After the end

Let me start by saying that I work in a medical field. I’m a student of science, and I like facts… that being said, there are many things that have happened since Lawrence died that science cannot explain. It IS possible that I’m reading into explainable coincidences, just hoping to find a continued connection with my kiddo. But, even if that IS the case, these next few stories bring me comfort, some happy tears and even a few laughs.

I’ve already shared one of these stories in the “Purple Polish” post. Now I will share a few more. The week after his death, my sister and I went to the funeral home to decide on all the final details and arrangements. I can’t fully explain the amount of dread that I felt on the way there. I’m a pretty indecisive person, by nature, especially when important decisions need to be made, like where to eat, which shoes to buy and which Sirius XM station I want to listen to.

I remember telling Carissa as she was driving to the funeral home that I was dreading having to make the decisions that I was about to be facing. Which is the best casket in which to bury your only child? Where do you want to visit a cold headstone when you would give anything just to have a hug instead? These are impossible, disgusting decisions that needed to be made. But in typical Lawrence fashion, he was there to help and to definitely lighten the mood.

We met with Tom, the funeral director, he was very kind and helpful. After talking with him for about thirty minutes or so he was covering the details for the obituary. He said he would start with a very basic , paragraph or two, but that I could send anything else that I wanted it to say in an email. He started to recite his email address for me to take note of. He began, “my email is Tom, at…… ” at which point, words came out of my mouth that didn’t originate in my brain, at least not consciously. “Is that Tom with an “H” or without?” I interrupted, surprising myself and everyone else in the room. How many Toms do you know who spell their name Thom? Also, it was said in a teasing/jokey way that seemed completely inappropriate under the circumstances.

“Funny you should ask,” he said, “Growing up, it was always T-O-M, but when I started college I decided that adding an “H” might help me to stand out from the crowd, so I became T-H-O-M.” Again, I heard what I said next before the thoughts formed in my head, “now, is that “H” silent, or not?”, I said, actually teasing the funeral director. Finally, I stopped talking before thinking and started to laugh and blush and apologize profusely. It really felt inappropriate to be joking at a time like this. I explained to Thom, “I’m so sorry, but Lawrence was hilarious and he would be disappointed if I wasn’t making jokes right now.” Thom seemed to understand, or at least graciously ignored my jokes and embarrassment. But that was totally Lawrence’s sense of humor. He lightened the mood just in time for us to start the next part of the process.

Thom led us into the adjoining room that contained the floor models of all their best caskets. I broke down when we first walked in, but Carissa was there to catch me and we cried together. The week before this happened she and I were working on the decorations for my niece’s first birthday, and now, here we were standing in a room full of flowers and death, forced to choose her nephew’s final bed and blankets. Life is funny like that. Eventually a feeling of calm settled down on me, and I was ready to continue.

Thom asked if I wanted to look at wood or steel caskets? I was prepared for the torturous decision making process to begin, I swallowed hard and said, “I don’t kn…WOOD!” the answer just shot out of my mouth. We walked over to the wood caskets and he was showing us the different styles and types of wood. As we walked past them, in my head, I was thinking, “no, no, no…” and as soon as we got to the 4th one, “YES”, I KNEW this was the one. Not a single ounce of indecisiveness… and every decision the rest of the day was exactly that way. Maybe for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what I wanted without any second guessing, or maybe he was there and guiding me. It feels better to believe the second option.

A few weeks later, Carissa, Bob and I were sitting outside on their deck it was getting close to dusk. As we were sitting there remembering and sharing Lawrence stories, a green maple leaf fell out of no where and hit me on the head. It wasn’t autumn yet and the leaf was green. I didn’t say anything, but thought that it was a little unusual. Yes, they have a maple tree in their back yard, but I wasn’t sitting directly under it. Eh, weird, but not completely unexplainable. I’m a scientist, I’m sure I could come up with a plausible explanation.

