Bereavement, Writing
Comments 4

The day I visited with my son

Today I had my first complimentary therapeutic session with Action Cancer. The charity offers wonderful support to cancer sufferers and carers throughout and, very important, after a traumatic cancer diagnosis and treatment.

I chose reflexology from the array of complementary therapies the charity offers because I had enjoyed it immensely during an initial session in Daisy Lodge in December.

As a stay at home mum I hardly ever give myself permission to rest and relax. So an hour of pampering, of soothing music and of time with myself and my thoughts, in a relaxed and safe environment, is priceless.

This is the second time I visualise visiting with Georgie during reflexology. In December, I was emotionally exhausted and feeling extremely frazzled during my reflexology session so my tears were carried into my visiting times with him.

But today….Today was beautiful.

I saw my baby boy inundated in sunshine, in a green and lush field. It was spring time and there were daffodils everywhere.

Every time I imagine my boy I imagine him running happily and freely and today was no different. He was enjoying the warmth of the sun rays and the beauty of the flowers.

As soon as he saw me, he ran towards me and he tried to show me something: “Look, mummy, look!” It was a daffodil, a flower I love too. He gifted it to me and I had a sense of joy and loss, knowing that I had discovered something about my son I hadn’t known before: that he loves flowers, just like his mummy.

For some reason, after I cuddled him prolongedly and insatiably, I felt drawn to look at the place where his central line had been. It is strange that I wanted to do that but I felt the need to see the place where it had been inserted, underneath his tiny right shoulder.

There was no central line, of course there wasn’t. Just a tiny little white scar.

Georgie felt me touching it. He knew about it.

He told me, “It is not sore, mummy. But there is someone else here who has the same sort of spots on His hands.”

And in a microsecond, Jesus was there with us. Georgie took His hands and showed me the marks. Not red and wounded, like in the drawings in the Catholic or the Orthodox church. No. Healed wounds. White flesh. Only marks.

And when I looked at them both, I saw the smile. They were smiling, with the biggest grin, the happiest I had ever seen.

And they looked alike. The smile was identical on their faces.

My boy looked like his Lord, just like I had felt it so many times when he was here on earth with us. His joy was identical to that on Jesus’ face.

It was time for them to go. I said my goodbyes. The smile stayed in my memory as Jesus carried my baby boy into the light.

I felt bereft.

I didn’t want to go back.

I wanted to be with them.

I wanted to keep onto my son. Forever.

I felt in my heart, just at that moment, that Georgie was whispering to me: “But you are. Your love for me keeps me alive in your heart forever. Until we meet again.”

But then, I heard Emma’s and Alex’s voices.

And I started walking down this road.

A road that had Jesus and my boy at one end and Emma and my daughter at the other.

And I felt the love. The love from my husband and my daughter. And I saw their smiles too and their inviting arms.

Today, I was visiting with my son. Today, I bathed in the realisation that LOVE is the very powerful link that will keep us all connected until the very end.


This entry was posted in: Bereavement, Writing
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Mum to one beautiful girl on earth and one sweet baby boy in heaven. Privileged carer. Encourager and friend.


  1. Damaris says

    Oana, that was beautiful. It brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for sharing!

  2. What a wonderful experience for you. On some rare occasions, especially leading up to the holidays or other important/monumental days I have dreams about my Dad and it is so incredibly bittersweet. I wake up with tears in my eyes but my heart at peace because I can see him being happy and healthy. Hope these experiences are healing for you as well.

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