The Crows

Many of you may think I am insane. Others may believe or have heard. When Al and my mother passed,…

The Crows

Posted on January 12, 2014 by Who I am

Many of you may think I am insane. Others may believe or have heard. When Al and my mother passed, my husband and I were driving. Crows circling the car when one came swooping down at us and hit the windshield cracking it.

I knew the story. I love the culture of animals and life. Within a certain amount of days the story goes that someone you love dearly will pass a way. Within the time frame our mother passed.

Years later when our father passed I went outside when the funeral home came to pick him up. I just couldn’t stay inside. Once outside I heard such a loud shrieking I had to cover my ears. It was piercing. I looked up into the trees and they were black.

Black because hundreds of crows took over. This lasted about five to ten minutes and then they were gone. Earlier this year my daughter let me know that she had seen the crows. Within the correct time frame a family member passed a way.

Today I went outside like I said I would yesterday in my post. I decided to walk to the mailbox. I noticed the familiar sounds and looked up to see crows flying in circles over our home. I would guess there were probably between 20-30 crows. They would sit in the near by trees and then circle over the house and then go back and sit and chatter ever so loudly.

I grabbed my camera and took the photos. I know this is old superstition tales from many years ago; but I also know from my own experience of what happened to our parents.

Edgar Allan Poe is famous for his poem the Raven. I have placed it below along with the photos I took. I hesitated writing this post, but I decided to go for it anyways, because I do believe.

Edgar Allan Poe

The Raven

[First published in 1845]

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door –
Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore –
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore –
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; –
This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; –
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!’
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!’
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; –
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door –
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door –
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore –
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door –
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.’

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered –
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before –
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore –
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never-nevermore.”‘

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore –
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee
Respite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! –
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted –
On this home by horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore –
Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore –
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore –
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting –
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!

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Well, it was short-lived. A beautiful, magical 24 hours where Al was at peace with himself and the…

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360 Turn-a-Bout

Posted on January 12, 2014 by Who I am

Well, it was short-lived. A beautiful, magical 24 hours where Al was at peace with himself and the world. But last night he did a 360. At 8pm he suddenly became confused. He didn’t know what day it was, nor time.

He was concerned whether Stacy, the caregiver would be here this morning. He was and still is restless. He says his hands are creeping and frozen. When he comments this, he is telling me his hands feel like they are moving and yet frozen in place at the same time.

The sleep I dreamed about getting two nights in a row didn’t happen. In fact, I didn’t sleep at all last night as he kept calling me in his room to repeat his fears.

This morning the caregiver came and she gave him a bath. I trimmed his moustache. She and I really doted on him but he just cried and cried. He was fearful of dying today. He has seen shadows in his room for a couple of days.

He hasn’t seen our parents or Jesus for some time. The shadows have replaced them I am thinking. He has me say a prayer for him each evening but this morning he asked me to pray for him. His request was for me to ask God to send Mom here.

I can’t pinpoint what the issue really is. Is he afraid of dying or is he afraid of dying alone. Other wise why would he have me ask God to send Mom here to help him go home. I have said about everything possible I can think of.

I have followed all leads that you have given me. I thought we had this whole thing licked when he was so calm and comfortable those 24 hours. I was just in there and I rubbed his arms. His veins are popped up as if he has been working on huge weights at the gym.

I am so hoping that as I am writing this he has drifted off to sleep as it is quiet through the monitor. He refuses to have any noise in his room and no light on at all. Pure silence is what he is requesting.

I know I am a repeater as of late, but I am coming to you once again to pray for that calm to return. I am asking you to say the same things I ask God for. To ease Al’s fear of dying and to let him go gracefully.

In my wildest nightmares that I have been having lately, I see Al screaming and crying as God is lifting him home. I don’t want this to be a reality. I am strong as you say, but I am no Super Woman.

So please stick with me friends, I am pleading for your help once again.