Mimmo worked all day, pausing only for lunch and an occasional bottle of water.  Finally Jeannette insisted that he stop for the day.  His dinner was getting cold, and night was falling.  Mimmo ate, took a shower, and then came into the kitchen, looking concerned.  “Have you seen my wallet?” he asked Jeannette.  “Did I leave it inside the house?”

His wallet, stuffed with important papers, credit card, his driver’s license and money from a check he had cashed yesterday.  Jeannette had cleaned house, but hadn’t seen the wallet.    “I got gas for the roto tiller earlier,” Mimmo remembered.  “Maybe I left it at the gas station.”  He jumped into his car and raced to the gas station.  He returned a few moments later.  No luck.

Jeannette wondered if Mimmo had put his wallet in the back pocket of his shorts, and it had fallen out while he was working.  “I’m going outside with a flashlight to look around,”she said.  “You’ll never find anything in that big area, even with a light,” Mimmo protested.  Jeannette went out anyway.

Standing in the midst of the garden, however, she realized what a hopeless task it was.  There were piles of debris all over this extremely large plot, and Mimmo might even have covered the wallet with soil, had he not noticed it.  Jeannette turned to prayer.  “God, please show me where the wallet is,” she prayed.  “I need a sign so that Mimmo might believe in you more firmly.”

The instant that she finished, Jeannette heard an inner voice.  “It was my guardian angel,”she says.  “I have heard and felt him before, and I recognized him.”

The voice had specific advice.  “Go to the shed by the lake,” it said.  There was a tool shed far from the house on the edge of the lake, where they kept all their gardening things.  Jeannette walked towards it, still shining her flashlight on the ground.  “I didn’t say on the ground, but in the shed,”the voice came again.  Now there was no doubt.  Jeannette quickened her pace, opened the shed doors and started looking on the ground of the shed.  “Put your hand into the roto tiller,” the voice directed her once more.  Jeannette obeyed.

There, balanced on top of the blade, was Mimmo’s wallet, without a scratch on it.  Never even wondering how a wallet could have gotten on top of a tool, especially a blade that moves, Jeannette ran through the darkness and into the house, thanking God for this gift.  “Mimmo couldn’t believe what he saw,”she says.  “Since then he has become less doubtful, and when things come into our lives that we have no control over, he also turns to the Lord in prayer.”

People who believe they have heard an angel’s voice say that in most cases, the directions are clear and concise, compelling one to believe and do, without question.  How wonderful that we can bring even our smallest problems to the heavenly host, and to the God who gave them to us.

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Both women were “addicts.” “We would talk about what we found and what we bought, and Mom would let me know if I had stumbled upon an especially good bargain.” One night, as they chattered on, Dale realized something. The barriers that always seemed to be between them were gone. “This call was different,” she says. “We really talked. Everything just seemed to open up and the conversation was truly mother-daughter.. When we finally hung up I noticed that we had been on the phone almost three hours.” Dale felt so good. Maybe their relationship would continue along this closer, more satisfying path.

Dale’s mother would be out of town the following Saturday, so no phone call was planned. On Monday morning, however, Dale’s brother called her. “Mom got home okay, but she’s in the hospital,” he said. “She’s had a stroke and it doesn’t look good.”

Dale was shocked. How could this happen? Quickly she made travel arrangements and soon arrived at her mother’s bedside. Her mother never emerged from her coma, and died a few days later. “Through everything, I kept thinking back to that last talk we had,” Dale says. “It was so comforting, and I was glad we had shared that good conversation.”

But life without her mother was difficult. “I really missed my mom,” she says, “and I kept longing to talk to her one more time. Sometimes I prayed that I could have a sign that all was well with her.” Dale had stopped going to garage sales too. The memories were just too difficult.

The second anniversary of Dale’s mother’s death was approaching, when Dale had an unexpected weekend off from work. Her thoughts turned to her mother as she ran errands and tried to ignore the garage sale signs that seemed to be everywhere. She would never be able to go to another one…. “I was heading back to my house when I saw a group of signs all in a row,” she says. “I intended to turn, but instead it seemed as if the car just kept going straight, following those signs.” The signs led to a particular yard, and Dale pulled up in front and stopped. Somehow she knew she was supposed to be there, but the thought didn’t keep her from trembling just a little, as she got out of the car.

