All posts by Angel

Click Click Click

Click, Click, Click

Click, click, click, ###, click, click, click, ###.

Those were the six numbers I entered into the number dialog box on my cell phone.

Immediately, a new dialog box popped up; I entered the word HOME and pressed send. I took a sharp intake of breath, for this was the beginning of the end of the escalation of my grief, the diminishment of my spirit, the tearing apart of my soul.

A quick reply followed, the words scrolled across my cell phone screen: Hi, this is Crisis Text Line. You’re not alone. By texting further with us you agree to our terms.

The Crisis Text Line exists as a way for those in the midst of an emergency to get immediate help. Many, unlike myself, have no one to reach out to when they find themselves overwhelmed by emotional and physical pain that requires intervention by experienced caregivers.

Originally, the helpline was an 800-telephone number. I kept the number handy in my directory ready to call if I finally reached the end of my rope. However, what I really wanted was a way to text someone and have a brief SMS conversation to allow me time to calm myself and think rationally.

Last year I saw a Facebook page that showed exactly what I wanted. I remembered the six-digit code and the word Home. I was relieved the word was HOME and not HELP, calling HOME was not as threatening as calling HELP.

I am fortunate, I have several people who come to my home to help me keep my household in order, do the heavy lifting, cleaning and food preparation, all part of a plan originally instituted to allow my beloved and myself to live independently in our own home till death do us part.

Death did do us part. Six months ago, my mate and lover crossed over the Vail to her new journey sailing the vast reaches of the Universe. Sailing alone without me; we were inseparable.

Now I am alone. 

As friendly and caring as my caregivers are, I find the primary reason they take care of me is that I compensate them. Their compensation goes a long way to allowing them to be here frequently at the expense of their own lives.

Although my family would go out of their way to give me comfort, they live distances away, distances in time and in keeping to their own already established schedules. If I were going to need prompt help, it undoubtedly wouldn’t come quickly from those sources.

Like others, I have many acquaintances and a few close friends. Friends are friends because they understand me and care about me, although I am not their principal preoccupation. I have no preconceived notion of what my friends are able to do for me if a quick response was needed. The refrain, “I am here for you,” only goes so far. In reality they may not be “here for me” when I need them the most. For example, I get disappointed when I call and get voicemail or when I text and get no response. That disappointment only increases my feeling of loneliness.

My difficulty with being alone is that my loneliness can enter a downward spiral, descending into a black hole so deep that rational thoughts get left behind. I fear I may take my life to end the fall into darkness. Mine is not an unusual situation, the Covid-19 epidemic has left many lonely and unable to find comfort in the touch of a close friend or loved one.

Now I am alone, except for the intuitive communications with my Angel, whose advice lately has been, “Call the Crisis Text Line!” Angel doesn’t have time for pleasantries, she doesn’t mince words, when she is concerned for my safety, she is a woman-of-action.

Years ago, I first encountered the helpline when I became interested in how I would handle my increasingly suicidal thoughts, triggered by my memories of the abuse of my past and my understanding that my loved one may not be here for me, that I would most certainly be alone.

The other reason that I never used the helpline was out of fear that the service would overreact to my emotional pain and call authorities ‘for my own good’ to prevent me from carrying out any perceived suicidal plan. After all, they have a responsibility to save. Once outside help had been summoned, it would be an additional nightmare of intervention and perhaps psychiatric hospital care, the attendant meds, greatly increasing my burden of coping, taking care of my beloved and holding a job.

I once read about a man in China who patrols one of that country’s highest bridges. He does so out of the goodness of his own heart trying to get the attention of jumpers before they go over the edge. Saving them was one thing, the next part of their journey would be the hardest part of their lives including the countless hours of counseling and psychiatric treatments to bring them to the point where they would be able to love themselves. I wonder if a life of counseling and treatment would be right for me? Would I simply be better off moving along to the next part of my journey into the Universe? I consider that to be a rational question considering my understanding of how my energy exists within the Universe. I am only passing through; why make my journey here on earth any more difficult than it is?

There is a true story of a very troubled man, a military service man in top physical shape, but suffering from bouts of severe depression and Schizophrenia, who jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. On the way down he questioned himself as to why he jumped and he made a deal with himself that if he survived, he would live a life of service to other sufferers considering suicide.

Because of his superb physical condition, he survived and has dedicated his life to appearances with audiences wishing to know more about how to manage their own lives of mental discomfort and questions.

Personally, my grief does not follow any particular linear plan. Mine appears to come in waves of more painful emotions spread farther apart in time. It has been six months now, six months of increasing loneliness and emotional pain. Not only emotional pain but unrelenting physical pain, which only yields to prescription meds, but still, the physical pain is the result of a broken brain and fractured soul because of the loss of my beloved.

Hey, I’m Clara and I am here for you. Will you share more about what’s going on? These were the very pleasant and comforting words of a woman who typed into the dialog box on my cellphone.

(Me) My spouse of fifty-two years passed away 6 months ago. I have very caring family and friends. Nighttime is the worst so I thought I should have a back-up person if my mood gets low. I slowly pushed the keys on my ancient flip phone hoping not to make too many spelling errors and in keeping with the new shorthand of text messaging, the new world of SMS, the world of description not to exceed 160 characters per entry.

(Clara) That’s an incredibly difficult situation to be in and you’re strong for reaching out today. It’s hard when you’re alone and everything gets overwhelming.

Immediately I understood that Clara, if that was her real name, got it. I lowered my guard.

(Me) I feel relieved now to be able to connect with someone fast.

(Clara) It’s always good to talk with someone. I can tell you’re a compassionate person and care very much for others.

I was not sure how she knew that, but it was comforting and built up my depreciated self-image.

(Me) Don’t want to be a bother. Txt is better than the phone. Plus, I feel you may be impartial.

(Clara) Your peace and mental health are important. It’s understandable to feel like you may be a bother but it is important to remember to take care of yourself however you can. By reaching out, you’re taking the first step towards feeling better. You’re no bother at all. I’m here to support you and I’m glad you reached out.

Our text exchange went on and I got the impression that Clara didn’t want me to disconnect the call. Clara reiterated someone would be available 24/7 if I needed to text back. She asked me if I wanted to keep talking or end the call? I preferred to end the call.

At the end of our text session an automated message sprang up asking me if I wanted to complete a brief survey as to how my text session went. I was too worn out from the stress of making that text call, I put the phone down so I could reflect on my emotional state.

I looked at the time, it was 6:19 p.m., I began the text session at 5:50 p.m. Thirty minutes with brief periods of time while each of us typed our responses. I was surprised and relieved by how easy it was to make a connection.

Feeling less alone and knowing I had made some progress towards taking care of myself without the involvement of family or friends, I got ready for bed. Finding myself too tired from the emotions of talking to someone new about my problems, I elected not to read but to turn out the light and try to sleep.

