Intuition

When we trust our intuition, we are well served to follow it.

Because I have acquired a real grown up desk, I needed to dispose of some old metal file cabinets. File cabinets that had quietly accumulated over 20 years of forgotten paperwork. It turns out there are very few things we actually need, any longer, to keep paper copies of. But no one told me. So I’ve continued to stuff every receipt, every statement, every newspaper article (the ones I’m saving for a rainy day to read), every full check register, every canceled check, and everything I’ve ever written in the past 30 years into mis-marked, unmarked and the rare correctly marked hanging folders in these old (and might I say unattractive) file cabinets. I think you can get the drift of what a mountainous project this has created.

Of course, some people would be able to take armloads of things and dispose of them without even a momentary hesitation that there might be something of value in there.

I, am not one of those people.

I have needed to touch every single piece of paper before it goes either in the shred to recycle box, the use-again-in-the-printer pile (Because one side is blank) or the ‘bonfire’ box because it contains sensitive and potentially harmful information Every. Single. One.

Now, touching them with a cursory glance at what it is, is one thing. But I will find delicious pieces of writing that take me to another time in my life. I feel like this is an almost unsurmountable task because some days I don’t get through even one hanging folder.

Today I found a small spiral notebook. As I flipped through the pages reading various notes made at various times I found a small list of stories I wanted to remember to write about. And this ‘note to self’; “Write a chapter on trusting your intuition’”

I suppose we learn to trust our gut because we have had successful experiences doing so.

This is a story about one of those times.

Barbara was a beautifully exotic woman. She lived at the dead end of a street at the very edge of a town. She was not old or young. Just somewhere in the middle. Her husband was a foreigner from a South American country. He was dark and just as beautifully exotic as Barbara. Their small home was filled with treasures from all around the world. Exquisite examples of cultural artistry and color.

When I made my first visit to their home I met her husband briefly but then spent an hour or more talking with, and listening to, Barbara. She was nearing the end of her life and openly willing to talk about everything that had come prior and what she hoped was coming after.

Our conversation that day was rich and honest. She answered every question with thoughtful truth and humor. So much so that when I left her that day, I felt like I had a new friend. That happened a lot to me when I worked in Hospice. Eventually it starts to feel like dying friends can be dangerous friends to collect. Because it creates a steady stream of grieving the loss of what ‘could have been’.

But I digress.

So back to Barbara. I can’t remember now how long she was on service. But I’ll always remember her death. She had one of those tumors that can cause death by rupturing something that causes a person’s body to suddenly drain itself of fluids. We had tried to prepare her husband what it would look like and what he would need to do. We had an almost unlimited number of clean hand towels and bath towels folded up in piles lining their bedroom wall.

The morning I got the call that she had died, there were two nurses already in attendance at the home. They asked if I could come because they were trying desperately to clean everything as much as possible before the husband came back from the store. He had gone to buy candles.

When I arrived, Barbara was lying on the pillows of her bed and looked pale but radiant. Her death had been what we had feared. Hopefully her husband felt prepared, but really, no one can be prepared for what that looks like.

The washer and dryer were in full swing. There was a ceiling fan over the bed and we sprinkled essential oils on the tops of the blades and turned it on high. Even though it was late in the Winter the room was wide open. Every window was as open as it could be and the scent was finally beginning to be tolerable.

While we worked, the three of us talked about our relationships with Barbara and all the things we had loved about her and the things we’d learned from her.

When her husband came back I met him at the door and took the bag of candles, made him a cup of tea and settled him in a comfy chair. I told him Barbara was almost ready for him to see her again and he smiled and thanked me. Because we had bathed her and had not dressed her yet, I asked him if he had any thoughts about what she might like to leave the house in. He said no, that we should just go into their closet and choose.

So, here is where things began to happen. Their closet was a huge walk-in and her clothes were delicious items of fabulous deep, rich colors, and materials as though she had shopped all over the world. We chose a vibrant floor length peasant skirt in many colors, a peasant blouse and a long colorful head scarf.

When we brought her husband in, Barbara was clean and beautifully dressed, her hands folded sweetly outside the clean linens on their bed and she was holding three flowers from an arrangement that had been in the room. We left him with her and told him we’d be in the living room and to let us know when he felt ready to have us call the funeral home.

Several months later, I attended a ceremony to celebrate her life. We were along a wild stretch of river in a flat area. There was a small Altar table set up near the waters edge and in front of it was a poster of Barbara. It was a blown up photograph of her from a cruise they’d been on years before. She was dancing and looking straight at the camera, smiling, as she twirled. It was a full body shot, head to toe and she was wearing exactly, from head to toe, the outfit we had chosen for her to leave the house in.

I stood transfixed with shiver bumps up and down my arms. I looked at her smiling face and just knew that her Spirit had been in that closet with us. That she had directed us to that outfit and that she was now saying “Thank you”.

We never hesitated to choose what we chose. And it didn’t take us long at all. We saw each item and knew it was right. We trusted ourselves and we trusted the process. And we trusted our unseen guide.

So, when you feel something strongly, in your gut, trust it. We are not alone in this journey. And, intuition is important communication.

Photo by MARIOLA GROBELSKA on Unsplash