Table Of ContentJourney
to
the
Upper
Realm:
How
I
Survived
the
Deaths
of
My
Sons
and
Learned
to
Communicate
With
Them
on
the
Other
Side
Maria
I.
Pe
©
2013
by
Maria
Pe
June
21,
2013
Dedication
For Sean and Kyle
The lights of my life
and my greatest teachers
All that time I thought I was teaching you
And you were really here to teach me.
I honor you.
2
PROLOGUE
On
June
21,
2011,
my
two
sons
began
their
transition
to
the
Other
Side.
At
the
time,
I
didn’t
see
it
that
way.
Tuesday,
June
21,
2011,
was
a
"normal"
morning
for
me.
I
finished
getting
ready
for
work
and
was
just
about
to
leave
the
house.
I
was
ready
to
click
the
tv
off
when
the
news
story
caught
my
attention:
Murder-‐suicide
in
Bonita.
The
camera
panned
to
a
neighborhood
and
I
saw
the
house
across
the
street
from
my
ex-‐husband
Tom's
house.
My
heart
began
to
beat
faster,
panic
began
to
set
in.
The
news
reporter
indicated
that
a
man
and
two
young
boys
had
been
killed.
My
heart
began
beating
even
faster.
I
called
Tom's
home
phone.
No
answer.
I
called
Tom's
cell
phone.
Voicemail.
I
called
Sean's
cell
phone.
Voicemail.
I
called
Kyle's
cell
phone.
Voicemail.
No.
No.
No.
No.
I
rushed
out
of
the
house
and
got
into
my
car.
I
drove
the
six
miles
to
Tom's
house.
I
was
in
a
state
of
panic
and
disbelief.
There
is
no
way
this
could
be
my
sons!
I
got
to
the
neighborhood
which
was
filled
with
news
crews.
The
area
was
cordoned
off
with
yellow
crime
scene
tape.
I
parked
my
car
in
someone's
driveway
and
ran
down
the
street
to
the
first
police
officers
I
saw.
"Tell
me
that
it's
not
my
sons,"
I
begged
them.
"Please
tell
me
it's
not
my
sons."
They
escorted
me
to
the
house
across
the
street.
A
man
came
and
asked
me
my
ex-‐husband's
name.
My
son's
names.
Sean.
Kyle.
He
confirmed
that
it
was
their
house.
Then
he
said
that
there
had
been
gunshots.
No!
No,
no,
no,
no,
no!
I
crumpled
to
the
ground.
There
were
no
words.
There
were
no
words
possible.
My
ex-‐husband,
Tom,
had
killed
my
sons,
Sean
and
Kyle.
He
had
given
them
sleeping
pills
to
make
them
fall
into
a
deep
sleep,
then
he
had
shot
them
while
they
slept
in
their
own
beds.
Then
he
had
shot
himself.
This
is
how
my
journey
began.
This
book
is
the
story
of
my
journey
–
my
“Journey
to
the
Upper
Realm.”
It
is
the
story
of
my
experience
during
the
13
months
after
my
boys
were
killed,
day
by
day,
as
it
was
happening.
It
is
my
story
of
how
I
survived
the
deaths
of
my
sons
and
learned
to
communicate
with
them
on
the
other
side.
And
ultimately,
how
I
found
myself
on
the
road
to
forgiveness.
Prior
to
my
sons’
deaths,
I
had
never
kept
a
journal,
but
I
started
writing
in
a
journal
shortly
after
my
sons
died.
I
didn’t
really
know
why,
but
I
felt
that
I
had
to
record
my
thoughts
and
feelings,
and
the
things
that
I
learned
along
my
journey.
It
was
through
the
process
of
writing
this
book
that
it
finally
became
clear
to
me
why
I
had
been
keeping
daily
journals
about
my
experience.
I
was
“guided”
to
write
this
book
by
my
sons,
and
by
Spirit.
I
understand
now
that
this
book
is
part
of
my
remaining
work
here
and
my
contribution
in
this
lifetime.
This
is
my
journey.
It
is
my
Truth.
And
the
gift
that
I
received.
LIFE
BEFORE
JUNE
21,
2011
Nothing
in
my
life
could
have
predicted
for
me
that
I
would
be
faced
with
one
of
the
greatest
challenges
in
my
life
at
the
age
of
49.
I
was
born
on
July
4,
1962
in
the
city
of
Manila
to
a
Chinese
father
and
a
Filipino
mother.
