Hi! My name is Abigail. I finished my mortal mission in a little spec of eternity you call July 2013.
Now I'm in the Spirit World and can help my family and friends (that's everyone) from this side of the veil. Some people get a little uneasy talking about "talking spirits" or "ghosts" but I'm here to tell you we're not scary. My body died, but I'm still alive. My body was destroyed and really needed a break, but I'll have it again soon. You'll have to trust me on the issue of timing. It won't be long, promise.
A month before I came here, my mommy was holding me and I told her "I will keep you forever." It took her by surprise that I came up with that on my own, but I knew what I was saying. I reinforced it later a few times by telling her, "I will keep you forever in my world, " and "I will keep you forever in my life". I meant exactly what I said.
This little piece of world wide web is a place my mom can continue to write and record her feelings--her progress, I like to call it. I know it's helping a few of you, too.
Remember who you are--really are--and that many of us are excited to see you all again, too. Eternity is a very long time and I have to keep reminding my mom "I will keep you forever".

Sunday, May 24, 2015

Reflections

I am in New York right now. Two days in Manhattan. My memories seem more vivid than the actuality of being here now.

A few of my dearest friends are here for cancer treatment, so naturally I came to see them. The last time I was here was July 2012 with Abigail for her last round of 3F8 monoclonal antibody therapy.

It has been a joy to see Brooke and her parents. I wish we would have met originally in a place other than the Ronald McDonald House of NYC, and I wish our visit now were somewhere other than that same place. But rather than wish for what didn't happen, I am grateful and honored to have met them and become friends. Forever friends.

Yesterday I sat in a little shop waiting for our afternoon get together. The cafĂ© wall where I sat was floor to ceiling glass and it wrapped around in front of me too. Because of the position of the sun, I could see three things very distinctly. I could see the street and sidewalk in front of me, through the glass. And I could see the  reflection of the people outside on the sidewalk behind me! And the third thing I could see was my own reflection staring back at me. It was like seeing the past, present, and future simultaneously.

The reflection of ‘what was behind me’ was truly almost as clear as what was in front of me. I could see colors and detail. But because my range of view was limited, I couldn't see it for long. People kept walking constantly and the scene kept changing. Similar to memories, some have barely faded but come and go quickly. For the painful ones, I am grateful they go quickly. I wish I could beg the happy memories to stay….linger….let me turn around and embrace you as I once did. But it's not possible.

My own reflection was distinct, but the most difficult to see. I wonder sometimes if I will be thoroughly and gratefully shocked to find in the next life just how MUCH I am being lifted and supported now. I don't doubt it. Sometimes we think we can see the present more clearly than we really can.

Finally, the view in front of me was most clear and unhindered. I think that's what Heaven was reminding me of—when we look forward with the Light He’s provided, the path is clear. I don't have to blaze a new trail. I haven't been trying to, thankfully! But it was a reminder that the basics of faith in Christ, hope, trust, love, obedience, and gratitude have always been and will always continue to be His way to peace.

I love His reminders.

I miss my bald-headed girl. I miss that she refused to sit in a forward-facing stroller because that was entirely too far away from me. I miss her laugh, her “mommy, I love you’s” and her eyes. The reflection of the past. I don't miss giving her 40-50 pills and drops of medication and supplements a DAY. I don't  miss the insane amount of doctor visits and hours spent waiting for things to happen. I don't miss the extreme pain she felt. She's gone and this is a reflection of my present. I look forward to learning what I'm supposed to learn now. I look forward to desperately trying to keep the purification in my life that her life and death instilled in me. I look forward, with intensity-filled tears on my cheeks, to no more tears. I look forward to the Law of Compensation and to one day holding Abigail again….not in NYC! I look forward to falling on my face in humility and gratitude for Christ’s love and sacrifice and for Heavenly Father’s great plan of redemption. This is my future. I know it.

Faith.