Later that night I found myself sharing my bed with four of our cats, a seldom occurrence. The cats felt my tension and unhappiness; they decided to be there to comfort me.

I slept fitfully, I knew that I must address my suicidal thoughts, having a knowing ear was helpful but not enough. It was medicinal but not a cure.   

Grieving

December 5th, 2020. Two months after Peg’s death.

I awake uncharacteristically late this morning. I have jobs that must be done every day to keep our household in order. Our home is still our home, it is now where her soul and my physical self, reside. Although, if anyone comes here, they will only see me. 

I no longer want to get up. Could I lie here in our bed and die? Animals and humans die of a broken heart, how long would it take me to die? Would one of the many friends or caregivers find me dead? Do they understand why I am still lying-in bed day after day? 

It would be called a deep depression, counseling would be called for, meds would be prescribed. No one would automatically know that my condition was a necessary part of grieving. They would try to fix a process that was not broken.

A broken heart requires time, time for stillness, time for the mind to sort out the steps to take to allow me to change and adapt to a new life without her. Time to fully grasp the depth of what happened to us when she died.

December 10th, 2020

Two months and five days have passed since she started on her journey, two months and five days without her physical presence, two months and five days with only my knowledge that her soul is somewhere in the Universe, the Universe of souls that I so much believe in. Two months and five days of constant reminders of the love we had together. Two months and five days of trying to convince myself that the energy of her soul will be enough for me, that I do not need her physical presence to continue on with my own earthly journey.

As strongly as I believe in my concept of how the Universe works, our physical bodies die but our soul lives on, it is not enough to make up for the terrible aching loss of my companion of fifty-two years. My reality is – I will never see her physical presence again. I will never touch her, never kiss her, never smell the softness of her hair, never feel the comfort of her warm body as we cuddle in bed. Never hold her hand as we cross the street, never share the same humorous stories at the dinner table, I will never again see her sleeping peacefully in her recliner with one of her favorite cats in her lap.

I feel useless, purpose-less, unable to accomplish the smallest task without herculean effort, without becoming breathless, starving for air not coming into my lungs. My chest aches from the exertion of breathing. My frozen heart is not able to keep up with the emotions formed by the image of seeing her die before me.

Grieving is the norm now. I wake in the middle of the night feeling for her body beside me in bed. For a short time, I have forgotten she has passed and will never come back. I think she has just gone to the bathroom; I will rearrange the sheets and blanket to make her side of the bed comfortable for when she comes back to bed. Then, I realize Peg will never come back to bed, I will forever be alone.

We had slept together for fifty-two years through loving interchanges and sometimes the cold of a brief spat, although the latter I am unable to recall details. Or the great unrest, a period of time when we weren’t sure our marriage would last. We made a second commitment, till death do us part. Marriage is always a work in progress to the very end.

For the last two years, I have taken to waking in the night to check on her, I would listen to the rhythm of her breathing to be sure she was okay, then and only then, return to my sleep.

Now, I awaken in the night to the reality that I am alone. That reality brings on sobbing and tears as I reach out for her and she is not there.

The sleepless nights are not helping me, they are dragging out the process of grieving and upsetting my physical health, which is quickly becoming a major concern.

Will the aching in my heart cause damage to my heart? I don’t want to address this because it may lead to trips to the doctors, hospital, rounds of tests, meds, or even surgery. I think I would rather die – yes! – I would be able to join her in the great Universe.

My research says there is an increased possibility of widowers dying in the first years of their loss. If I get hospitalized and I have choices I will say, “just let me die so I may be with her.”

I am going to bed at 6 p.m. It is winter and the days are very short but that is still early for me. I sleep fitfully, waking up to make trips to the bathroom, a normal occurrence for a man of my age, different now, I am always listening for her in the off-hand chance she will reappear alive and well again. If some of the cats are on the bed, I put them out of our room at 5:30 a.m. and sleep until I no longer can stand the guilt of not feeding them. 

During the day, I nap after getting breakfast. Then if the spirit moves me, I write, I write until the memories overwhelm me, I may only produce a few paragraphs, at least that is something.

For a full month after Peg’s death, I would get up and get dressed and have the animals fed by 7 a.m. and then drive to my favorite breakfast place. Then the COVID-19 lockdown began after Thanksgiving and I couldn’t go out, so I sleep. I no longer care if I am sleeping my life away.

This is one of the big problems COVID-19 has caused, not seeing regular acquaintances, or being able to go out; it traps me in a downward spiral of living with my thoughts, dangerous thoughts, magical thoughts that I will in some way have her back. Unrealistic expectations that Peg is not really gone.

I am living on the edge of a great void. Everything that enters my mind reminds me of the life we had together. Across this great void I see visions of her and I together, the visions go in and out of focus, a great fog in my mind obscures every thought of today, I live in the past.   

I am eating less now, I am losing weight, not a bad thing I rationalize. Breakfast and lunch sometimes hold me through the night, occasionally augmented by a piece of pie. I nap in the afternoon unable to be interested in doing anything constructive. If I work on this writing, grief overcomes me and I can longer see the words on the screen because of the tears in my eyes.

No matter who is helping me, they leave by 4 p.m. and I am alone. Alone to watch the day fade away like I am allowing my life to do.

I moved the recliner to our bedroom so I can spend most of the day with Peg. Her ashes are in a cloisonné urn sitting on her dresser guarded by a bevy of stuffed animals. From my position in the recliner, I have conversations with her.

It is just a few days until the new year. My asthma has been steadily getting worse. I am using the meds, but by this morning I am very congested. I decide to just lie in bed and not get up. My plans change when my breathing gets worse.

My breathing is now very labored. I have trouble going up and down the stairs to feed the cats. I know my breathing health worsened because of my grieving. When I am overcome by the memories of Peg’s death, my chest tightens up, I wonder if the pain is a prelude to a heart attack. Am I capable of making good decisions about my physical health?

I retained Peg’s caregiver, the woman who was with Peg non-stop during the last three days of her life. Peg’s caregiver is my caregiver now. I text her with my decision to go to the local Urgent Care facility. She texts back that she will meet me there.

When I arrive at Urgent Care, the receptionist informs me that they do not have the facilities to treat my asthma, I am instructed to go to the ER.

The ER is a difficult place for me. It is where the ambulance took Peg after her fall and subsequent stroke. It is where I held her hand before the ambulance transferred her to a different hospital, a hospital that could handle neurosurgery.

I no longer take routes that lead me past our hospital. I go out of the way to avoid the memories. We have a good hospital, the men and women at both hospitals were an enormous help keeping Peg comfortable until I came to the conclusion that Peg would go into hospice and I would take her home to die with her beloved animals, our family and myself.

Those words were extremely difficult to write. I fell into a coughing fit and now I have to stop and allow my body to recover from the flow of hormones and endorphins, which if I am not careful, can cause me great physical harm.