My
father,
Raymundo
Lim
Pe,
had
a
childhood
that
was
very
different
from
my
own.
He
was
born
on
July
11,
1928
in
China.
His
mother
was
the
second
of
four
wives
to
his
father,
Pe
Bungking,
and
my
father
was
one
of
twenty-‐two
children.
He
and
much
of
his
family
immigrated
to
the
Philippines
when
he
was
seven
years
old,
and
he
lived
in
the
town
of
Coron
located
on
one
of
the
islands
of
Palawan.
3
He
was
a
child
during
World
War
II.
As
he
recalls
in
his
autobiography,
“Living
in
Sang-‐ham
as
a
six
year
old,
I
remembered
having
nightmares
as
the
talk
centered
on
the
Sino-‐Japanese
war,
nightmares
of
evacuation,
family
separation
.
.
.
.”
On
December
8,
1941,
after
the
Japanese
attacked
Pearl
Harbor,
“school
was
let
out
and
everybody
in
Coron
was
in
turmoil
not
knowing
what
to
do
next.”
For
the
next
few
years,
he
was
taken
care
of
by
various
family
members,
half-‐sisters
and
half-‐brothers
in
Manila.
He
returned
to
Coron
in
1945
after
the
war
ended.
At
17,
he
enrolled
in
the
5th
grade,
but
his
education
was
interrupted
by
family
needs
and
obligations.
He
moved
back
to
Manila
with
his
mother
and
brother,
and
lived
with
a
large
number
of
relatives.
Even
at
that
young
age,
he
understood
the
importance
of
getting
an
education:
“It
was
difficult
to
find
jobs,
having
no
real
qualifications.
I
was
in
the
illiterate,
ignorant
pool
of
workers
and
this
spurred
me
on
to
get
an
education.”
He
decided
to
return
to
Coron
to
start
a
general
store
and
continue
his
education
there.
After
persuading
his
mother
to
move
back
to
the
province,
they
set
up
a
modest
storefront.
With
his
mother
tending
shop,
he
was
able
to
transfer
from
his
night
school
in
Manila
to
a
newly
established
high
school
in
Coron.
In
his
fourth
year
of
high
school,
he
transferred
to
the
University
of
Santo
Tomas
for
his
last
year
of
high
school.
After
four
years,
he
earned
his
bachelor’s
degree
in
electrical
engineering.
My
mother
also
lived
through
the
experiences
of
World
War
II,
being
just
one
year
younger
than
my
father.
Her
father,
Feliciano
Villanueva,
came
from
a
large
family
of
ten
children,
all
well
educated
with
professional
careers
in
accounting,
law,
medicine,
engineering,
and
agriculture.
My
mother’s
mother,
Paz
de
Guzman,
was
an
elementary
school
teacher
for
thirty
years.
My
mother
was
born
on
December
5,
1929
and
christened
Zenaida
Villanueva.
She
was
the
youngest
of
five
children.
She
lived
with
her
family
in
Manila.
She
had
just
started
elementary
school
when
World
War
II
broke
out:
“I
remember
being
in
school
around
noon.
We
were
told
to
go
home
because
war
had
started.
This
must
have
been
December
8.
We
didn’t
know
what
it
meant.
That
evening
we
witnessed
the
Japanese
and
American
aircraft
in
a
‘dogfight’
to
shoot
each
other
down.
Against
the
dark
night,
we
heard
the
rapid
planes’
fire.
It
was
scary.
At
the
same
time,
it
was
exciting.
Tony,
my
brother,
and
I
would
try
to
slip
by
our
mother
to
go
out
and
watch
the
action.
We
had
a
makeshift
shelter
in
the
ground
floor
of
our
house.”
Shortly
after
war
broke
out,
she,
her
brother
and
her
sister
were
put
on
a
train
to
their
uncle’s
house
outside
of
the
city.
“People
were
rushing
out
of
Manila
to
escape
the
Japanese
occupying
forces.”
When
the
war
finally
ended,
she
recalled:
“Liberation
came
in
1944
when
the
Americans
defeated
the
Japanese.
The
Japanese
burned
and
destroyed
what
they
could
and
killed
many
before
they
retreated
south
of
Manila.
There
were
no
lights
because
of
curfew
regulations
and
yet
I
remember
the
first
night
American
soldiers
started
coming
into
the
city,
it
was
well
lit
because
of
the
many
fires
going
on.