At first glance, the merchandise all looked like junk that she would never buy. What was she doing here? Then she felt drawn to a particular table in the garage. Dale looked inside the box on top. A bunch of coffee cups. Why would she need those? Then—as if she was being guided—she put her hand down into the bottom of the box and pulled up yet another cup.

When she saw it, she started to cry. “Where did you get this?” she asked the woman in charge of the sale.

The woman looked it over. “I’ve never seen this before,” she told Dale.
But Dale knew it well—and so had her mother. The cup bore the logo of the college Dale had attended, a small institution six hundred miles away, one that no one in this vicinity had probably ever heard of. A cup just like this one had sat in her mother’s kitchen, a reminder of the care and concern her mother had always felt for her, despite their sometimes-difficult days.
“I know I was guided to this sale, to find the reassurance I needed,” Dale says. She bought the cup—and knows that she and her mother will meet again.

The island was beautiful. One morning Georgia and her husband took a walk along the beach where black lava had hardened into the water. All around the Big Island, people leave names and messages made out of white stones on this lava, so they decided to leave a message for Scott. “Aloha, Scott”(Aloha means “hello, goodbye, and love.”) 1/11/72 – 9/15/98,” it read. The couple took a picture of it and walked on.

“The next day we took my mom for a walk,” says Georgia, “and when we reached that place, she spotted the message right away.” Georgia thought it would have been washed away by the waves because it was right next to the ocean. Everyone was thrilled that the writing was still there.

On that day, the Horvaths had planned to take a twelve-hour drive around the entire island. But the night before, a neighbor had suggested they avoid a certain area. “Don’t bother to turn off at the south end of the island, to see the most southern tip of the United States,” he cautioned them. “It isn’t worth the drive on a dirt road, and nothing is there anyway.” The couple agreed. This man certainly knew more than they did about tourist attractions.

They had completed the first part of their journey, and Georgia was driving when she saw the sign: TURN HERE to see the Southern-most tip. “Remember,” said her husband, “this is where that man said to go back.”

“I remember,” Georgia said, and started to turn. Then, at the last minute, she veered the other way, bouncing down the dirt road. “We’re here,” she said to her surprised husband. “Let’s go as far as we can.”

He shrugged. Up ahead he could see more black lava, just like the kind they had seen yesterday. Just then the path ahead separated, and Georgia had to turn left or right. “My hand seemed to turn towards the left,” she says, “so this is where I went.”

They drove to the edge of the lava, and stopped. The area was completely deserted, just water splashing along the shore and once again, lots of white stone messages all over from people who had visited. “We got out of the car and started to walk,” Georgia says. “Then all three of us stopped. Ahead of us was a message written on a white stone: “Love U 2,” it said. “Scott.”

All three adults started to weep. “It was a message from Scott,” Georgia says. “We know he didn’t actually write it, but the fact that we almost didn’t go to that area, and when we did stop, it was the right place..…well, we were meant to see it.” It made their trip, and aided their mourning. Scott was not gone, they knew now, just enjoying a beautiful piece of heaven.

“On the morning of the service, I had some new batteries, just purchased, and I put them into the angel to be sure it would light up,” Debe says. “But nothing happened.” Maybe she hadn’t put them in correctly. Debe asked her husband to see if something was wrong with the batteries. While she finished dressing, he checked them out again. “You put them in right, but I did it again,” he told her. “They still won’t light.”

By now it was 9 AM and the family was to meet at the funeral home chapel at 9:30. Maybe something had broken inside the angel? But everything looked fine. “We have to go,” Debe’s husband told her. He had taken out the batteries again (although she didn’t know it) and they had run out of time. “Let’s just have the angel sitting by her photo,” he suggested as he went to start the car.

Debe was terribly disappointed. The lighted angel would have made the display so beautiful…She buttoned her coat and picked up the angel. Just one more try… She flipped the switch, and the angel lit up. Shocked, Debe turned the angel over to see if the batteries were locked in…
She opened the compartment.
There were no batteries inside.

Heart pounding, Debe looked around, and saw the 4 AA batteries on the table. She snapped them in as her husband pulled up. “Oh, you found some other batteries,” he said, looking at the angel’s beautiful glow.

“Uh huh,” Debe murmured. They were the same batteries, the ONLY batteries, she knew, but she could not tell him yet. If they had ever wondered where their mother was, they knew now that she was closer to them than she’d ever been.