At this time, a few days before the new year, I am only sure of one thing. I want Peg back.

Why did you do it?

Blam!

I was hiding in a muddy ditch, the run-off water from the war-torn landscape surrounding me was pouring over the top of my boots. I felt the cold water running down my legs around my ankles, filling the void between my feet, my socks, and the worn leather boots, one of the few possessions I had: boots, the clothing on my back, and what was left of my self-esteem. The only things remaining from the long love affair with my beloved.

A line of enemy soldiers was walking slowly on the road above me. I stayed deathly quiet hoping not to be discovered. To the solders, marching the road in the twilight, I would be seen as one of the many corpses rolled off the road, shot so they wouldn’t interfere with the flow of the war machinery and troops moving to establish a new battle front. Some of my comrades rolled into the ditch were still alive, groaning from mortal wounds, not a threat to the enemy anymore. I was one of them, but alive enough to be a threat.

One of the soldiers looked my way, something about how my body was positioned attracted her attention. She broke ranks; drawing her pistol, she walked directly to me and stood over me. From my chest down position, I straightened and defiantly confronted her.

This was a take-no-prisoners war, no Geneva conventions, no rules, just unmitigated hate for another human being. Humanity was now God-less.

She calmly raised her pistol, cocked the hammer, aimed directly at my forehead and fired.

Her pistol discharges: An awful blast ensued in front of me, causing the bones in my face to vibrate and my teeth to chatter.

Ha, you missed me, I thought, my body propelled backward into the ditch already dead from the wound.

I must have shifted in my sleep because my dream also changed course: They say the body takes an average of eight minutes to die after the last breath. I always wanted to find that answer and what it was like to die. No one came back from the dead to let me know. Now, I have the answer. It would be good if I could tell others what dying was like, that would be my contribution to the ultimate knowledge of the Universe. I had obviously committed suicide by gun-shot. I thought about it: I could have used the meds, or cut my arteries, I know how to cut, a remnant from my former life.

Angel nudged my dream-state: “Well, it’s done now. You have left those who love you to grieve and sort it out, which is the downside that we spoke of many times.” My Angel was very distressed over my sudden decision to let go.

“Angel, I didn’t want to give you, or anyone time to interfere with my plans. If I was going to go, it had to be quick. I simply had to join my beloved in the Universe. The longer I waited, the more difficult it would become to catch up with her.” 

My poor Angel, after all those years waiting to help me cross the Vail, I didn’t give her time to show me an alternative.

“I can fix this and make it just a bad dream.”

With Angel’s words, I awoke with a start.

“What am I doing?” I cried out to no one. Angel rapidly retreated back into my subconscious.

***

Peg is gone and I can’t get her back. I want to join her on her journey into the Universe, I want to be with her. These are my thoughts and the content of many dreams about taking my life. However, I cannot bring her back; taking my own life to be with her would rule out any possibility of my writing about her passing.

Two months ago, Peg passed into the Universe and began her new Journey. Instead of a physical being, she is now comprised of pure energy, which contains the very essence of her soul.

The date of her passing, Oct 5th 2020, will never leave my memory. Now when I know the 5th of each month is coming, I automatically slip into the condition of grieving for her. My grief causes adrenalin and cortisol to flood my body. Both hormones are designed to protect my physical body from danger. Contrary to their purpose, the hormones wreak havoc with my physical health.     

Widower, a condition not exactly similar to widowhood. It is the difference between men and women and must be treated as so. I hope my explanation of my journey into being a widower will enlighten many, especially men, who find themselves in my position. 

We had been married for fifty-two years. She was the love of my life, and now I am without her trying to make sense of what my new life will be like.

In the room where I write, every day I look out the window and see a doe walking by – it seems the little doe appears at the times I need reassurance.

Writing is the most important thing I can do to preserve my loved one’s memory and to keep my sanity. Nevertheless, I have entered a new world of voluntary insanity, magical and irrational thinking, that if it weren’t for being a grieving widower, I might be committed. 

I have a habit of going out of the house most nights, just before darkness covers me with the peaceful still of the night. The quiet of the night is my time to communicate with the Universe. Now I also communicate with her soul, sometimes in the form of that doe.

I talk to the doe out loud just as I would if my loved one was still living. My loved one is now living in a new form, one of the wonders of the Universe. The doe stays quite still and looks directly at me. I receive my answers in the form of a mysterious telepathy that only lovers in a long-term relationship understand; a feeling, in place of an actual conversation or simply a poignant glance.

The Universe now supplies me with many opportunities to communicate with Peg’s soul. The doe is one example, other animals, found objects from our past, even changes in the weather allow me to remain in contact with her.

Now she is gone, her soul is everywhere around me, I only need to take a break from my grieving to receive her communications. It is true I will no longer be able to possess her physically, greatly adding to my distress at her passing. My ability to communicate with her soul is still as strong as it ever was when she was physically living; we would sit quietly in each other’s presence and know intuitively what was on the other person’s mind.

***

I offer my story of Peg’s passing into the Universe and my journey to find my way after her death, in the hopes you will see some parallels to comfort you on your journey surviving the loss of your loved one.

Day in and Day Out

I am enveloped in a fog, a mist; I reside in a magical place, a place between two worlds. One commonly spoken of as reality, and another place, the dream world where I can once again live with Peg.

It is dusk now, figuratively in the sense that I am coming to the end of my own life, and actually dusk, a forbidden time for me. Dusk can be a time of incredible beauty or a time of great sorrow. A time for crying and for dying. A time of gratitude for a day and a life well lived. Or a time spent reflecting on a great loss.

The yin and the yang, happiness and hopelessness, richness and loss. A jumble of emotions, which overload my neural networks and cause me great confusion. A place of in-between.

I have been living here, in this place of in-between for months. Not fully being able to understand what happened to me, what happened to us, the us forged over a lifetime of living in each other’s company. 

It is worse now. Four months from when she died and my daily grieving is unrelentless. Everything I think about, even my dreams, trigger my realization that Peg is gone. The worst times are when I awake from a dream state where I actually can hear her and feel her body next to mine, exactly as it was, perfect in every detail as if I had gone back to the morning when we both got up to start the day, the day when she died.

Grieving upsets my whole body, not just my mind. My body has been finely tuned, tuned to operate on a schedule learned and reaffirmed from all of my daily experiences. Tuned to live everyday with Peg. With Peg’s death, my mind and body suffered a terrible shock. Now nothing is as it was before. A huge part of me, the part that was Peg, is now missing. I can barely function with the pathetic part, me, that still exists.

It is common wisdom that the longer our loving relationship was, the greater the depth of despair.

