My Mother’s Graceful Return

My mother left this Earth in August 2023, nearly three years before I wrote this.

I had already settled in another country by the time she passed. At the moment of her death, I felt an excruciating pain in my navel, as though something deep were being cut and removed. It felt like postoperative pain.

I knew she had died.

During the first few months after her death, there was a period when I heard her voice every day. She asked for help, saying that everything around her was dark. I asked her to stay with me until she felt better, and she did so for a while.

On certain days, I heard her several times. Listening to her in such distress was painful beyond words, even worse than seeing her during her illness. The sadness from these conversations showed on my face for a long time, no matter how much I tried to hide it.

She had left her body, but she did not seem to know where she was or what she was supposed to do. I wanted to be able to reach her at will, but my psychic abilities were not developed enough at the time to locate her clearly or offer the help she needed.

Almost one year after her passing, Emre—my soul friend for many lives, whose psychic abilities were more developed than mine—suggested that we try to find her. To our surprise, we found her in a cylindrical room resembling the inside of Rapunzel’s tower. Small windows stood high above us, allowing very little light to enter.

My mother was holding a broom and constantly sweeping the floor in preparation for guests who never arrived. She complained that no one came to visit her, although she always kept the place clean. She did not seem to notice how dark the room was.

She said that everyone had deserted her, including my father, who had passed away thirteen years before her, and the rest of her relatives. She was deeply unhappy, just as she had often been on Earth. Perhaps her troubled state made it difficult for others to remain near her.

The scene reminded me of the way she had lived. Although her house was surrounded by a garden that kept passers-by at a distance, she always kept her drapes closed. She also had thick curtains that she would draw just before sunset. When I lived with her, she would enter my room without saying anything, draw my drapes and curtains closed, and quietly leave again. That was her routine.

It always puzzled me. There was no one to see me on the second floor except the passing birds. As soon as she left, I opened them again.

It was as though she had built a castle around herself by drawing the curtains tightly closed. She had apparently carried this habit with her to the other side. Even there, she had found a dim room resembling the tower of a castle, shut herself away from others, and continued preparing for visitors who never came.

As my abilities developed, I became more capable of entering spiritual spaces and receiving information from them. When I connected with my mother again more recently, I discovered that something had changed.

She was no longer in that tower room with its high walls and ceiling.

She had found a purpose for herself—a position, or what we might call a celestial job. She had begun helping people who had recently died and did not know where they were. Some were confused, and some were frightened. Others remained attached to the people and situations they had left behind.

My mother had experienced this confusion herself. Perhaps that allowed her to understand them better. She could now offer others the kind of help she had once needed.

As rigid and strict as she could be during her life on Earth, she was always there when someone needed help. Everyone in the neighborhood knew her, from the wealthiest to the poorest. The stray animals knew her too. Despite the physical distance she kept from them, they knew she would always provide food.

Over time, she began guiding me during sessions. Through her voice, she gave me information about the reasons behind a client’s distress. During one session, she connected an opera singer’s difficulty with using her jaw to a childhood bicycle accident. The singer had long forgotten the accident, but my mother’s guidance brought the memory back.

During another session, a client asked why the abundance she once enjoyed had disappeared. My mother directed my attention to a family dispute involving an inheritance. After the client’s grandfather died, her father had manipulated the inheritance process to prevent the grandfather’s second wife from receiving her rightful share. The client immediately remembered the incident but had never considered that it might still be affecting her own life.

At first, I thought I might be imagining it. But when I shared the information, my clients repeatedly confirmed that it was accurate and relevant to what they were experiencing. Apart from this confirmation, there was also her unmistakable voice.

Some time later, one of my clients asked to connect with her mother, who had passed several years ago.

When we found her, she seemed distressed and unsettled. Her thoughts were still occupied with her daughters—my client and her sisters.

Her attention remained fixed on the family she had left behind. She was physically gone, but some part of her was still holding on to her responsibilities as a mother. This held her in a space between here and there.

As I observed this, I immediately thought of my mother and the valuable work she had taken on. I reached out and asked her to accompany my client’s mother toward a better state. I also asked her to help the woman release the concerns keeping her attached to her daughters.

My client was resting in an alpha state while this was happening. I had never described my mother’s appearance to her. Then she began describing what she saw.

She said that a petite woman with dark, curly hair was approaching. The woman, she added, gently took her mother by the arms and began speaking softly to her.

I could not help but grin.

It was my mother. This was exactly what she would do. Despite her strictness, she had never turned away when someone needed help.

Within a few seconds, my client saw her mother’s face begin to glow with light. The sadness had left her face. She was smiling.

This moment affected me deeply.

My mother, who had once called to me from a state of confusion, was now coming forward to guide someone else, as she had already guided many others. She had not only found her way, but had learned how to help others find theirs.

Since that experience, I have asked for her assistance many times. Whenever I reach out with such a request, I sense her excitement. She seems genuinely happy to be included and eager to help. If I remain in a session for too long, she tells me to stop so that I do not deplete my energy, something that any mother would do.

This has changed the way I think about her passing.

For a long time, the first image I carried was of my mother calling to me helplessly from the darkness. I worried about where she was and whether she had found peace. Now, another image has taken its place: my mother approaching people who feel lost, offering her presence and gently showing them the way forward.

The person who once asked for help has become the person who gives it.

Death ended the life through which I knew my mother, but it did not end her wish to be useful. Somewhere beyond the world I can see, she has found a new purpose—the purpose she was never able to find on Earth.

And sometimes, when someone needs her, I still have the privilege of calling her.

 

Note: The featured image is a real picture of my mother aged 25, at her wedding day. Image rendered by AI.