A few days later, Debe told her husband what had happened. He had no trouble believing it. “Well,” he said, “that’s Mom. She wanted to have that angel at her service. And she did.”

“You see?” Debe points out. “You never know when angels are around!”

As she finished, she saw a radiant light, just ahead of her, a pinkish-gold color. Was she dreaming? Shocked, Rose watched the vision.  Where had it come from?  Rose thought of her mother, who was very ill, and decided to call her to make sure she was alright.

“I have a radio alarm clock right next to my bed,” she says. “And when I saw the time, I remember saying to myself that it was too late to call my mother and disturb her. I decided to call her first thing in the morning.”

Rose turned back to where she had seen that beautiful light, and when she saw that it was still there, she was flooded with a feeling of calm and peace. The light was so comforting, Rose let herself relax. Life had been difficult lately, especially the constant worry over her mother’s health. But now she felt herself dozing off, while the warm bright light continued to watch over her.

The next morning Rose was awakened by a phone call from her sister. “Mom was taken to the hospital by ambulance last night,” Rose’s sister said. “You’d better come.”

Because Rose lived a few hours away, she did not make it to the hospital in time to say good-bye to her mother. “But it comforts me to know that this radiant light that visited me could have been my mom or my angel assuring me that everything would be alright,” Rose says. “I learned that pink-gold radiant light or auras represent love. I know it definitely was something very beautiful.”

Rose has not seen the light again, but she is at peace. “I know my mother, and my angels, are always with me.”

Dimes from Heaven

We’ve all heard the song “Pennies from Heaven,” and several years ago, I wrote a story about people who were receiving pennies out of the blue—mostly lying on streets or in the bottom of their purses, but also in more random places.

One young soldier was sent to Iraq shortly after his father died, and while there, he found pennies all over the place. This was especially unusual because he was living in a desert, and few people carried coins. The soldier felt the pennies were a signal from his father that the older man was watching over him. He returned home safely.

After the story appeared, I received several responses from people who wanted me to know that pennies were passé—they were receiving dimes! “Dylan, a good friend of mine drowned on a camping trip,” a teenager wrote. “Months later, a few of us started receiving dimes in odd places. None of us had ever heard about dimes from heaven.”

One evening the teens got together simply to talk about Dylan. After they went home, each found several dimes in odd places. “I think it’s his way of letting us know that he is safe and happy,” says one teen. “Every time I find a dime now, I have a sense of peace.”

“Just after my grandmother died, I started finding dimes in the oddest places,” says Susan. “I knew they were from her.” Susan has found dimes on the fireplace, in a stove under the burner, even arranged in little stacks. When her family moved to a new house, Susan opened the empty front closet door and saw a dime sitting in the corner. “I usually find dimes when I am having a troublesome time,” she says. “Then I am reminded of my grandma and I know that everything will be okay.”

Susan has started saving the dimes, and shares the stories with friends who often start to find their own dimes. To her the dimes are a special witness that there is life after death.

“Since my son passed away on January 6th, 2010, my family has been finding dimes,” says a woman we’ll call Anne. “The latest find really confirmed my belief that the dimes are messages from heaven.”

Anne’s son was in the Army Reserves. Recently his four-year-old cousin Benji was at a county fair and visited the Army National Guard booth. The soldiers gave him an Army wallet, and the little boy was thrilled. “The next day, Benji came to show me his new wallet,” Anne says. “He opened the wallet and pulled out a dime! I asked him where he got the dime. He told me that he had found it behind the bed in his sister’s room.”

“This was the room that my son always slept in while visiting his cousins,” Anne says. “I know my son was looking down on us that day and winking.”

What could these stories mean? Is there any spiritual significance to them? Have you ever received coins and regarded them as messages? Comment below!

Well, those of you who have received Joann’s latest letter know that Joann had her gall bladder out last month, and one day while she recuperated, Joannie (her daughter) was driving their delivery truck packed with corn that a local food bank had given them, when a cable caught on the truck and pulled it over. Angels must have surrounded her because she was not seriously injured, and the truck can hopefully be fixed rather than totaled out.  (Maybe the angels were telling Joannie to slow down?)  Daniel (Joannie’s son) was left in charge of the entire ministry as the women recovered, and this past week he left for Boston for an intensive pre-med program.  He will be taking his entrance test for medical school at the end of this month.

