“Not yet, Mama.”
It’s been almost 10 years since my daughter died. I talk to her every single day, but in that time, she’s spoken to me exactly twice. Once, just after her death to let me know she was okay, and most recently a couple of weeks ago, to let me know that death wasn’t in the cards that day.
In the time she’s been gone, I’ve quite frequently thought about dying and getting to be with her again. Yes, I’ve thought about suicide. Whether they admit it or not, I think anyone who’s lost a child, has thought about committing suicide. I’ve always managed to back away from that idea, not for religious reasons, but because I think that act might actually prevent from seeing my beautiful daughter again.
Recently, I was in a situation, where for a split second, I thought death was a definite possibility. I discovered was that I wasn’t afraid. I had a calm and peaceful feeling about it. I thought I’m finally going to get to see Katy again.
In that millisecond when death crossed my mind, Katy spoke to me. In a voice as clear as if she were standing beside me, she had three words. “Not yet, Mama.” As quickly as she had come, she was gone. Those were the most gut-wrenching words I’d ever heard, and for a split second, I was angry with her. She was dictating the terms on when I’d get to see her again.
In that moment, I realized I’d be okay. We would all be okay. In the strange chain of events that followed, I knew Katy was responsible. She was watching over us.
I’ve often heard people say they’re not afraid to die and I’ve wondered about that. Was that really true? I’ve said it and wondered if it was true, or was it only what I believed to be true. Sometimes we think or say things that we truly believe, but when faced with reality, we find to be untrue. I don’t believe anyone really knows the answer to that question until they’re put in a situation where death is an actual possibility. I know that my belief is reality.
I am not afraid to die.