take care of my mum at the weekends but on Monday morning I would make the two-hour journey back to London and organize for a home help to visit and care for her until I returned again on Friday evening. I figured that this arrangement would work in the short term. If my mum’s condition deteriorated to the point where she couldn’t be left alone I knew I would have to make a drastic lifestyle change, but I didn’t really think that would happen. In fact I was convinced she was going to get better. My mum had always been a tower of strength. I had no doubt in my mind she would pull through.
For the next five months I returned home to visit my mum at weekends and every Monday when I left for work I somehow convinced myself that she was making small but steady improvements. I’d tell myself she was keeping down more of her food, staying awake longer and smiling harder. Sometimes she would be incredibly defiant, telling me that she was going to beat this, but other times she would be silent and tearful. Friends and well-wishers offered to help, but my mum refused to see any of them. She didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. She even urged me to leave her alone, but I couldn’t.
Watching someone you love fade away is an unbearably painful experience. I dealt with it by refusing to accept it was happening. It was impossible for me to admit to myself that she was going to die. But die she did – at 2.11 on a Tuesday afternoon.
She had been weak, jaundiced and fretful on the final Monday morning when I had left at the crack of dawn for work, but I had no reason to suspect that I would never see her again. At her last check-up the doctor had said she was doing as well as could be expected and was not close to the point of death. When the phone call came through to me at work informing me of her death it was like a hammer blow to my heart. It took several weeks for the news to sink in and when the finality of it all hit me, I blamed myself. I was convinced my mum would not have died if I’d been there, and if it really was her time to go, at least she would not have died with a home help but with her daughter. How I longed to turn back time and reverse my decision to leave that Monday morning. How I longed to hold my mother’s hand and hug her once more.
In the months and years that followed I never stopped berating myself for not being with my mother when she died. I hated myself for putting myself first. Whenever I begged for a sign of forgiveness from her and there was only silence, I was convinced that she was angry with me for deserting her, for not being with her in her hour of need. In my heart of hearts I knew that my mother could never hate me, but I couldn’t let my guilt go. The pain came gushing back to me in sporadic waves. Just when I thought I’d come to terms with it, it would come back with such force that it would knock me sideways. And here it was again, years after my mum’s death, on my daughter’s first birthday. Once again it was blunting my joy and chipping away at my confidence.
With about an hour to go before the guests arrived, I stared at my daughter’s birthday cake and thought about my mother’s final lonely moments. I kept my hands busy by tidying the house, but this didn’t keep my mind busy and I remembered my mother crying the last few times I’d left her. Why hadn’t I stayed with her? I tried to pull myself together, but my mother’s tearful and disappointed face overwhelmed me. My grief and hurt became so intense that I found it hard to breathe. I walked outside, hoping that a gust of fresh air would help release the tension inside.
It was a cold but beautiful afternoon with the promise of a warmer evening ahead. The sun was shining brightly in the sky and as I looked up I closed my tearful eyes for a moment to escape the glare. When I opened them, the sight that met my gaze was breathtaking. There, in the centre of the sky, was a cloud in the shape of an angel. It was perfect in every detail, especially the wings, which seemed to spread right from the top of the head to the bottom of the billowing gown. The hands were folded as if in prayer. What made the whole thing even more remarkable was this particular cloud was stationary and clear white, whereas the clouds around it were moving. It was also the only definite cloud shape I could see in the sky.
I’d often read about angels appearing in the guise of clouds, but this was the first time I’d seen one for myself. I knew then that my mum had forgiven me. I also knew that she had never been angry with me in the first place. A deep sensation of peace filled me and the burden of guilt that had weighed heavily on my heart all those years lifted. Here at last was the sign of forgiveness I had been looking for.
The cloud remained so clear for such a long time that it will be forever etched in my memory. When it eventually dissolved I walked into my house with a spring in my step and there, right in the centre of the kitchen table, was a mug with ‘World’s Greatest Mum’ written on it. I had no memory of placing it there and to this day don’t know how it got there, as there was no one in the house at the time. I’d been given it about a year or so before by my husband, but had never used it. I had felt unworthy of the accolade and had packed it away in a dark corner of one of my kitchen cupboards. But here it was, ready to use, without a speck of dust on it.
I put the kettle on to make a cup of tea and as I sat down to enjoy it with a couple of digestive biscuits I started to giggle. In my mind I could hear my mum saying with a hint of laughter in her voice that the mug was for her, not me! I knew that she was going to be present in spirit at my daughter’s first birthday party.
The years have flown by since I saw my perfect cloud angel and met my guardian angel in my dreams. My children are ten and eight now, but every moment with them is a precious gift – even those ‘not so perfect’ moments when tempers fly and doors are slammed. Everything my guardian angel told me in my dream is true. As long as we grow emotionally and spiritually, it’s OK to have weaknesses, to make mistakes and to do all the other things that make us human. I’ll never be the perfect mother, or the perfect human being, but I understand what my angel was telling me – that human perfection is about being imperfect. My children don’t want or need the perfect mother; they need a mother who loves them and who isn’t afraid to learn from her mistakes, and grow up again with them.
A Door Opens
Discovering that I was capable of experiencing such overwhelming feelings of peace triggered other amazing psychic experiences. My dreams became even more vivid and colourful, to the point where I was able not only to lucid dream at will – that is, to know I was dreaming – but also to travel out of body. (There’s more about my night-time adventures – and in case you’re wondering I mean this in a spiritual not a physical sense – in Chapter Five, Night Visions.) But it wasn’t just in my dreams that I saw angels – I felt their presence in my waking life too.
One occasion stands out in particular. My children were two and four and I was waiting with them at a bus stop when a couple of drunken men started to harass us. I was backed into a corner and with a double stroller it was hard for me to move away from them quickly. As their language became more menacing and threatening I glanced at the cars flashing past in the street and prayed for someone to notice what was going on.
Moments later, a blue limo pulled up on the opposite side of the road. I remember thinking that I hadn’t seen a blue limo before. The door opened and a blonde fairskinned woman in a dark blue suit leaned out and said quietly, ‘Leave her alone.’ The drunken men turned away from me and started to walk towards the car, at which point the woman closed her door and drove off. The drunks kept stumbling along behind her as if they were in a trance. I watched them walk off into the distance. I kept hoping the woman would come back and offer us a lift, because it took another 20 minutes before the bus arrived, but she never did. Whether she was an angel or a human guided by an angel I’m not sure, but I have never forgotten her, or her shiny blue limo.
The Flashing Cursor
I also believe that angels look over my shoulder as I work. I love what I do, but when I first decided to take the plunge and put my steady teaching and journalistic work aside and go freelance as an author, many of my colleagues and friends told me it was unwise as I’d never be able to earn a living. They were right. A book contract back then was like gold dust. I was strongly advised to get an agent, but I never needed one. After countless rejections I got my first contract for a book about health and that book led to another and another. And over the past eight years I’ve never been out of work.
It