I’m exhausted just reading about the problems they have there, but this is the kind of work where you can see the results.  Items brought in that morning are usually gone by dinnertime, and because Joann has lived there all her life, she knows who is truly needy.  There are special needs at special times too, things many of us would never think of.  For example, the druggist in town will accept any leftover medications, and give them to sick people.  There are foster kids being released from the system who have nowhere to go.  Women fleeing abusive husbands are in need of immediate safe shelter.  Where do the Cayces put the donations they receive for giveaways?  (Answer:  In a gym our gang helped them purchase a few years ago; now they have a food pantry and “store” available at all hours.)

During the next few weeks, the people in Thornton will be attempting to get the children back to school.  They will need all the usual school supplies as well as light-weight clothes and underwear (at least for now).  Coats will come later…  It’s a never-ending process.  Thanks and hugs for the good job all of you do, whether in your own communities or in Thornton.  I know that the angels are dancing with joy and appreciation.

And now for our story:

Our last story (about angels sometimes coming in the guise of butterflies) generated a lot of responses.  Obviously, many of you have experienced this wonderful little sign, so I thought we’d do one more:

Kim Wencl lost her 20-year old daughter, Elizabeth, in September of 2003.  Elizabeth was a student at the University of Minnesota and a fire broke out in her duplex. She and two of her roommates died of smoke inhalation.

Losing a child at any age is probably the most devastating blow that anyone can experience, and this family was no different.  “As we began the difficult task of planning her funeral,” says Kim, “my Mom, Liz’s grandmother, was insistent that we needed to release butterflies at the cemetery.  We all thought it was a great idea, but no one knew where to find butterflies … not even the florist.”

Kim’s mother would not be deterred.  She went on the internet and found a company in Florida that could supply butterflies.  She ordered them and they arrived in time for the funeral.  (“I considered this to be somewhat of a miracle as well,” says Kim, “because my mother is elderly and on a very good day she can barely remember how to use a computer.”)  Yet despite her deep emotional turmoil, Gram was still able to follow through.

After the funeral and the graveside service, Liz’s family released the precious little collection, expecting them to fly away.  But they didn’t. Except for a few, the butterflies hovered around the mourners. “Many landed on us, or fluttered over the casket and the large funeral sprays that lay on it,” Kim recalls.   “One butterfly landed on Elizabeth’s sister, Anna, and it stayed on her … it didn’t want to leave.  Everyone sort of gasped as the significance of it set in.”

Since the cemetery is within walking distance, the following day Liz’s grandmother went over to visit the grave.  As she stood and stared at the overturned earth and all of the flowers strewn upon it, she thought, “Liz if you are ok, please give me a sign.”

After a few more minutes, Gran began to walk back home.  Soon—and almost expected—two butterflies flew up right in front of her, seemingly out of nowhere.  It was Liz, her grandmother knew.  All was well.

“Elizabeth is always present in our lives,” Kim says today, some seven years later.  “She has let us all know in so many different ways.”

God does not abandon his children in our times of grief.  He has promised that He will send us whatever we need to endure, and He does.  Even butterflies.

Hello, friends.  On these leisurely days, we all see butterflies frequently.  But these beautiful little beings have a special significance to some.  They are a Christian symbol for “rebirth.” Some of them may also be angels in disguise.  (An American Indian once explained to me that in her heritage, butterflies and birds were considered to be messengers from the spirit world.)  Here are a few examples:

Joe was dying from cancer.  In an attempt to give him a change of scene, his wife pushed his wheelchair out into their back yard.  As soon as she went back into the house, her husband called her to come and look!  Sitting on his shoulder was a huge blue butterfly.  Another hovered around his face, as if conducting a conversation.  Thrilled, the woman came outside again but in a few seconds the butterflies flew away.  From that point on they visited every day but only if the man was alone in his chair.  On the day of his funeral, the butterflies stopped in the yard for a moment or two, fluttered off and were never seen again.

Recently Janet wrote to tell me that ever since her mother died, white butterflies seem to stop at her house.  “One always comes to the same place, a bush in front of a window,” she says. “I see them almost every day in the summer, but I look all around and there are never any others nearby.” Janet also received an honor last year, and decided to wear yellow since, as she told her daughter, yellow is the color of victory!  “When I stepped outside that day, a huge yellow butterfly flew right to me, swooped over my head and into the distance.”

