The Veil Is Thin

Hello, reader. I hope you are doing well.

Thanks for coming back.

I had an experience on Mother's Day that woke me up again and reminded me of how thin the veil is between our world and the other. My mother is reminding me of that. When she was sick, she told me I can always go to the sea to feel close to her. That she will always be there, no matter what ocean it is. She is part of the water.

I believe she and her father, who both had the same light blue watery eyes, are ocean people. My grandfather had the strongest connection to the sea. He was in the navy and felt more comfortable with the waves than land. He had that seed in him like my mom. I think it goes far back in their lineage; somewhere along the way saltwater was added to their genetic makeup and never left. Getting passed to certain members of the family. And I think they passed it to me. The night before my pop-pop passed away, I spent the night with him in the nursing home, sleeping next to him. We were best friends and both felt how special that time was together. We talked about all the things coming to mind for him. I will never forget our conversation.

He lay there, telling me what was on his mind. The things he was seeing. He was picturing small, peaceful, lapping waves coming up on a quiet shore. He was saying how that was the most important thing. At that point, he was less than 24 hours from passing away, and he was going to the utmost peaceful state he knew: the ocean. I knew it was because he was part of the sea, it was inside of him. And he was returning to it. It was the most important state of consciousness for Leo.

Similarly with my mother, the ocean reigns supreme in peace, thoughtfulness and bliss.

On my twenty fourth birthday, I went to the ocean to feel close to my mom. Her favorite color was a light pink (and turquoise). I stood on the end of a jetty looking at the most beautiful pink sunset glowing back at me and thinking of her so strongly. I was on a state park beach that I have been going to my whole life; it is so clean and I have never seen trash there before. As I stood there, I looked out in front of me and saw something in the water. I focused my eyes and realized it was a balloon, floating up to me. On the balloon it said 'Happy Birthday.' I knew it was her. Over and over it was flooding me that she was there. That feeling is so surreal. And humbling because I was reminded of how close she is. Humbling to realize that I was wrong to think she ever wasn't.

On Mother's Day, I walked to the ocean I'm now living near to put some ashes in the water. On the walk there, I asked her if she wanted to give me a sign. The sun was setting in the west behind me, but the sky all around was sort of glowing. I stood with my feet in the water, talking to her. After a little, I turned to hug Marley, and over her shoulder I saw something on the beach. Hardly anyone comes on this part of the beach, so I have also never seen debris here. I asked her what it was and she said "I don't know, I was wondering the same thing. Should we go see what it is?" I said, "yes." So we walked over.

We got closer and I realized it was a soft pink number 1 balloon. Just resting there on the sand. I started getting chills over my whole back. This month marks 1 year of sobriety for me. Something I talk about a lot with close friends, the personal milestone of 1 year has been so much on my mind. Marley said "She is wishing you one year, she is proud of you." O M G.

I could see my mom smiling in my mind with her peaceful gaze. Another balloon on the beach, reminding me she is there. I'm sure someone would hear this story and say it was all a coincidence. Yes, of course it is. It's an alignment of scenarios which prove nothing is a mistake. The universe does not know how to make mistakes. The veil is thin, thinner than I always think it is.

Thank you mama, for these beautiful signs.

I went back to the beach around the same time the following evening. In the exact same place as the evening before was a light pink heart balloon. Waving there. I went to pick it up and held it for a moment, but I lost grip and it blew away. It started floating down the beach and I ran after it, hoping to catch up with it. But I couldn't; it was moving faster than I could with the wind. I stopped running, stopped chasing it. I let it fly away, but didn't feel I was losing anything. Because my holding it did not make it any more real.