Looking through the research online offered for the bereaved, I found a number of similarities to my experiences and the experiences of other widowers. Confusion, chest pains, headaches, heart aches, shortness of breath, depression, unexplained body pains, weight loss, weight gain, nightmares, not enough sleep, too much sleep. The list is endless, all caused by a mind/body combination seriously compromised by a great trauma. The trauma of losing my dearly beloved.

In the first month after her death I was stunned, falling into a condition of doing the daily chores and finishing the needed paperwork caused by her death, I was on auto-pilot. Then as weeks wore on, I was forced to create a new daily routine without Peg. The persistent reminders of our life together and the realization that she was never coming back got the best of me.

One day the pain in my chest became very great and would not subside. I knew I didn’t have heart trouble, for in the past I kept a regular schedule of physical exams, no heart abnormality was found. I began to believe it was the well-known broken-heart syndrome, Takotsubo cardiomyopathy. Although serious, I read the symptoms tend to lessen over time. I decided not to pursue it with a cardiologist, preferring to wait longer and call my doctor. 

My doctor, a man younger than I but experienced with the elderly, returned my call promptly. I told him of my plight. My doctor knows I prefer not to take prescription medicines unless I absolutely have to. He prescribed a medicine used to treat surgery anxiety and pain. The medicine did not have to be taken every day to be effective. I could use it on demand. The downside is that it is a powerful sedative and I shouldn’t drive or expect to be a productive writer while it is in my system. One pill a day when needed is the prescription. It is very effective. I take it on occasion when my grief becomes overwhelming.

I know what I am doing, I am buying time to allow me the needed consideration of what has happened. Time to piece together a new life, a life without Peg.

***

It is 4:30 a.m., I awake fully expecting to hear and feel Peg lying next to me. It is not to be, she is gone and never coming back. I burst into heaves of crying, tears upon tears, sob after sob without any breaks until I am finally spent of that memory, which triggered such strong emotion.

I lie in bed not wanting to get up, time passes, 5:30, then 7, and my Protestant work ethic prods me from my tear-stained pillow and the warm comfort of our bed. It will be another day of very little productivity and great pain. The medicine works well, almost too well. My chest pain subsides and I enter into a quiet, peaceful wakefulness.

I talk to Peg, asking her to wait for me. I will be along soon enough. I ask for her forgiveness for any transgression and pain I may have caused her during our time together. No answer is immediately forthcoming, I wish it was. These are the questions I will have to answer on my own, making the pain of her loss much greater.

To those of faith in the power of the Universe, it is known the answers may not come immediately, nor in a form I would expect, but the answers will come over time. Time is one of the problems. The first two years after a great loss is a dangerous time for widowers. The odds of taking my own life to be with Peg are very high. The thought of being with her considerably outweighs the life of pain I am enduring now.

Several years ago, Peg and I put together a plan of yearly spending in case we needed help several times a week or daily to keep us in our home as long as we could. Those plans and the proper papers to allow an orderly transfer of joint assets to the survivor allowed us to create a budget to pay for the needed help. We have been fortunate in having a number of qualified people willing to serve us if the time and need came. Well, that time and need is here.

The way I feel now, grieving so intently, I wouldn’t be able to care for myself easily without help. I do not want to burden our children or our friends with what has become my daily needs.

Our world is in the grip of a global pandemic, Covid-19, greatly complicating my basic needs of shopping and housekeeping and taking care of the cats and our goat, let alone satisfying my need for contact with another person. The nights are the worst, I am alone.

When Peg had her stroke in October of 2020, the Covid-19 lockdown had been lifted at the hospital, I was able to be with her in the ICU and arrange hospice. I came to the realization Peg would not want to live with her considerable infirmities caused by her stroke. Peg’s health power stipulated she did not want extraordinary health care intervention. Peg would rather die in the comfort of her home with her beloved cats, her children and me.

Peg passed away within four days of bringing her home. Still, I ask myself daily if there was anything I could have done, in retrospect, that would have created a different outcome for Peg. These are the questions that make my grieving so difficult as well as the constant vision and remembrance of Peg’s last hours.

During our fifty-two-year relationship, we were together most of the time, except for nights when I traveled for business or the few times I indulged in a hobby where I would need to stay away overnight. We were always together, which included the fact we slept in the same bed for our entire relationship.

Peg and I often discussed the cases of elderly couples dying within hours of each other. We felt we were always connected to each other’s hearts. I seemed to know Peg’s thinking intuitively without asking. In our bed during the night, I was awakened before Peg moved around in bed. She would ask, “Did I wake you?” “No,” I would reply. “I was already awake.” Which was the truth, I had anticipated the change in Peg’s natural sleeping rhythm even as I was sleeping.   

In a study done by Emilio Ferrer, a UC Davis psychology professor who conducted a series of studies on couples in romantic relationships, he found that couples connected to monitors measuring heart rates and respiration get their heart rates in sync, and they breathe in and out at the same intervals. This fact was important to me when I read this quote from Mimi Guarneri, MD, “Couples at night, their heart rhythm goes into a synchronized pattern, which raises some very interesting issues. What happens when that pattern is broken? Or it’s not there?”

Peg is no longer here with me. Not only is the synchronized pattern broken, no familiar pattern exists for me. I am broken, trying desperately to make a future out of the torn remnants of our past.     

Prophecy

Prophecy

I consider many of the stories I write are a prophecy of things to come. I believe this because I believe in the quantum of quantum physics.

There is a possibility of many parallel Universes in existence at the same time. They are completely identical except for the outcome. Within this line of thinking, I become responsible for my future and its outcome.

For me the quantum part means that I see quantum physics as if it were two parts: the unknown magical part, quantum and the physical part, science, known as physics.

All new concepts and discoveries are not believable at first. However, over time these ideas gain credence. I have my reasons to believe that I am one of many who have a glimmering about the magical part of quantum.  

I believe that some of these multi-universes operate in the realm of the supernatural as we are becoming, however rudimentary, to understand. The realm of the spirit world of angels, demons, souls and spirits. The all-knowing Universe that I write about. 

Peg was my lifeline, analogous to the ‘line’ in my story, The Tight Wire.

Peg saved me by being my ‘line,’ which I held onto for dear life. Alas, she was also my safety net, which allowed me to take chances and walk a different line. With her I was able to constantly, but carefully, step outside my safety zone.

With Peg’s passing, my lifeline wire is fraying.

I believe Peg’s arrival in my life was by design, design of my own making, a quantum design, not the responsibility of my beloved Universe. I am prophesying my own future in the way I conduct my daily life and, in my thinking, and writing. I simply do not know the outcome in advance.

Now that Peg is on her next Journey, my lifeline is no longer connected to any substance. I am falling.

I am desperately trying to find my way without the aid of any light; falling through an endless void with no compass. My Angel is not there to illuminate my way, she is there only to help me complete my earthly journey, no matter what the ending will be.