There
was
also
the
unforgettable
sound
of
boots
–
the
retreating
Japanese
stepping
in
cadence.
I
hid
and
peeped
at
them
as
they
marched
by
our
house.
The
surrender
of
Japan
in
1944
marked
the
beginning
of
getting
back
to
normal.
Schools
were
opened.
We
were
older.
I
was
18
when
I
graduated
from
high
school
–
a
three-‐year
delay.
Our
school
was
partially
damaged.
There
were
no
walls.
We
lacked
everything
because
war
depleted
everything.
I
remember
my
class
sitting
on
the
ground
under
a
tree
because
of
lack
of
classrooms.
In
spite
of
this,
we
were
eager
and
glad
to
be
back
in
school
again.”
She
went
on
to
attend
the
University
of
the
4
Philippines
where
she
earned
her
bachelor’s
degree
in
psychology
and
her
masters
degree
in
guidance
and
counseling.
My
parents
met
in
1958
and
were
married
that
same
year
in
October.
They
were
older
newlyweds
–
my
father
was
30
and
my
mother
was
29.
Nine
months
later,
they
had
their
first
child,
a
daughter
christened
Maria
Lourdes
(Marylou).
Then
their
first
son,
Raymundo,
Jr.,
was
born
on
December
3,
1960.
In
1960,
my
father
was
working
for
the
Ed.
A.
Keller
Co.
Ltd,
a
Swiss
trading
company,
which
supplied
raw
cotton
to
all
of
the
textile
mills
in
the
Philippines.
As
part
of
his
job
duties,
he
was
sent
to
Memphis,
Tennessee
for
training,
his
first
trip
to
the
United
States.
When
he
returned,
he
continued
to
progress
in
his
career,
earning
a
good
living
that
enabled
him
to
build
a
comfortable
home
for
his
growing
family.
They
lived
in
a
suburb
of
Manila
and
enjoyed
an
upper
middle
class
lifestyle
complete
with
maids,
a
driver
and
other
servants.
In
1961,
Marylou
contracted
meningitis.
It
would
be
a
long
ten-‐month
struggle
before
she
died
from
the
illness.
During
that
time,
my
mother
was
pregnant
with
me.
Superstitions
in
the
Philippine
culture
told
her
that
she
was
carrying
a
girl
that
would
replace
the
daughter
she
was
losing.
After
my
birth,
I
was
left
in
the
pediatrics
ward
of
the
hospital
for
two
months
while
my
mother
grieved
the
loss
of
her
first
daughter.
In
1962,
my
father
got
a
job
as
a
marketing
manager
for
Abbott
Laboratories.
The
following
year,
he
had
another
opportunity
to
travel
to
the
United
States
to
Chicago.
While
he
was
gone,
their
second
son,
Roberto,
was
born
on
June
24,
1963.
Shortly
afterwards,
my
father
returned
to
work
for
Keller
Co.
Despite
his
successes
and
comfortable
lifestyle
in
Manila,
my
father
began
to
think
about
moving
to
the
United
States.
The
decision
to
move
forward
was
a
quick
one
and
made
rather
spontaneously.
As
he
describes
it:
“The
U.S.
was
under
a
quota
system
only
admitting
a
few
hundred
applicants
with
good
qualifications
and
the
waiting
list
was
a
very
lengthy
one
so
that
I
did
not
even
bother
to
go
to
the
U.S.
embassy
to
inquire.
One
day
in
January
1965,
I
was
visiting
an
office
building
where
one
of
my
nieces
was
employed
and
where
the
Canadian
embassy
was
also
located.
While
passing
by
I
spied
a
big
crowd
at
the
embassy
office
and
I
inquired
of
some
people
around
and
found
out
the
embassy
was
giving
applications
for
emigration
to
Canada.
I
got
a
form
and
filled
in
an
application
for
emigration
to
Vancouver,
B.C.,
Canada.
Three
months
later,
we
were
requested
to
have
medical
examinations
for
emigration.”
On
December
8,
1965,
less
than
one
year
after
applying
for
emigration,
my
father
arrived
in
Vancouver,
British
Columbia.
He
was
able
to
get
a
job
with
an
engineering
consulting
firm
in
January
1966,
and
he
then
notified
my
mother
to
come
immediately
with
the
children.
