Chapter 33

It was a relief to have the very public celebration of my youngest child’s life behind us. As an introvert, I needed to recharge my depleted energy with some alone and quiet time. My tears ambushed me every day, when I was least expecting them, a reminder that we weren’t living a nightmare. This was our new reality. Our kids packed up and reluctantly left their emotional and frailer parents the following day, on December 15. Then the house was silent. A few friends didn’t want us to be alone so soon, but I assured them it was what I needed.

Some afternoons I was surprised I hadn’t cried all day. So far. But without warning a new tsunami of grief would overwhelm me. I’d run to my War Room each time, where so many prayers of the past years had been lifted on Roma’s behalf, prayers that were answered miraculously. And that awful quick vision of the fall from the ladder, mere weeks before it happened, it also happened in that dark closet. Back there again, I pled with God to comfort me. And He always did. Around day forty, my daily crying stopped. The tears would still come occasionally, but not daily.

Bobby called us mid week, a couple of days after Roma’s Celebration of Life to proudly report he had had a star named in memory of Roma. How appropriate that Roma would get to be a star. I had already thought of the comparison. Roma was like a shooting star. So bright and intense, but so fleeting. Bobby asked if he could visit with his wife and son. Bruce and I welcomed Bobby and his family, as Bobby, a kind and gentle man,  came bearing the star registry certificate and a vase filled with twenty-one pink roses. His wife carried a tin box with “Roma” on it that she was surprised to see at her office Christmas party, filled with cookies. She asked the hostess if she might gift it to me.

Their son, 14, came and shared that Roma had played basketball with him, took time with him, and he would really miss him. That was my sweet Roma. Bobby and his family were very kind, and were encouraged that we were not grieving like those who have no hope of Heaven.

Two similar stories would later be shared by Bobby and a neighbor who knew Roma better than she knew me. Teresa organized the food train from our neighborhood. She visited and brought food a couple of days after Roma died. She was trying to be upbeat, but suddenly her face crumpled and she broke into tears. She apologized, saying she was determined not to cry.  But she missed our sweet boy who had been a friend of her son for a decade.

A week later I was returning her dishes. We stood inside her front door as I told her about the pink roses blooming on my red rose bush, fearing she must think me crazy.

She looked at me sheepishly, and began hesitantly, “You’re going to think I’m crazy.” I assured her nothing would surprise me anymore, as I leaned in, expecting a happy, crazy-sounding story. She shared that shortly after her grandmother died years ago, she felt her grandmother sit on the bed with her. She “knew” it was her. She never had that experience again when other loved ones passed away. Until Roma died. She explained that Roma had come by to visit their home days before the accident. While a group of boys were downstairs watching a football game, Roma came up, just to talk to her and her husband. Roma could talk to anyone, with his easy manner and eye-contact, he endeared himself to many parents.

Just days later, Roma was dead. She said when they looked at the bar stool where Roma had sat days earlier, she and her husband both wept. The next morning, while she was still in bed, she felt her husband sit on the corner of their bed. She sat up to ask him a question, but no one was there.  Convinced he had been there, and still close, she called his name. He answered from another room. He had not sat on the end of her bed.

She was looking at me to see if I could believe it might have been Roma visiting and comforting this family whose home he frequented since he was twelve years old.

I confirmed that I believed anything was possible. If God allowed it, Roma could still be spreading himself around, making himself known. Comforting his heartbroken friends and family. Pointing us all to God. Verifying he “went on.”

Bobby stayed in contact in the months that followed. He and I had texted and talked on the phone numerous times. In February, Bobby was eager to share a story with me. He and his father went to South Carolina for a fishing trip. One night Bobby awoke because his father had gotten up and sat on the corner of Bobby’s bed. Bobby felt him there and swung around to ask if everything was okay. But no one was there. Bobby quickly turned over to check on his dad, who was sleeping peacefully in the other bed.  I asked Bobby if the otherwise creepy experience had comforted him. He agreed it absolutely had. He felt it was Roma.