In my story, I Make my Future, I address my own need to make my future by envisioning many quantum outcomes. The one I choose will be the way life goes for me.

There is no bottom to my fall this time; this is it. I am prepared to join Peg, or make a different outcome.

Excerpts from some of my stories are set below. I leave it to you to see the intimate connection of the words, which are there only, because as a writer, I am compelled to write the chain of words even if I do not understand them and their connection with the future.  

Excerpts from The Tight Wire

There was less than a thousand feet to go. The wire was heating up, the grease working itself out between the fine strands. During all the years he had spent learning, he found the wire had a life of its own, telling him everything, telegraphing its feelings through the buffalo hide soles of his slippers. But now, the wire was telling him it was dying.

Prepared in France, the wire was the finest of its kind, very strong, attention had been paid when it was woven. As always, he had supervised the rigging for this walk, spending hours going from side to side checking the tension and the security of the anchors. This change in temperature was unexpected. He had waited for three days for overcast, cool weather, with no wind. Halfway through, the sun broke through the clouds and warmed the wire. Had the gods parted the clouds to peer down at his walk? The tightwire began to slacken from the heat; a fresh breeze made balance difficult. He must have offended the gods; one cannot walk wire without the consent of the gods.

Walking was the province of the gods. You must always be in grace with the gods because only they prevented your fall.

Wallenda fell in South America, they said he didn’t supervise the rigging. He had offended the gods by calling it, `The Last Great Walk.’

He had been afraid before. At first, he felt paralyzed, his legs turned to lead, he stopped and balanced. The braided wire dropped one inch; the ends of his pole deflected up one inch. He began to walk and then run across the tightwire, the weight of 38 years of life left his body. He was light; he flew across a wire that was no longer pressed against the callused, godless soles of his feet.

When I wrote these words, I intuitively knew my life was intertwined with Peg. If Peg passed, my lifeline would become unraveled. How would I be able to exist without her?

Excerpts from I Make My Future

My future does not exist until I do something to move from my present energy place to some other energy place.

Tomorrow is an empty place. It doesn’t exist until I fill it. I can fill tomorrow with today or I can fill tomorrow with something new.

I have the power to change tomorrow by changing the energy of tomorrow by my greatest power, my thoughts.

This is my example of the power of Quantum thought. I think it, so it will be. My current state of grief is causing me great mental and physical harm.

My conundrum: here, with Peg’s infinite living energy around me and finish out my life on earth, or leave my earthly life now and join Peg in completeness in the Universe.

I believe in Life after Death but still, while currently falling through the void, I must find a reason to want to stay here. Only with that reason will I be able to arrest my fall.

 

Excerpt from Life after Earthly Death

It is said: physicist Stephen Hawking’s believed that after death, we simply turn to dust. If I believe his teachings and I have something important to contribute, I need to contribute it now. Or, is there an alternative?

 

Apparently, Hawking’s also believed that the Universe and Time all began at the same moment, the moment of the Big Bang: a theory that is all his science can prove, so in a way, as great a thinker as he was, he was held hostage by his science.

 

Personally, I am not held hostage because I do not need to prove anything and I have a different understanding of Time. Although rarely discussed, Time is the important part of the puzzle. The Big Bang was 13.8 billion years ago: an unfathomable period of Time for a human, but perhaps a mere blip in the life of a spirit or an Angel.

My explanation and knowledge of Time is why I know I will be back. I won’t need to wait another 13.8 billion years, because new Universes are created all the time. Other Universes are running concurrently with ours. Everything I do, say, or write is flowing into the other Universes as wisdom.

I am here, and there, in the same moment, but nevertheless, different. My contribution is made now, here, and in a different Universe concurrently. My spirit is in multiple Universes at once. I know.

 

Two Doors

Two doors in front of you stand closed.

Which to take? One enters on the realities of life, atomic dirt and strife.

The very thing you now despise.

The other enters upon your dreams, mystic clear and clean.

The very thing you idolize.

Now you must decide.

Each is clearly marked.

Some will choose the door marked life, to conquer all its dreadful stink,

and by winning self-esteem find the door marked dreams.

Some will open the other door and through the power of their dreams,

gain the strength to stand before the door marked life.

Some will exist forever, their hand outstretched into the air, and never open either door.

They will need no life, nor have no dreams.

The point: I find it is possible for me to live in the boundary between the multi-universes. I only know I live in this boundary after I read what I write, otherwise I consider my existence in this boundary normal and realistic and not magical thinking. My wish is that the above explanation will give you new insight into my thinking and how I believe I make my way through life by living the ending in advance. I will, therefore I am. 

Two Doors

Two Doors

Two doors in front of you stand closed.

Which to take? One enters on the realities of life, atomic dirt and strife.

The very thing you now despise.

The other enters upon your dreams, mystic clear and clean.

The very thing you idolize.

Now you must decide.

Each is clearly marked.

Some will choose the door marked life, to conquer all its dreadful stink,

and by winning self-esteem find the door marked dreams.

Some will open the other door and through the power of their dreams,

gain the strength to stand before the door marked life.

Some will exist forever, their hand outstretched into the air,

They will need no life, nor have no dreams and never open either door.

The Energy of Souls

Me

“I guess I died, huh?”

Angel

“Yes, you did, well you didn’t die, your physical body died. It got old; you had a few strikes against you by not taking care of your health. It was mostly a good life and got better towards the end, you accumulated a lot of wisdom. I am proud of you.”

Me

“Is the Source proud of me?”

Angel

“The Source doesn’t know you. The Source only creates life. It is up to you to find your love and happiness, either here in my arms in the Universe, or in another body when you decide to reincarnate.”

Me

“Do you mean I am not loved by the Source or the Universe? They do not care about me?”

Angel

“The Source created you and equipped you with all the ingredients for you to love yourself and for you to love others. The Universe is the store of all knowledge, yours and everyone and everything else from the beginning of time. That is enough. There are souls who have loved you in the past, here in the Universe, and during your stay in a human body when you have reincarnated and now that you have passed, those who love your memory.”

“Some souls you have met along the way have become soulmates. With them you have a special loving relationship, which nurtures the both of you and affirms you are becoming a complete soul yourself. Then, of course, you have me, you love me and I love you. This is one of the roles angels play as we travel with you on your eternal journey.”  

Me

“What do I do now?”

Angel

“You have some choices to make, they are your choices, yours and yours alone. You will need to decide if you want to reincarnate again, or do you want to fly with me in the Universe forever?”

Me

“I have more work to do, I am not ready to fly forever, I still can help others. Tell me again how I will know when it is time to reincarnate?”

Angel

“You have been here in the Universe before. You will use the wisdom of the Universe to find your way to reincarnate into a human body again when you are ready. You are in a state of pure energy. You have no physical form. The Source has prearranged it so your unique energy is yours and yours alone, it is your exclusive energy. You are now in the Universe, a place so immense you may never come across another soul for what could be an infinite length of time.”

