The strident interruptions cease and are almost forgotten until the
phone rings.The call brings bad
news.My mother has passed away.I now believe the alarms, unexplained at the
time, were set off by an unseen energy, and were a warning she lay dying.
Two days later I travel once more to
Victoria, this time for my mother’s
funeral.I gaze out the cabin window and
recall her last words to me.
‘I’ll see you again, love.’
She’d never said that before when I was leaving her.It was always ‘do you have to go?’
But two weeks ago she was unusually serene.
‘Ill see you again, love.’
I choose not to view her body.Like my son when he died, I’d rather have my last memory of my mother as
she was in life, not death.
Prior to her passing, my husband had decided to book a psychic reading
for himself.I think he wants to prove
something to himself.
I was born in
Geelong,
Victoria
and grew up in Shepparton, the heart of
Victoria’s
fruit growing district. After my
marriage I lived in
Melbourne.
I came to
Hervey Bay,
Queensland, in 1973 with my
husband and four sons and a year after our arrival our only daughter was
born.
I have always loved writing but
didn’t take it
seriously until my
friend and workmate, Ligita, approached me to write a book. Ligita’s
daughter, Ingrid, had been murdered
by a hitman, in November 2002, and Ligita, after reading a couple of
articles
I’d written believed I could put Ingrid’s story into words. The
book ‘To the Bitter End’ was released by
New Holland publishers in January, 2009.
A year after I began Ingrid’s
story my own son
was killed in a car
accident. A beautiful young woman died
with him. I now knew the pain and
heartache attached to the loss of one of your own.
Events following my son and his
companion’s
death propelled me to write
my own story which has resulted in the book – ‘I Can See Clearly Now’
Astrid Beath
Excerpt from 'I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW'
…I have no doubt August 2 will be one of the
saddest days for the rest of our lives, Margaret.It’s not a day for Steve and me to celebrate
our anniversary.I have been advised to
dedicate a certain amount of time to Tanja, then to give the rest of the day to
our anniversary, but to me that’s impossible.How can you honour a day of misery?
I will never forget that first reading with
Anthony.He said; “Your mother is very
ill.You realize she will not recover
from this?”
What a bold and accurate statement that was.Ten months to the day of my daughter’s death,
my beautiful mother and friend, succumbed to breast cancer.
Anthony validated details about my daughter, the
accident, who was driving, and her foot injury.He felt a deep sense of sadness after this reading which he described as
quite overwhelming for him.
Yes, our sadness and grief would overwhelm anybody,
even a medium who deals with grief stricken people all the time.Margaret, how fortunate we are to have
received so much from our loved ones in spirit.There is no denying that what we have experienced is far too accurate,
far too detailed, to be anything other than an amazingform of communication with the afterlife.
Love and hugs, Astrid.
As an
only child I have always been close to my parents. In 2000 my mother
was
diagnosed
with aggressive breast cancer and a year later Dad developed
Alzheimer's. I was by now
married to Steve and the mother of
three children, two girls and a boy. My daughters each
had a daughter of their own. Our entire family was very close-knit and
when in 2004, my
mother suggested we all move to Queensland, Steve and I didn't
hesitate.
We thought
it a great idea; so with our daughters and grandchildren we
came to Hervey Bay with
Mum and Dad. Unfortunately my son had work commitments and remained in
Melbourne.
Ten
months after our move north, our lives were turned upside down when
Tanja, one
of my beloved daughters, was killed in a car accident.
Her companion, John, who I had
never met, died with her.
This
tragedy brought together two grieving mothers, previously unknown to
each
other.
Our story, 'I Can See Clearly Now' has been told in the hope
it may help those who have experienced loss in their lives.