One of my favorite stories involved a woman who believed that an occasional butterfly would bring her a message.  Once she asked God about a choice of schools for her handicapped child.  Should she enroll him in a new facility, or let him stay where he was?  That evening as she and her family sat in the living room, everyone heard a tapping coming from the outside.  Look!  A large brown butterfly was hovering outside.  Immediately the woman knew the answer to her question.

“It was doubly amazing,” she later explained, “because that butterfly came to us in January, when the outside temperature was below freezing.”

Not every little sign is heavenly inspired.  But we should take time to notice what is around us.  As Janet says, “I am grateful and give God the glory for showing his love to me and my children this way.”

We certainly want to do God’s will, but many times we are not exactly sure what that is! We’re clear about the Ten Commandments and other rules of good conduct. But what if we’re making a decision about a move or a job? Perhaps it is simply our desire that is important. If we are trying to follow His lead, we can make mistakes and still be right. Mary Mullins of Modesto, California, knows this for sure.

Five years ago, Mary’s husband, Johnny, was laid off from his job as controller of a local company. He was given some notice, so the couple had a little time to think about what they would do. From the time they were a young married couple living in Ireland, they had dreamed of owning their own business. Was this the time to start? “We looked at our strong points to see if we could turn these into a business,” Mary says. “Johnny had expertise in accounting and business management, and I had a passion for art, especially religious art and stained glass. After some research and much prayer, we felt that God was calling us to begin our own art glass studio, creating original art work.” They named their new business Valley Rose Designer Glass, “Valley” because they now lived in the San Joaquin Valley, and “Rose” to honor both St. Therese and Our Lady under her title of “Mystical Rose.”

Things started out well. Their storefront had once been the site of an occult and magic shop, but their pastor blessed it, and the grand opening went smoothly. Mary and Johnny attended home improvement shows, advertised and dedicated every piece of work, no matter what the subject matter was, to God. However, as time went by, they encountered obstacles they were not prepared for. “We were naïve about some business practices,” says Mary, “and a few times we did not get paid for our work even though we had signed contracts.”

At the end of their first year, they were feeling a financial pinch, and Johnny went to Ireland for a temporary consulting job. When he returned, he realized that he had to go back to full time work. He got a job that paid half of what he had been earning. And Mary began to doubt. “Perhaps we had not done the right thing, perhaps I had misunderstood the direction that we believed God had given us.” As Christmas approached, her spirits sagged.

During the first week of December, a lady came into the shop. Her husband was of Welsh ancestry, and she wanted to commission a large glass replica of his coat of arms, which she could hang in front of a window in their home. It was to be a surprise Christmas gift for him.

Mary was excited, not only at the project, but at the good fee which would make Christmas a bit brighter! However, a few days later when the woman came in to see the preliminary drawing, she was quite upset. She had given Mary dimensions for a vertical window when she really needed a horizontal window. She was very upset at her own mistake and wanted to cancel the project. Mary was upset too—she had put a lot of work into creating a full sized drawing/pattern, and was looking forward to working on it. She asked the customer to go home and re-measure her window, call with the new data and give her a few hour to possibly redesign everything. Then she prayed and asked Our Blessed Mother and her guardian angel for help.

She was busily drawing in the workroom when she saw two men entering the front part of the shop. Mary saw only their backs at first; they were dressed in construction work clothes, and one was tall and slender, while the other was shorter and stocky. She came up behind them and said hello. Before they turned around one of them said “You’ve got some beautiful glass here.”

“Well, thank you,” Mary answered.

The taller man turned to face Mary. “He had a beautiful face, masculine but still beautiful and deep brown eyes,” Mary says. “I noticed that although the men had probably just come off of a job site, they and their clothes were very clean.”

“Do you do this yourself?” the taller man asked.

“Yes,” Mary said. “My husband helps me.”

“I used to do this type of work for my father.” He was smiling at her. She smiled back.

“It is hard to describe,” Mary explains, “but there was something in the sound of his voice and in the way he looked at me. I was no longer upset about the events of the morning. Then he said, ‘Keep up the good work.’ He put out his hand to me and said, “My name is Michael.” Then gesturing to his companion, he said “This is Max.”

Mary shook Michael’s hand and as she turned to shake Max’s, she noticed that he wore a large rectangular medallion of Our Lady of Guadalupe around his neck. When she saw the medallion, it was as though a light went on. As the men left, she went back to the workroom, where her husband was pouring her a cup of tea. “I think we have been visited by angels,” Mary told him. He just smiled.