Me

“Will I be able to connect with the souls of those whom I have loved and have come here to the Universe before me? Will I find my beloved parents and sisters? Will I be able to be in touch with my beloved Peg even as she has not passed at this time? Will I find my soulmate here, or can I connect with my soulmate even if she is still on earth in the body that she called her own when I met her?”

Angel

“Your questions are natural to ask, because you have not achieved the state of having received total wisdom.”

Me

“How am I to reincarnate if there are no other souls to lead the way?”

Angel

“Dear One, the Universe will supply you with the knowledge of reincarnation when you are ready to go to another human body. You will know when, the Universe will sense that time and supply all the help and direction you need from other souls when your time comes. As long as you have work to do, reincarnation will happen naturally for you. There will be no concern for time or timing, reincarnation is automatic for those who wish to continue their work.”

Me 

“Will I eventually come here to the Universe and live forever with you? When will my need to reincarnate stop?”

Angel

“You will sense a time when your knowledge is so great, when you no longer have to ask questions, when you know the answers. Your purpose will change from reincarnating to teaching. Your soul life will become important to the Universe in the role of a teacher. At that time, you and I will live here in harmony and bliss, here in the Universe forever. This is when your role of becoming a complete soul ends and you will serve the Universe’s highest purpose: teaching other Souls to find their highest purpose.” 

Nepenthe

Nepenthe

Then Helen, daughter of Zeus, took other counsel.

Straightway she cast into the wine of which they were drinking a drug

to quiet all pain and strife, and bring forgetfulness of every ill.

Homer’s Odyssey mentions the drug of forgetfulness or nepenthe.

Like many in Greek literature and mythology, sorrow comprises much of my real life. But sorrow, like my muse, is needed by me to see that I must make a change. The medicine to make me comfortable with my sorrow is creating something from the depth of that sorrowful emotion, which will be new, it will have the potential to be a promise.

Out of the garden of chaos, new and exciting potentials grow; most become so involved with their distress that they miss the potential. Great changes for the better, start with a sigh, a whimper, and the determination to carry on to a better place.

The Source has made it so that all living things change and renew themselves. Everything is in the process of change and renewal, including things we do not consider to be living such as the Earth itself and the Universe, everything is living. The renewal begins with a small change, as in the smallest change in the DNA of the next new cell growing in my body. If I am uncomfortable with the process of change, nepenthe is a drug, a medicine to help me cope.

Rather than forget my sorrow, I use it as the foundation, the bedrock of the new potential, the new promise. Nepenthe used in this fashion is very restorative.   


The Universe a long time

Time

She is a wonderful young woman – we are so much alike in thought and so far apart in age. It just isn’t our time.

My time, your time, what time, time flies, no time, a lot of time, a long time. Every other time saying you can think of is all part of the way human beings perceive living in our natural world.

This perception of time is related to the spinning of the Earth on its axis giving rise to the 24-hour passing of day and night, and the Earth circling the sun every three-hundred and sixty-five days, which makes our calendar year.

Measurement of time in this fashion was primarily so employers could count on a specific number of hours and days devoted to production by workers and employees. The focus was on the hours that would be put to use by workers, and in this way eventually narrowed the time scale down to hours and minutes of production.

The scale of time was longer in agriculturally based economies as time was measured by the number of hours of daylight and the changes to the growing cycle. This longer time frame is more in line to what I see is the direction our human society will be embracing in the not too distant future, once we learn to cooperate on longer plans.

To be effective, plans such as creating less harmful ways of generating energy, will require cooperation and the acceptance of long stretches of time. Plans, such as cleaning up the oceans and not causing harm to the other living creatures, will require cooperation of many others on our planet. Currently these dreams seem very far off. Human beings have yet to grasp the concept that we are all in this together, we share the same systems and have a great deal to gain from what I call ‘grand-scale cooperation.’

For my purposes, there is more to the explanation of time: I believe there is also a different kind of time, which I shall call the Time of the Universe.

The popular explanation of the creation of the Universe dates the beginning of that creation as thirteen billion years ago of our knowledge of ‘time.’

What if the Universe has its own measure of time on a very different scale? Perhaps this is the second creation of the Universe. Perhaps the Universe began, expanded, contracted and fell in on itself and exploded out again. Perhaps the Universe reincarnates as I do. If so, then I would have been by this way many times. Perhaps the thirteen billion years goes by in a blink of an eye on a Universe timescale, just as my life goes by in a blink of an eye on my human timescale.

I believe the Universe is a living thing that lives on an entirely different timescale. It is life in its own way: a way we seldom understand. For example, the Universe is constantly creating suns from the smallest particles that are attracted to each other and eventually accumulate to such a size, the gravitational pull compacts these particles until they start a nuclear process that burns them up, they explode and cast particles into the space to start the process over again.

In the Universe right now, trillions of stars are in some stage of this creation and dissolution, a process which takes billions of years; a long time, but a form of life nevertheless.   

I want to believe in that form of life, because I understand my human body will not last forever. Only if I believe my Soul will be living forever, will I be able to make sense of the loss of my human body after such a brief life here on Earth.

It makes little sense for me to believe that the definition of living things is very similar to the way humans and other animals live here in our world. The Earth could go on for another billion years being the home for some kind of living organisms long after human kind and many other animals go extinct.

Essentially – life is ebbing and flowing on many different timescales. I can only know one of them, or can I?

The problem as I see it is many only understand the timescale that relates to their own human lives. Our lives may live and die in relationship to our understanding of the length of an average human life. That average life span now is about 84 years for men and 87 years for women. Those times are lengthening out as humans begin to take better care of themselves, get better nutrition, and develop the skills to defeat disease and aging.

These years are the life span of a human body, but not a life time of a soul. A soul may have an infinite life span. A soul may live longer than our Universe.

My soul has access to the wisdom of the Universe. Some of that wisdom I am in the process of depositing into the Universe as I write these words. Some of the wisdom was deposited into the Universe by others recently or decades or millennia ago. This information is what living things access to keep their lines alive for a long time.

When I consider our Universe has a life of its own, no matter how foreign that life may be to my understanding, I draw the conclusion my soul will circulate through the life of the Universe stopping frequently here in earthly bodies as part of my soul’s journey. My soul may have been here on Earth many times in the past when Earth became hospitable to human life.

Humans are now embarking on a plan to form colonies of human lives on Mars. We are looking for signs that Mars may have, at one time, hosted life. Not a ridiculous idea; merely a significant possibility. We may be able to duplicate the conditions for human life on Mars to the extent of living there in a way closely resembling living here on Earth without resorting to significant restrictions to freedom of movement and human interaction.