The
move
was
not
an
easy
one
for
my
mother:
“It
is
very
difficult
to
describe
what
it
means
to
emigrate
to
a
far
country
totally
unknown
to
you.
It
is
painful
to
bid
goodbye
to
friends
and
relatives
at
the
airport,
not
knowing
when
and
if
you
will
see
them
again.
At
times
I
thought
that
we
were
making
a
big
mistake.
After
all,
we
had
a
nice
house
in
Manila
and
Raymond
had
a
good
job.
.
.
.
Raymond
had
bought
a
used
Volkswagon
beetle.
We
all
piled
in.
January
was
cold
of
course
and
uncomfortable.
The
best
Raymond
could
get
was
a
second-‐story
studio
apartment.
He
bought
a
folding
bed
and
extra
mattresses
and
a
tv/record
player/radio.
I
didn’t
know
which
to
do
first,
second,
etc.
because
I
had
always
been
surrounded
by
help.
Fortunately,
the
kids
loved
cereal
and
milk
and
that’s
what
they
ate.”
5
We
lived
in
Vancouver
for
only
eight
months.
In
1967,
my
father
received
a
job
offer
from
Stearns-‐Rogers
in
Denver,
Colorado.
Engineers
were
in
high
demand
at
the
time
so
my
father
was
finally
able
to
use
his
engineering
degree.
The
company
offered
him
higher
pay,
incentives
and
the
assurance
that
it
would
help
our
family
obtain
U.S.
citizenship.
So
our
family
moved
again
and
bought
a
home
in
the
suburb
of
Arvada
outside
of
Denver.
We
moved
again
a
little
over
two
years
later
after
my
father
was
laid
off.
He
was
able
to
get
another
job
in
Detroit,
Michigan,
but
because
of
the
cold
weather
he
left
that
job
after
only
three
months.
In
1969,
my
father
was
able
to
get
a
long-‐term
position
with
Rohr
Corporation
in
Chula
Vista,
California,
and
my
mother
was
able
to
get
a
job
with
the
San
Diego
County
Department
of
Welfare.
My
parents
bought
a
house
in
Chula
Vista
and
most
of
my
childhood
memories
are
associated
with
that
home.
My
brothers
and
I
had
a
stable
and
comfortable
childhood.
We
took
many
family
vacations;
my
parents,
especially
my
father,
loved
to
travel.
We
had
all
of
the
creature
comforts
we
could
have
wanted
and
we
were
given
many
opportunities
to
be
involved
in
numerous
activities.
Having
grown
up
in
the
Philippines,
both
of
my
parents
were
Catholic,
and
so,
naturally,
they
intended
to
raise
their
children
in
the
Catholic
faith.
As
a
young
girl,
I
remember
going
to
church
every
Sunday,
and
dutifully
attending
Sunday
school.
I
admit,
however,
that
I
don’t
remember
a
single
thing
that
I
might
have
learned
from
those
experiences.
When
I
was
nine
years
old,
my
father
discovered
the
“Church
of
Tennis.”
It
was
to
become
my
“religion”
for
the
next
twelve
years.
I
spent
several
hours
on
the
tennis
court
each
day.
Tennis
became
my
main
activity,
and
I
played
competitively
in
Southern
California
throughout
my
youth.
In
1980,
I
graduated
from
high
school
and
was
admitted
to
Harvard
University.
I
had
been
recruited
to
play
on
the
varsity
tennis
team,
and
I
played
on
the
team
for
three
seasons,
serving
as
captain
for
one
year
and
being
named
to
the
All
Ivy
team
each
season.
In
1984,
I
completed
my
bachelor’s
degree
in
Sociology.
I
eventually
returned
to
San
Diego
in
1985.
In
1991,
I
earned
my
law
degree
from
the
University
of
San
Diego
School
of
Law.
After
graduating,
I
served
as
a
law
clerk
for
a
federal
bankruptcy
judge
from
1991
to
1993.
I
met
Tom
in
1993
and
we
were
married
one
year
later.
After
completing
my
bankruptcy
clerkship,
I
practiced
law
for
several
years
in
a
local
San
Diego
law
firm.
It
was
during
my
time
at
the
law
firm
that
my
two
sons
were
born.
Sean
Robert
was
born
on
May
9,
1996
and
Kyle
Joseph
was
born
on
February
4,
1998.
My
career
path
led
me
to
start
my
own
training
and
consulting
company
in
2000
which
then
led
to
a
position
with
one
of
my
clients,
a
local
defense
contractor
in
2002.
