Dear friends, I keep meaning to share this with you.

My mother will be 97 years old in September. The youngest of four children born of Russian immigrants, she was the only child at home when her siblings married and she grew very close to her parents.

I know she misses them dearly and often remind her that she will be reunited with her mother and her father when she passes. (Not for awhile I hope.)

This past Mother’s Day, she and I were sitting on a bench overlooking a small lake. I said, “Would you like to speak with your mother now?”

She nodded, and I gave her the same directions I shared with you: (Communicating with the deceased is described in more depth in my book, When Souls Take Flight.)

I sat watching a lone duck splashing in the water as she closed her eyes and began to follow the directions I’d given her. Within a few minutes, I sensed my grandmother’s presence. It reminded me of a deep well. I was around five years old when she departed, but I still remember the love in her eyes when she looked at me and the comfort of her arms when she held me.

Right then I felt the impulse to listen in on mom’s conversation. In the retelling it does sound a bit rude, but in that moment with the sun glittering on the water it felt natural.

Although she was communing silently, I leaned over towards her. But I did not overhear any of her conversation. Instead, my grandmother spoke directly to me. “Tell your mother she is still my baby,” she said.

I got a little teary eyed and nodded.

A short time later mom opened her eyes. I gave her the message. “Grandma spoke to me,” I said. “She asked me to tell you that you are still her baby.”

“I’m older than she was when she died,” said mom.

“I don’t think it works that way,” I replied. “You are still her baby.”

“And you are still her diamond,” said mom.