This will take a long time as measured using the current timescale of human life. It is a drop-in-the-bucket on the timescale of the Universe. I propose human beings will become used to the idea of this much longer timescale and the new Humans, which we are becoming, will think and plan on this new larger timescale. This will happen as life expectancies of humans increases, and the knowledge of the reason of human existence gets shown to us once we can demonstrate to the Source that we are capable of living in harmony and share a common vision of what human life is about.

We are getting closer to gaining this knowledge once we all understand we are interconnected to a bigger Universe and have the responsibilities of not only ourselves to be concerned with, but the responsibility of being a good conservator of the place we are living now, planet Earth.

Taking care of Earth is an important step in moving on to a distant world. If we can’t take care of living here on Earth, we will not be able to take care of living elsewhere. I believe it is common for human beings to move on to new concepts without spending the time to fully resolve problems with their old possessions, systems, living standards and locations. If we do not fix Earth before relocating, we will only wreck the same havoc on some other planet as we have done here. There is time to fix all this before we find out that the way we did things in the past will only lead to poor results in the future.

It is natural for human beings to blunder ahead, that is how we get new concepts to work, and important positive changes to our lives to transpire. The next evolution of human beings will have to be far more careful to manage the task of change. Genius only goes so far – the Universe will not be tolerant of our shortcomings for very much longer.

To arrive at this new place of understanding the following conditions would have to exist. We would have to stop fighting with each other and develop and share a common vision of a harmonious world, here, or any other place humans will call their own. We are getting closer. I believe the next step is when humanoids evolve into a new human life form, one where each of these new humans automatically knows through their DNA encryption how to get along with each other. If the past is any predictor, this new human is still thousands of years away in its development. The new human will have to live in harmony with the last of the old humans, which is going to be a daunting task.

Time – living anew; she lives.

Alison

“Alison, you have a choice,” his words rang out loud and clear in my ear. “You can go with me, or I will turn you loose and you can take your chances with the rioters and the secret police. You saw what happened to your friend just now.”

He had a tight grip on me. His right hand firmly over my mouth, and his left arm around my ribs just below my breast, a position he knew would make it difficult for me to breathe.

I could smell the kerosene on his hand and the acrid smoke of the firebombing around us with the little air I was able to get in through my nose. An image of my coworker with a bullet through her forehead came immediately to my mind.

“I’ll go, I’ll go,” I mumbled. “Just let me get some air.”

He relaxed his death grip on me. I was able to turn sufficiently to see that he was a large, strong man, not very handsome, his face had many scars, fighting scars. With a simple twist of his arm, he could easily kill me.

“Follow me,” he commanded still grasping my arm.

I suddenly realized even if I had taken the training course offered by the hospital on how to protect myself from an attacker, it wouldn’t have helped: I would have been a goner, killed while feebly trying to protect myself. In all my years at the hospital I had never come across a brute of his strength and size.

“Where are you taking me?” I gasped.

“To him,” the hulk replied. “Stop talking and come with me as fast as you can. We are going back into the hospital and out through back doors of the emergency room.”

I didn’t have a choice, he spun me around and pulled me alongside of him.

“Outside the intake doors of the ER, we have an ambulance ready to bust out the back gate of the hospital. The gate is locked, my men are ready to blast it open.”

He used his elbow to activate the ER’s main doors. A guard came at us from the security area; with one jab to the guard’s throat, my attacker disabled him and crashed him to the ground. The guard had no idea of who he was up against.

“Did you kill him?” I gasped.

“Maybe,” he said. “Don’t have time to fool around.”

The nurses and physicians were in shock at seeing what had transpired. They stepped well out of our way as we raced down the corridor to the intake area. I looked back to see a physician bending down to attend to the fallen guard.

“My bag, my bag, I can’t leave that behind.”

“Yeah, you have something we may need.”

A heavy object attached to his gun belt banged against my thigh. It was my handbag, I was relieved, I had the next in the series of cellphones in there, which he had given me, so I could call him for help. 

No one followed us. The intake doors opened – another big man stood by the rear of a running ambulance.

“I’ll get in the right side, the kid will drive,” he said loudly over the noise of the idling diesel engine. Directing his attention to this second very big man he yelled, “Get her in the back and make sure she doesn’t give us any trouble. Be careful, our orders are to deliver her in one piece.”

“What’s happening?” I stammered.

“We are getting out of the Metropolis, as fast as we can, before the Woman’s Police Force catches on that we have you and comes looking for us.”

He unlatched the rear doors of the ambulance, the second very big man jumped in dragging me behind into the rear of the ambulance.

I didn’t have a chance to sit down before the ambulance was underway. We screamed out the ER intake road, then lurched over the median toward the back gate.

The second big man, attacker, or savior, I didn’t know which, held me from falling over. He pulled down seats folded against the ambulance bulkhead and said firmly, “Fasten your seat belt, it’s going to be a wild ride.”

We raced through the parking lot, I couldn’t see where we were going, only where we had been.

Our speeding ambulance came to a quick stop, tires squealing.

I heard a loud explosion, metal parts rained down on the roof of the ambulance. The driver accelerated aggressively.

“That must be the explosive destruction of the rear gate,” I thought to myself.

Bam! We hit the gate solidly. With a mighty jolt, the steel gate yielded immediately to the weight of the speeding ambulance. I was glad I had my seat belt on. We came to another quick stop. The rear door of our ambulance opened, another brute got in and lay on the floor. I surmised he was the man who blew the gate open.

“Go. Go,” the floor man screamed to the front seat occupants.

The driver activated the horn and siren, I could see reflections of the emergency lights in the windows of the buildings as we passed at great speed out onto the street.

“They sure built this one strong,” announced floor man, as he rested his head on a jump bag filled with bandages and meds. “An old 4.8L V8 engine, 285 horsepower, 295 foot pounds torque, they don’t make them like this anymore.”

In a sick way it was humorous, here I was with four nasty guys, out running many other nasty guys or gals, I am not sure which, who wanted to kill us, and one of us was talking about the size of the engine in our stolen ambulance. Gotta’ love life!

Our ambulance headed out onto the freeway. The traffic was normal for this time of day, an equal number of vehicles moving in both directions.

“Why aren’t any emergency or police vehicles converging on the hospital?” I asked.

“They are converging on the front of the hospital. The revolution has just begun. The government is suppressing the news so the public will not become alarmed and they are hoping to get the riot at the front gate under control before the public finds out. The government doesn’t want to attract attention to the hospital. But, this time, they are going to have their dirty, deceiving, divisive hands full.”

Floor guy consulted his watch, large-faced and sturdy – just like him, built to ‘take a licking and keep on ticking.’ It was an uncomplicated watch, just the basics, the dial visible in any light.

“The second and third wave of the revolution is starting now,” floor guy yelled over the roar of the speeding ambulance, directing his remarks mostly to me. “They are on the south side of town, at the Capitol, and out in the Big Glass area, which will soon get the attention of the public and the word will spread outside of the accepted government channels. The government won’t be able to contain this riot now.”