I
moved
on
to
take
a
position
with
the
County
of
San
Diego
Treasurer-‐Tax
Collector’s
office
in
2003
where
I
still
work.
My
life
experience
was
all
about
“mainstream”
America.
I
learned
and
lived
according
to
the
values
of
upper
middle
class
culture.
I
studied
hard
and
did
well
in
school.
I
excelled
in
tennis.
I
was
accepted
into
one
of
the
best
colleges
in
the
country.
I
earned
my
bachelor's
degree,
then
my
law
degree.
I
began
my
career
as
a
lawyer,
and
over
the
years
I
developed
strong
values
in
the
principles
of
analysis,
evidence
and
proof.
I
married,
bought
a
house
and
had
two
beautiful
children.
Although
my
marriage
to
Tom
ended
in
2007,
we
eventually
developed
a
relationship
that
allowed
us
to
co-‐parent
the
boys
so
that
they
had
a
stable
and
secure
childhood.
I
continued
to
develop
even
closer
bonds
to
my
sons,
and
I
cherished
every
moment
that
I
spent
with
them,
especially
the
trips
and
adventures
that
6
we
shared
together.
I
also
had
a
strong
relationship
with
a
new
man
in
my
life,
Tony.
I
was
happy
again,
happier
than
I
had
been
in
a
long
time.
I
was
on
the
"right"
path,
the
path
of
achievement,
and
of
moving
forward
and
upward
in
life.
I
had
no
need
for
religion,
meditation,
or
spiritual
practice.
I
had
no
interest
in
mediums
or
psychics,
and
I
was
not
interested
in
concepts
of
the
afterlife,
past
lives,
near
death
experiences
or
other
spiritual
encounters.
I
knew
what
life
was
all
about.
Or
at
least
I
thought
I
did.
Then
suddenly,
on
June
21,
2011,
everything
changed.
JUNE
2011
On
June
9,
2011,
twelve
days
before
his
death,
my
son
Sean
recited
the
following
poem
at
his
high
school:
An
Honest
Opinion
Honestly,
I
give
the
world
nothing
Because
I
don’t
have
anything
That
this
world
needs.
Sometimes
I
feel
useless,
like
a
pencil
with
no
lead
or
a
dead
battery.
Honestly,
I
have
nothing
but
my
soul,
But
I’m
getting
rid
of
that
as
soon
as
the
devil’s
check
clears.
But
I
didn’t
deserve
it
anyway.
Because
we
have
become
the
most
violent,
greedy,
and
ruthless
creatures
on
this
planet.
We
were
given
the
privilege
to
be
the
most
successful
animals
in
this
world,
but
we
abused
it
and
now
the
world
is
ripping
itself
to
pieces
because
it
can’t
stand
letting
us
live
a
day
longer,
and
the
sun
has
turned
away
because
it
can’t
bear
to
watch,
and
the
moon
and
all
the
planets
are
cringing
at
the
sight
of
another
planet
getting
destroyed,
and
they
just
have
to
sit
there
and
watch,
feeling
hopeless
to
do
anything.
A
feeling
that
I
am
very
well
acquainted
with.
If
you
ask
me
the
same
question
in
about
25
years,
I
will
tell
you
the
same
answer.
Honestly,
I
don’t
give
anything
to
the
world.
7
Not
because
I
don’t
have
anything
to
give,
But
because
I
choose
not
to
give
this
world
anything.
Because
I
have
seen
this
world’s
true
face,
and
it
is
not
pretty.
This
world
is
a
jungle.
The
rain
forest,
once
beautiful,
but
slowly
burning
to
the
ground.
The
world
doesn’t
deserve
what
I
have
to
give,
no
matter
how
small
and
insignificant
it
may
be.
This
world
is
like
a
black
hole,
It
takes
what
we
have
to
give
and
gives
nothing
back.
Until
this
world
learns
to
change
into
a
better
place,
It
deserves
nothing.
The
only
thing
that
lets
me
sleep
at
night
is
knowing
that
there
are
still
a
few
good
people
out
there
even
though
they
are
outnumbered
by
the
bad.
Honestly,
I
only
want
to
give
the
world
one
thing,
I
want
to
change
it.
To
change
it
into
what
we
all
want
it
to
be.
So
we
can
all
stop
fighting
and
killing,
and
start
loving.
