We will meet again
This is a touching story of a mother and daughters journey though lives.
My mother and I shared a birthdate of April 26th. She was born in 1930, and I arrived two months early on her 20th birthday of April 26, 1950. We celebrated our birthday each and every year in some meager fashion, and cherished every moment be it dull or exciting. She died of breast cancer in August of 1994, at 64 years of age. Her diagnosis three years prior did nothing to prepare me for the devastation her passing brought with it. I had entered into counseling months before her death in hopes it would ease the transition. My father had died ten years earlier at the age of 63. It was all too much.
I was fearing my 45th birthday without her, so I decided to take flowers to her grave, and read a letter to her I just knew she would hear. A massage had been booked to further coddle myself, and rather than chatting away as normal, I decided to keep quiet and close my eyes. The therapist had popped a music tape in the player. Immediately, I felt such a disturbance from the music, and quickly a vision played on my inner screen like a movie reel. I was stunned to see a woman and man in a wooden cart, pulled by what I donít know, along a dirt road. Her hair was dark with elaborate braids wound up the back of her head, and she wore a long brown cloak. The man was barely seen, yet he nodded to her as she viewed and gave me a most compassionate look. The hysterical, fair skinned, blue eyed waif kneeling on the road was traumatized
almost to death. It was me, and all I knew was someone had either murdered my husband or taken my children. She befriended me in that lifetime and that was the start of our journey together.
Several weeks later I was driving and the word tulle entered my mind. It was silly, and made me think about being in the tulles, etc. That thought persisted for days until all of a sudden goose bumps came over me as I silently sounded out the name, Tu-la-eh. Thatís what it was all about. I had mentioned this intense experience to my counselor, as we both shared the same spiritual path, and a belief in reincarnation. She suggested I go to the library and look up a book on ancient names. The library was on my way home, and I asked the clerk to direct me. There were two books only, Christian and non-Christian names. Grabbing the non-Christian book and opening the pages quickly to ďTĒ, the information almost jumped off the page. There were five names under that letter, and the first was: Emperor Tullius Cicero 106 BC, had a daughter named, Tullia.
The night before my mother made her way to the other side, she looked at me with such love in her eyes it almost took my breath away. I had always felt loved by her in good times and bad, but nothing compared to that look. In an instant, I knew that look could go through time, and it wasnít the first time or the last time we would say good-bye to each other. It has been almost nineteen years now, and my eyes are full of tears, and it is very comforting to know we will meet up again one day.
May the blessings be,