Months later, Bobby would call me again to tell me he had another experience where he felt Roma sit beside him. He was sure it was Roma.

Almost identical  stories from people who likely will never meet, comforted by a little visit that God could allow. Always pointing to Himself. Their stories give me comfort too.

There is another story that I hesitate to share. It is so bizarre, so void of reasonable explanation it seems to possess an evil element, a dabble into the occult.

I do not want to even speak of it. And yet I will share it to help unknowing folks from entering into an evil realm. I vowed to tell the whole story, so I must. But I have been completely transparent about everything, no matter how “weird,” so I will share this too. 

I had some strange thoughts as I was grappling with the raw devastation of Roma’s death. Those first few days I was not tethered to reality. My mind wandered to the outer limits. Roma could not be gone. There had to be an explanation.

The morning after the accident, we headed back to shock trauma after we got a call informing us that Roma had been declared legally dead earlier that morning. The fog of overwhelming grief those first few hours played cruel jokes on my mind that was distanced from reality. I had a sudden hopeful thought when heading out to the door—the head injury. I remembered something from the Bible about a fatal head injury, but the Biblical character came back to life. Maybe God was going to bring Roma back to life. God could do anything. Navigating the haze, I remembered the character fitting that description was the antichrist, so I had to quickly abandon that hope.  

But what came into the light over the next week was beyond weird.

Many of Roma’s Facebook friends might have noticed this detail on their newsfeed the previous May, and thought nothing of it. It defies explanation. Others shared his post from May, 2015 after Roma died.

When my daughters and their families returned from Wisconsin and Pittsburgh for Roma’s celebration of life, our house was a buzz again with activity. I was so distracted and consumed with planning, I hardly ventured out from that protective bubble I inhabited those first few days and weeks.

One evening I was aware my daughters Heather and Kellie were talking privately. Their hushed tones didn’t invite me into their conversation. I was suddenly curious because of their furrowed brows and intense expressions, and I heard Roma’s name mentioned and then the words, “And the timing was exact.”

I butted in, “What are y’all talking about?’

They paused, as though what they were discussing might upset their grieving mom. They glanced at each other and hesitantly let me in on their secret.

Did you see Roma’s Facebook post a few months ago? Back in May?” As I was wondering what Roma had to say in May could possibly be relevant now, one of my girls got her phone out and found the post in question.

It was a test on Facebook Roma had taken and posted the results. Roma often took those tests. I never take Facebook tests. I’m not even curious about what Disney princess I am or what color my aura is.  This one seems equally silly and innocuous. A zombie apocalypse test.

As I leaned in to read the results of Roma test, Heather and Kellie shot concerned looks at each other. Here is a screen shop of his result.  

Counting six months and 25 days ahead puts us on December 7, the day the doctors pronounced Roma dead fifteen hours after his accident.

I was stunned. The exact timing. And the mention of “falls.” Even a mention of “shoelaces.” I flashed back to the morning of Roma’s shoe lace breaking, and my near hysteria, when I had first considered the possibility of harm coming to him.

I don’t know what it all means. Maybe it is a warning of evil. Can it be a random coincidence? A friend always tells me I have the wackiest stories.  It is true. This same friend told me in a dream to “write all this down” before the really interesting stories began. All my “wacky” stories have illustrated God’s relentless pursuit and amazing activity in my life. But this story doesn’t feel like God’s activity. But, because it is true,  I felt I must share it. I don’t know how God will use it, but I trust He will. Maybe it will do no more than warn people not to dabble in those dark areas of “harmless” magic and fortune telling. There are evil forces at work in the universe.  And there is power in that evil. 

I’m certainly not suggesting that the Zombie Apocalypse test had anything to do with Roma’s accident. But I know that evil exists, and we should not play with it.

I continue to thank God for His comfort and pray for protection in this journey of grief. I pray our eyes are opened to see Him more! When the dark gets darker, the Light gets brighter. I have learned this is true.

Instead of engaging with the darkness, I will find strength in God. The joy of the Lord is my strength! 

Continue with Chapter 34