I
want
to
turn
the
world
on
its
head.
That’s
all
I
want
to
give
this
world.
I
know
it
might
sound
like
I’m
complaining,
but
I’m
just
telling
it
like
I
see
it.
Honestly,
I
don’t
care
if
I
go
down
in
history.
I
don’t
care
if
I
am
remembered.
But
if
I
am,
I
hope
that
it’s
for
a
good
reason.
On
June
21,
2011,
Sean
and
Kyle
left
Earth
realm.
June
24,
2011
Email
to
my
family
and
friends:
I
had
the
most
amazing
and
beautiful
experience
just
now
with
Jenny.
As
I
was
walking
her
to
her
car
down
the
street
at
the
parking
area
by
my
brother's
house,
two
black
and
yellow
butterflies
came
down
together
and
fluttered
over
our
heads,
circled
around
a
few
times,
and
then
flew
off
as
if
they
were
running
off
to
play,
then
came
back
together
and
flew
away.
There
were
only
two
of
them,
there
were
no
other
butterflies
anywhere
to
be
seen.
June
26,
2011
Email
from
Susan:
I'm
thinking
and
praying
for
you
and
your
family.
I
may
wait
until
after
the
burial
to
pay
my
respects
at
the
cemetery
for
the
boys
when
its
more
quiet....if
that's
ok.
I
know
it's
not
the
same,
but
my
collie
Dillon1
recently
passed
away
and
I
have
been
terribly
depressed
for
a
few
weeks,
then
with
the
boys
now,
it's
made
it
worse.
I'm
a
pretty
private
1
Dillon
became
an
important
figure
in
my
journey.
8
person
so
I
would
like
to
go
to
the
cemetery
after.
I
went
to
the
little
memorial
their
friends
put
at
the
house....they
were
very
loved,
and
hopefully
your
niece
and
Tony
told
you
I
called
twice.
It's
heartbreaking
for
those
left
behind
when
you
lose
those
you
loved.
June
30,
2011
“Imagine That . . .”
We are not limited by what we can taste, touch and see
We are, in fact, far more than we appear or dare to believe
Imagine . . . .
The universe already knows what we cannot yet
understand; that though vast, the universe is still small,
and time and space are really nothing at all
So imagine . . .
The soul can go places our eyes cannot see,
To visit people and places beyond the physical reach of the
human body
So imagine . . .
Imagination is not make-believe; it is more than a dream
It is where understanding begins for the things unknown
and unseen
So imagine . . .
The mind can bind, or it can set free
All that we hope for and aspire to be,
and even more than that if we’ll just let it be free
So imagine . . .
The body longs to touch what the heart knows it had
The heart remembers and will always be glad
The Soul connects both, though they don’t always agree,
On just where to focus their combined energy
So imagine . . .
Love is the energy with power to transform and shape
All that exists—anywhere, anytime, anyplace
Let it heal every hurt, lift every dark mood, and
Take you to places where nothing else could
Imagine . . .
-- Sharyl H.
[Sharyl’s
reflections
on
“Imagine
That
.
.
.”:
The
morning
of
June
21,
2011
brought
heartache
and
shock.
I
was
home
sick,
watching
the
morning
news
on
TV
and
saw
the
live
coverage
of
an
unfolding
news
story.
As
I
watched
I
saw
a
familiar
figure,
you,
walking
up
to
the
house,
escorted
by
police,
as
a
reporter
explained
that
two
boys
had
been
shot
by
9
their
father,
who,
after
taking
the
lives
of
his
sons,
had
set
the
house
on
fire
then
shot
himself.
The
shock
and
dismay
at
what
I
was
hearing
did
not
register
with
me
nearly
as
much
as
watching
you
clutch
your
stomach,
double
over,
and
drop
to
your
knees.
It
felt
surreal,
and
difficult
to
grasp,
and
it
felt
heavy.
That
ache
I
witnessed
in
that
moment,
as
you
learned
what
had
happened
to
your
sons,
resonated
with
me.
While
I
have
not
lost
a
child,
I
have
experienced
the
gut-‐wrenching
anguish
and
irreversible
permanence
that
comes
from
being
without
children.
I
was
never
able
to
have
children.
I
ached
for
you.
I
felt
I
had
some
understanding
of
what
you
faced.
