of my mother's. She lived across the bay (Okland-Hayward-Berkeley), and I remember going to her house with my mother a few times in the evening. And after the last memory of being at her house, the next memory of Pat Plant was at her funeral.
I don't know how long it was between the last time we were at her house and her funeral, but I remember hearing that she had cancer. So when my mother and I attended her funeral service, it was held in a large cathedral type church, with very high ceilings, and a lot of people attended. My mother and I sat way in the back pews of the church, and I recall seeing Pat Plant's casket down at the front. Then at some point, something caught my peripheral, as I looked up and saw Pat Plant in the ceiling!
She was wearing what looked to be a luxurious, full length, sleeveless white cotton gown, that had little yellow, decorative applique daisies around the bottom of the dress. She wore white gloves up to her elbows, her hair was swept in an updo, her face was beautifully made up, and this next part is where it got really interesting. . . .
There was man standing there with her.
A white man, who wore a stark white tuxedo, with tails; white patent leather shoes, as he embraced Pat Plant, who was a dark chocolate brown complexioned Black woman. It was like they were posing for an oil painting. Very elegant, and I could tell that Pat Plant and this man were deeply in love by the way they embraced each other.
I looked at my mother to see if she saw this incredible sight in the ceiling of the church, but she was in tears looking straight ahead during the sermon. And as much as I wanted to tell my mother that Pat Plant was in the ceiling, hugged up in an elegant pose with this white man, I didn't want the people who sat in front of us, the people behind us, and next to us to hear this conversation. I knew my mother would've caused a slight commotion, with everybody looking up at the ceiling, trying to see what I saw, seeing nothing.
I never told my mother that I saw her co-worker friend at her own funeral. And as I think back on it after all of these years, I may have been the only one who saw Pat Plant in her new afterlife. I wish I had of told my mother what I saw. She would've been simply astounded.