my thoughts random genuine

may two thousand and twenty

Mama visited me. This means she's a favorite of angels, indulging her request to see me in her spiritual form. I am certain of it, believe me or not. I smelled the sweet scent of Calachuchi and Sampaguita wafting through our window where I sat. I went out to our balcony and I caught more of the fragrance. In my mind I saw her being escorted by a tall nun in white all over, and she had wings. It was a brief visit, she has a lot of places to visit, and Heaven is vast and full of interesting people to meet. She's finally with God and the Lord Jesus Christ. Dressed in white, a gold crown on her head, youth restored, never ever to fall sick, go hungry, feel pain, get hurt, never to be insulted or condescended to. All she will see is beauty and rainbows and resplendent angels and great choirs singing praise and love for the Eternal God. She's earned her eternal reward, Pergentina. Faith, that's all that is required. Belief. She has lots of it. Like a child born,  she's reborn. A child believes his mother outright, no questioning, doubting, demanding. Just innate faith. The first parents chose doubt over faith. Chose hate over love. Chose falsehood over truthfulness. Mama chose God and now lives forever, in our hearts, in the Kingdom of Heaven.

It's not the first time a bereaved relative scented that sweet fragrance that comes out of nowhere that immediately reminds one of a recently deceased loved one. It's never documented but it's part of urban and rural lore for generations, passing from word of mouth, from grandparents to grandchildren, from wakes to the everyday lives.

I cannot bring myself to forget, to move on. Mama said, always pray for them poor souls in purgatory. But I believe she's already in a better place than purgatory. She's with Papa, in Heaven. There is so much I haven't said and done, and the only way I can have closure is to forever remember. I was with my father,  aged 8, the day before he died. With Mama, I heard her garbled voice via video call day before she died. Corona I will hold responsible for removing transportation on that day... April 3...April 4 was the day she was called back to our Heavenly Abode.

She wanted me to be a priest. She wanted me to preach the Word of God. She wanted to sit in Church while I officiated Mass. It did not come to pass because I went out of the seminary. Now, I am a fundamentalist. Might be a preacher of Christ's Salvation History later in life, I don't know. I will not stop remembering. I cannot celebrate, because if I become too happy with these mundane events I might lose my thread of thought. Remembering. Remembering as a sign of continuing love. A son's duty to his mother and father. That they have a son on earth recalling and remembering every single day. The connection between child and parent transcending time and space.

So we cannot deny our childhood with God even if we could not yet see. Blessed are those who do not physically see the divine truth, yet believe.