I
had
met
your
boys
on
several
occasions
at
the
office
and
work
functions,
and
although
you
and
I
did
not
have
a
close
personal
relationship,
I
was
aware
of
how
nurturing
and
loving
you
were
with
your
sons;
your
support
of
their
interests,
and,
the
way
that
you
created
opportunities
for
them
to
grow
and
broaden
their
life
experiences.
I
had
witnessed
the
pride
and
joy
you
took
in
their
accomplishments.
At
work,
in
the
days
following,
there
was
much
sharing
of
stories
about
you
and
your
boys
and
all
they
meant
to
you.
There
were
also
updates
given
about
how
you
were
doing
and
what
your
wishes
were
for
how
to
support
you
in
your
time
of
loss.
A
coordinated
effort
was
initiated
to
create
a
memory
book
for
you
that
everyone
at
work
could
contribute
to
as
an
expression
of
their
love
and
support
to
you.
I
thought,
“What
a
perfect
opportunity!”,
but
I
struggled
at
how
to
say
what
I
felt
needed
to
be
expressed.
I
did
not
feel
a
need
to
express
condolences
as
much
as
I
felt
a
need
to
share
the
understandings
my
experiences
had
brought
me
and
a
message
of
hope
and
healing.
The
plans
for
the
services
for
the
boys
was
shared,
and
I
learned
that
you
were
scheduled
to
see,
for
the
first
time,
the
bodies
of
your
beloved
sons
that
next
day.
I
went
to
bed
that
night
feeling
a
heaviness
in
my
heart
and
concern
for
what
lay
ahead
for
you.
I
did
not
know
how
to
speak
to
that,
so
I
closed
my
eyes
and
shared
my
concerns
in
heart-‐spoken
prayer.
Sleep
was
illusive
and
I
found
myself
in
more
of
a
deep
meditative
uneasy
rest
as
I
sought
for
a
way
to
speak
healing
to
you.
My
prayers
began
receiving
responses
that
I
can
only
describe
as
verbally
and
emotionally
conversational.
I
felt
a
heart-‐ache
that
was
not
organic
to
the
relationship
I
share
with
you.
I
had
a
sense
that
what
I
was
feeling
belonged
to
your
sons
because
of
the
nature
of
the
love,
sorrowful
but
not
sad,
appreciation
for
what
had
been
experienced
here,
and
insistence
that
you
live
in
love
and
be
well.
The
emotion
was
overwhelming
and
I
cried
soft
silent
tears
as
a
result
of
its
sweetness
and
intensity.
The
tears
were
not
my
own;
I
recognized
that
they
came
from
the
emotion
of
who
I
was
in
conversation
with.
The
responses
I
was
receiving
imparted
a
bittersweet
peace
to
you
for
the
present
and
the
future
that
was
becoming
a
literal,
and
poetic,
conversation.
I
relaxed
and
let
the
conversation
continue.
It
was
so
beautifully
eloquent
in
how
it
expressed
and
captured
all
that
I
was
hoping
to
convey
and
contribute
to
your
path
to
healing.
Finally,
I
felt
peace.
As
the
message
was
received,
I
felt
the
heaviness
lift
and
my
concern
ease.
I
committed
to
remembering
the
poetry
of
the
conversation
and
promised
to
write
the
message
received
in
the
morning
as
soon
as
I
got
up.
Immediately
that
thought
was
met
with
resistance
and
a
sense
of
urgency
that
pressed
for
me
get
up
now
and
write
down
the
message.
After
a
few
back
and
forths,
I
got
up
and
went
in
the
front
room
and
began
to
write
down
the
message.
That
urging
was
right;
even
though
the
message
was
fresh,
it
didn’t
flow
as
easily
in
my
waking
state
as
it
had
in
my
prayerful
meditative
state.
It
came
in
pieces
as
I
went
back
into
that
meditative
conversation
to
recapture
a
thought
at
a
time
and
back
out
to
write
down
what
had
been
shared.
After
an
hour
and
half
I
put
my
pen
and
paper
down.
I
had
the
thoughts
on
paper,
even
though
they
were
not
in
their
right
order,
and
I
was
released
to
return
to
bed
and
get
a
much
needed
few
hours
of
rest.
The
next
morning
I
was
able
to
compile
my
notes
into
the
order
and
poetic
context
that
reflected
the
10
Description:Manila to a Chinese father and a Filipino mother. My father . in mediums or psychics, and I was not interested in concepts of the afterlife, past lives, near .. influencing others by being the best at what he did, which was football.
