Voices from beyond
Each month a reader writes to a loved one in the afterlife and Mandy Masters tunes in to share their reply. This month Mollie Sentance writes to her mum Beryl Dear Mum,
Parking near the seafront in Wales we watched excitedly as Dad pulled the little boat off the back of the trailer.
‘It’s a good day for it,’ he said, gazing out to sea.
This was the latest of our many caravanning holidays but this one was particularly special as Dad was taking you, me and my big brother, Karl, 13 on a trip on his beloved boat.
‘Harry, you don’t look too great,’ you said, noticing him clutching his chest.
Within seconds, Dad had slumped to the floor and you rushed into a nearby shop to call an ambulance which whisked him to Tywyn Hospital.
Back at the caravan, we waited anxiously for news.
Finally, at 2am the next morning, two policemen knocked on the door.
‘I’m afraid we have some bad news,’ they said.
I can’t remember much of what happened next, only of us all sobbing as they told us Dad had died. I can still remember the horror of coming home, our perfect family of four now three.
Thankfully Grandma Hilda and Granddad Bill were there to pick up the pieces and you soldiered on as best you could, fitting a part-time job at Cadbury’s around looking after us.
As we grew older, Karl left home but I stuck around. I loved living in the same house I had grown up in and we enjoyed each other’s company.
I was so happy when you met Ernie, who you enjoyed going travelling with.
When you weren’t off on your travels, you were pottering round the shops or the garden.
Then one day in June 2006, you showed me a nasty insect bite on your leg.
‘It doesn’t look good, you should see a doctor,’ I said.
The doctor said it was an ulcer. Despite you being put on antibiotics,
it grew fast and the pain got so bad that it hurt too much to lie in bed, so you had to sleep on the sofa.
One night, in November, you woke up struggling to breathe and were taken to Redditch Hospital by ambulance, but it was too little too late. You had sepsis and your organs were failing – not that anybody told us at the time.
On the last night you were alive, Karl had popped round to mine to watch a film when I suddenly got the weirdest feeling we had to go and see you.
‘Right now,’ I told Karl. ‘But you’re seeing Mum tomorrow,’ he protested, as I ushered him along.
Arriving at the hospital, we found you in bed.
‘Mom, Mom…’ you said.
Mandy doesn’t read your letters in advance. She is given only your first name and relationship to the person you’d like to speak to in Spirit
‘No, Mum, it’s Mollie,’
I said, thinking I’d misheard you. But you kept on saying it and suddenly it hit me: you were calling your mother.
I knew then you were dying and that Grandma Hilda, who had passed away, had come to collect you.
Just then, a nurse showed up and began packing up your belongings.
‘We’re moving your mum to a heart ward,’ she said. A heart ward? Why?
But visiting hours were over and I couldn’t see any doctors around to ask.
‘I’ll come back tomorrow and find out what’s happening,’ I promised you, but you had your eyes closed and didn’t seem to know I was there.
I thought the fact they were moving you meant you had a few days left at least.
Later, back at home I was coming out of the kitchen when I did a double take. A lamp I’d given to you to use while you were sleeping on the sofa, had come on by itself. What was this? A sign from someone in Spirit?
Sure enough, early the next morning, the hospital rang to say you had passed away, aged 77.
Putting my head in my hands, I wept my heart out.
The days that followed were a blur of visits to arrange your funeral.
Arriving home from the funeral directors with Karl, he paused at the living room door.
‘Oh, look, the lamp,’ he said. ‘Did you leave it on?’
My tummy did a flip. Now I felt sure it was a sign from Spirit… either a relative or you this time.
Karl was a sceptic and didn’t seem interested when I tried to explain, but just six weeks later, I had another spooky experience.
This time it was early morning and I was lying in bed when I suddenly heard your voice in the room, but you sounded like you were speaking from far away.
‘Now you’re not to worry about me Mollie,’ you said. ‘I’m not in pain any more, in fact I don’t need my legs at all! I can just float away…’ and with that, your voice faded.
I never really knew for sure if you believed in life after death, but you’d once told me you’d seen a ghost, in Dad’s old flat.
I visited a Spiritualist church where the mediums confirmed it was you who had switched on the light the second time.
It’s been 15 years since you left us and I believe you’ve visited again, this time in June 2019, shortly after my birthday.
Spotting a woodpecker on the lawn, I took a photo of it before noticing a series of rainbow lines on the picture and a white shadowy figure of a woman on the fence.
An animal lover like you, I’ve taken a million photos of the garden whenever a bird or creature has appeared, but I’ve never caught anything like that before or since.
I still live in the house we grew up in, surrounded by all the happy memories we shared as a family. It’s those I think of when I miss you and they never fail to bring a smile to my face. Thank you for sending all these signs, it’s a reminder you’re never far away.
All my love,
Mollie xx
I felt sure it was a sign from Spirit