It has been a month since my uncle was killed, and I still can’t wrap my heart and soul around this tragic and tremendous loss. In fact, I’ve not been able to pray to God about my uncle’s death or about the effect my uncle’s death has had on me. I am a person of Christian faith. I don’t blame God for significant losses throughout my life, and I don’t blame God for my uncle’s death. I’m reminded of wise words that my mama taught me as a child: “God’s ways are not your ways, and neither His thoughts, your thoughts. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” What my mama instilled in me many years ago was spiritual wisdom from Bible scripture, Isaiah 55:8-9.
My pieces were shattered at 4:50 a.m., on May 7, 2019, when my cousin called, from 799 miles away, to let me know that her parents’ house was on fire. (My cousin lives adjacent to her parents.) In her next breath, she said that her daddy—who was my uncle—was trapped in the burning house. The phone call lasted thirty-five (35) seconds.
I prayed my uncle survived the fire, and I prayed the fire hadn’t destroyed the house. But my worst fears had become reality. My uncle had been killed in the house fire, and the house was completely destroyed.
My uncle lived in the rural country, which complicates quick response from the fire department. When one lives in a rural farm community, inevitably, there will almost always be loss of life or property or both whenever there’s a house fire.
I don’t know why God allows loved ones, who have died and who have transitioned to the spirit world years ago, to make contact with the living through dreams and visions. I’ve experienced psychic phenomena ever since I was a child.
On the morning of April 17, 2019, between 10:30 a.m. and 10:35 a.m., my mama visited me through a dream, and she told me that someone in the family was coming home, but the identity of the family member was kept hidden behind a veil. Now, my mama died forty (40) years ago. I hadn’t had a spiritual visitation from my mama in a few years. The visit, the dream, the vision—whatever you want to name it or call it—was clear and vivid.
On April 17, 2019, at 10:37 a.m., I sent my cousin a text message, asking how my uncle was doing. On April 23, 2019, I called my cousin, and shared my dream. It was during this phone call that I learned that my uncle had terminal lung cancer and had been given three to six months to live. And, if he underwent chemotherapy, he would live about a year. Exactly two weeks after my phone conversation with my cousin, my uncle is dead at age 79.
I will never understand why bad things happen to good people. It’s a mystery, of which only God has the answer. Although my uncle’s body was completely destroyed in the house fire, I trust and pray that his guardian angel protected him from the flames to where he felt no pain and guided his spirit home to God.
When I reflect on my uncle, I can’t help but reminisce on the time we shared in his vegetable garden, picking string beans at dusk. What a lovely moment in time we shared. Uncle Bo, you shall be truly missed, but you will never be forgotten, and you will always be loved, and I will see you again, in heaven.
WORKING THROUGH IT 