Do you ever feel something reaching down to you from heaven?
At the age of eight, my Nana McCarthy was suddenly stricken with pancreatic cancer. Mom and Dad drove us from Florida to Pennsylvania to see her in the hospital. She was so kind, wondering if we had had enough to eat even on her sickbed. There Mom and she spoke, and I admired her, as she was easy to adore. When walking to exit the room I turned to see her in her white gown. Time stood still and my future voice said, “Last time I see her.” The moment stretched, and then ended, and there was a year of tears that followed. Some years later I passed blooming yellow roses, her favorite flower. The branches were heavy with bright unfolding blooms, and the rose bush shimmered and shook in the breeze. The roses for a second appeared like suns lit by a world behind this world.