“Big Glass, isn’t that where all the medical research takes place? Why would the revolution want to fight down there?” I asked.

“Big Glass is research all right. The wrong kind, it’s where the male specific virus was developed and a sperm bank,” floor hulk replied.

“Come again?”

“Big Glass is where the genetically engineered sperm are housed, you know, the ones that fertilize eggs with only female DNA,” he answered rather thoughtfully. “His job is to expose that program to the public, and to overthrow the current government and see to it that a responsible democracy is restored.”

“By his job, you mean the man I’ve been seeing?”

“You must be very important to him. He sent us to get you. I protested it was too dangerous an undertaking. He wouldn’t hear anything of that, then he arranged this confrontation at the hospital’s main gate, so we’d have a diversion to get you out. I have to admit, it has been very effective.”

We rounded a corner and a Hollister umbilical cord clamp dropped on macho floor guy’s chest. “Ewww,” he squeaked, brushing the clamp away.

I laughed out loud.

He ignored me and continued,

“After you snooped in your coworker’s computer, the government discovered the remnants of the selective virus study were still available on the old system platform. The government had assassins ready to abduct you both this morning at your respective homes but since the revolution foiled their plan, snipers were sent out to shoot you in the hospital parking lot. We got one sniper, but it was too late to save your friend, although it was better that she died, instead of being tortured for information. You would also have been tortured, in a very horrible way. These people are very effective; they even film the tortures and show them around to keep others from straying off the line. 

I turned my head as we continued on the freeway in a northerly direction. Watching out the back windows, I saw a large billboard, the center was painted with a symbol of a woman’s snake-entwined raised fist, the political statement of the resistance. I began to know where we were on the highway, I recognized some of the exit signs as we whizzed by.

“Why are we going in this direction and for that matter, where?” I asked nervously.

“We are going to leave the Metropolis through the North Quadrant, then ditch this ambulance and take our own Humvee out into the unregulated territory. They won’t follow us, too dangerous for them, our Minute Men snipers pick them off from long distances. Plus, the government is almost out of money, they conserve their resources by policing the Metropolis. If they find out we have you, and we are getting out of town in this

ambulance, they will launch a missile from a drone to blow us up.”

The hulk sitting next to me turned away from floor man and addressed the men in the front, “Yo, were you able to defeat the GPS and the transponder?”

The right-hand man turned, looked directly at me and explained what we were up against. “I cut some of the wires to the electronics that were obvious, I doubt if I got them all. We’ll ditch this vehicle once we get through the old border crossing in the North Gate, which has never been well supervised. It’s unlikely the government could arrange guards on such short notice, they need the ‘manpower’ to defend themselves against the revolution. In the event they were able to recruit loyalists at that off ramp, we have our rapid-fire Uzis’ – they will die. Simple.”

The thought of the automatic weapons sent shivers down my spine. “I don’t like guns,” I stammered. He stared right at me as if I was the reason people were going to die. Maybe we are all going to die; I don’t want to, especially before I can see him one last time: goodbye my friend. My face screwed up and I began to sob.

“Look lady, I know this is hard on you. You must really have a hold on him. I have never seen him so determined to get you back safely. He didn’t want to sacrifice you to the government. We are very good at this, it is what we do. Killing is part of our game, kill them before they kill us.”

I turned my head to face my rescuer. He went on to explain. “You know how Old Farm Rd. feeds off the highway? And then where Old Farm intersects with Old Pond? I have a Humvee under a bush pile on the Old Pond road. The three of us will get out about a half mile from the road intersection and walk through the bush to its location. Loverboy here, has volunteered to act as a diversion.”

“Why him?” I asked the hulk who was busy unlatching my handbag from his gun belt. “Why don’t we just ditch this ambulance on the other side of the border? We can all walk to the Humvee together.” I sounded as if I knew what I was saying.

The hulk pointed to the driver. “Loverboy has made up a plan, it’s his to carry out. He thinks if they send a missile and take out the ambulance they’ll assume they killed all of us. He will slow down, jump out of the ambulance, leave it running in auto drive and it will continue moving up the highway. He’s a fast runner and he’ll then run down the Old Farm road and meet up with us at the Humvee.”

I had stopped crying to listen and looked over to see the driver in the front seat. Loverboy, if that was his real name, was a teenager, thin and frail, his acne didn’t have time to get better, he was that young.

I took a chance to speak, directing my words to Loverboy, “Is it really all right with you, did these men twist your arm?”

“Ma’am, it’s okay. I may be young, but I’m part of the team. Don’t you worry about me, Ma’am, I can take care of myself.”

I turned and sat staring into the back of the ambulance. “Strange, this vehicle’s sole purpose is to save lives and now, to kill.”

“I know what’s on your mind,” the hulk said. “No one wants a revolution but we tried to negotiate a condition where the current government would concede control to a newly elected democratic government with all new people, a balance of men and women this time. But they didn’t want to give up the power and affluence they had gained and told us they would hunt us down and kill us, which, as you know by now, they are in the process of doing. They never realized he had a second plan in the event they wouldn’t agree.”

“Who is he?” I asked. “Is he that powerful that he can start a revolution?”

“Yes he is. I’ll tell you more later,” the hulk answered, this time in a softer and more concerned tone of voice.

Loverboy slowed down and took the Old North exit ramp. At first, I thought we would just drive off without incident, then I heard the men in front talking.

Right side man instructed Loverboy, “Looks like they stationed Loyalists along the exit and closed it with cars. Pull up close to them and slow down a bit; I’ll shoot them up and they won’t know what the Saint Mary to do. Ram the blockade! Now!”

We slowed, I could see out the windshield that a group of women were carrying rifles and standing in front of cars.

Right side man pulled an automatic weapon into the opened window; he raked the front scene with continuous gun fire. Half went down from his shots, the rest fired back. The women in the street quickly took cover behind the stopped cars on the highway; it did them no good.

Loverboy hit the accelerator and slid down below the dash with just enough height to see where he was driving. Several shots from the loyalists penetrated the top of the windshield, ricocheting wildly into the back of the ambulance, which then rammed the parked cars, spinning them out of the way and tumbling the Loyalists onto the highway.

Loverboy drove clear of the carnage, then swerved to the right, the hulk opened his door and jumped out. In a walking crouch, he fired automatic weapon bursts into the collision site on the ramp.

He systematically shot and killed the women who were still living after the initial fire fight and collision, including a woman who put her hands up in a sign of surrender.

He walked among them administering a coup-de-grâce to the head of each of them. After plucking a radio from a dead woman’s hand, he walked backwards, facing the wreckage with his weapon ready.  

“You murdered her,” I screamed out, while floor man held me down. “She tried to surrender!”

“Lady, that was no woman.”