Wednesday, March 7, 2018

Knowing from the Other Side


Maxine Moe Rasmussen lives in the country near Ada, Minnesota, about an hour east of Fargo and Moorhead. I asked her to read and comment on parts of my memoir. One of my chapters prompted the following story in response:
Helen and her husband Bob lived across the road from us, where he grew up. She grew up a quarter mile east. They were related to much of the neighborhood and were its matriarch and patriarch. I was out walking one day and about a mile east of our house I turned around to walk back home, when I had the sorrowful thought that everything would soon be changing in our neighborhood. I didn’t like the thought, so put it aside, but it was a knowing that could not be denied.
 One morning I stopped at the mailbox to pick up mail on my way to work. I was always running late and in a hurry. As I stopped the car and got out to get mail out of our box, I heard Helen’s voice. She was saying something to Bob, don’t know what, but at the sound of her voice and the closing of her car door, I felt a strong punch in my gut—the only way to describe that feeling, like someone punched me in the gut.
 Not long after that, Helen got sick. My beloved neighbor Helen was in the hospital with cancer. I doubted she would get out of the hospital and was thinking this as I left my house to go to the garage one day. I noticed the new moon above me and it was so very bright. Brighter than I’ve ever seen the new moon, neon bright. At that instant, the thought came that Helen would not be here when the moon was full. She held on while the moon gained in size and was almost full. I wondered if the prediction could have been wrong when I was so certain it was correct. She died the morning of the day of the full moon.
 My certainty of the knowledge received at the new moon was correct. I can still see the extreme brightness of that new moon. These experiences are truer than physical experiences. I can only see them as real and true.
 When Helen got into the car that one morning and shut the car door, it was the last time she set foot on that land. No wonder I felt a punch in the gut. She and Bob had spent their whole lives within a quarter mile of land. She never made it home again. It was a definite ending.
 Bob hung on a few years before he died. These two kept the neighbors connected, and their deaths brought about many changes. Shortly after Bob died, their daughter Mary died. Mary was the one in their family who kept things together. I still miss them very much. It’s been five years since their deaths and we still do not have neighbors across the road.  
Maxine was experiencing a knowledge that can't be verified by science, nevertheless true.

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