The customer who wanted the coat of arms returned later, and was very happy with the new drawing. Her window was completed on December 23rd, giving both families a very happy Christmas.

“Nearly three years have gone by since that December day and business is still tough,” Mary says. “But God always gives us just what we need when we need it. I know now the art work was never meant to be the main source of our support, but rather a special act of love and trust, and so we continue.” Sometimes the memory of Michael and Max comes to mind too, bringing a deep sense of peace and gratitude to God, all year long.

You still have time to order Joan’s latest book for Christmas giving. Check the website at http://joanwanderson.com and follow the order directions for Moms Go Where Angels Fear to Tread. ($13.00) <~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~><~>

Copyright 2009 by Joan Wester Anderson. Published by Joan Wester Anderson, P.O. Box 127, Prospect Heights, IL 60070. For more stories of God’s love, check the blog at http://www.joanwanderson.com

And here’s our story:

Deirdre Mary McCormick, of Santa Rosa, California, was the fifth of ten children.  She had long curly brown hair, green eyes and a gentle disposition.  People were attracted to her beauty, says her mother Patricia, “but it was her sweetness that held their hearts.” The family was thrilled to have another daughter (they have seven sons), and Deirdre had many friends, a large extended family, happy days in St. Eugene’s Cathedral school and even a sideline interest—Irish dancing. An idyllic life, and then tragedy struck. “We were at her father’s company picnic at Lake Sonoma,” Patricia says.  “She was swimming with her brother, sister and cousin, and while trying to lift herself out of the water, she touched faulty wiring on the dock and was killed instantly.”  Deirdre was ten years old.

The entire school and parish of St.Eugene’s rallied around the grief-stricken family.  Food, care of the children, whatever was needed they gave, and over 800 people attended the funeral.  Despite the kindnesses shown to the family, Patricia was devastated.  She had just discovered that a new baby was on the way, and Dierdre would have been so delighted if she knew.  Now her daughters would never meet, at least not here on earth… “We are Catholics and we believe in the promise of eternity that jesus grants to all who follow him and try to live accordingly,” says Patricia. But faith can often be overshadowed by grief. And then, of course, someone was legally liable for the faulty wiring and perhaps they would have to institute a lawsuit.  Patricia did not know how she was going to get through all of it.

On the Monday after the first Thanksgiving without Deirdre, the children had gone back to school, Patricia’s husband Marty was at work, and the two preschoolers were still asleep.  Patricia read the newspaper, waiting for the boys to awaken, and enjoyed the few minuites of solitude. “About 9 am I sat back on the couch and put my feet up,thinking about the day ahead,” she says.  “When I closed my eyes,it was as if a tunnel opened and I was looking at my Deirdre. She was sitting on a beautiful,powerful white horse. I have never seen a horse like this before or since.”

Deirdre was wearing a lavender gown,gathered at the neck, waist,and wrists, and was barefoot. Her hair was in braids and she had a great big smile on her face. Patricia could see little tendrils of hair that had escaped from her braids curling around her forehead. She could see her daughter’s freckles and the small birthmark she had on her chin. Deirdre was healthy,happy, suntanned,and alive!

How could this be happening?  It seemed so real, and yet the vision was inside her, not outside. Patricia also realized that it did not seem that Deirdre was aware of her mother, but that Patricia was being permitted to look at her. “There was a child on the back of the horse with her,holding on to her waist,”Patricia remembers.  “There were children running along either side of the horse too.  Deirdre raised her right hand,and tapped the horse to get it to go even faster.” She didn’t seem the least afraid.

For a moment, Patricia stole a glance at the surroundings.  Tall grass, almost a golden shade, a perfectly-blue sky and a magnificent tree, a variety that Patricia had never seen. She tried to look at the children who were with Deirdre, but their faces seemed blurry. Perhaps she was not to know their identities.

As quickly as the tunnel had opened, it closed, and Patricia heard her boys running down the stairs.  Her heart pounding, she opened her eyes.  What had just happened to her?    She called Marty at work and tried as best she could to describe what had happened.

“I believe this vision was a gift from God because of all the prayers we received from family,friends,and even strangers who had heard about Deirdre,” she says. “We chose to forgive those responsible for her death because it’s what she would expect from us.  We have tried to honor her memory by helping others in her name.” They know they will see their child again.

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