A few stories later, sudden movement near the tree caught my attention and we watched as an owl swooped down from the tree, landed on the ground, 10 feet away from the deck and seemed to make direct eye contact with us for a split second. Then, as fast as he swooped down, he was gone, flying into the tree on the other side of their yard. Mr. Owl proceeded to swoop back and forth, from one tree to the other, skimming about 2 feet above the grass every 20-40 minutes. He did this 5 more times over the next couple of hours while we sat there talking about Lawrence. Maybe there’s an explanation for that to be the first and only time an owl has done that in their back yard. Or maybe it was Lawrence, letting us know he was there, laughing and crying with us, missing us as much as we were missing him. It feels better to believe that it was him, so I do.

Several weeks later, I was sitting at home alone on a Friday night and I received a text from one of Lawrence’s elementary school friends. She told me that she was with a group of people seeing a psychic and that Lawrence came through and said he wanted to talk to me. Do I believe in that stuff? I didn’t know, but on the outside chance it WAS true, and he wanted to talk to me, I could never say, “no thanks.”

I scheduled an appointment and the following Monday I drove about an hour to meet with the same psychic medium that Lawrence’s friend had talked to. At the time, I didn’t really know how mediums work, but I’ve researched it since then. Basically, they feel or see things that represent things that would make sense to the person they are talking to that could be messages or just things about the departed that there’s no way anyone who didn’t know them in life would be able to report.

Tish, the medium, began to describe his personality. She said that his spirit was presenting himself with swagger, confident, slightly cocky, but in an adorable way. I’ve been his mom for almost 18 years and I couldn’t have described him better. I remember him looking in the mirror more than once and saying, “I’m so glad I wasn’t born ugly.” and then laughing when I told him I was glad about that too.

She said he was telling her he was sorry that he left me alone. She didn’t know if I had other children, a husband, or a big family. But specifically said, “he is sorry that he left you alone.” If she had said, “he’s sorry he left you.” That could apply to everyone, and I know I can’t be the only single mom to have lost their only child, who had also previously lost most of their family. But “left you alone” felt very specific.

Then she said she kept hearing my name, Bethany. I told her that he had my name, my signature tattooed on his right arm. She acknowledged that, but said she kept hearing it in a repetitive pattern, “Bethany, Bethany, Bethany….. Bethany, Bethany, Bethany……” I started laughing and told her about a conversation that he and I had when he was asking to get that tattoo. He asked to have my name tattooed for his 17th birthday. As flattered as I was that he wanted my name, I also realized that he REALLY wanted a tattoo, and he figured I’d be more likely to say yes if it was MY name he wanted. He wasn’t wrong.

He told me he wanted to get “Bethany” tattooed on his chest, from one collar bone to the other, kind of swooping under his neck. I vetoed that idea and explained why, “Trust me, Lawrence, you don’t want my name on your chest. Some day you’ll be married or have a girlfriend, do you really want this?” and I mimicked laying on my back, throwing my head back rhythmically, saying, “Bethany, Bethany, Bethany……” He cracked up and agreed that maybe his arm would actually be a better option.

Again, had she just agreed that when she heard my name it probably was about his tattoo, that could apply to more than one person. But insisting it was my name in a repetitive pattern felt VERY specific.

She asked about the significance of the number 3. I told her that one of basketball jerseys was number 3. She could have said, yep, that’s it. But, she shook her head, she said she had seen basketball repeatedly during the reading, but this felt like something slightly different. She explained that she was getting a feeling of being fidgety or doing something 3 times every time you did the thing.

I shook my head in disbelief because suddenly it made sense to me. He LOVED basketball and watching him play was one of my greatest pleasures. Every time he shot a free throw, he’d dribble the ball exactly 3 times, pause and shoot. On the way home from a game one time, I asked him about it. I said, “hey, I notice you dribble 3 times before every free throw… are you thinking “M-O-M” every time?” I was totally joking, acting like I was the most important thing on his mind during a basketball game. But he was completely serious when he told me, “no, I’m thinking, “I – LOVE- MOM” ” every. time.

That brings us to Theresa Caputo, “The Long Island Medium”. My friend Amy bought tickets to see her live Experience. We went this past Saturday, October 15th. If you have seen her show or listened to her podcast, you should see her live. It was pretty neat and she is hilarious.

For the first 10 minutes or so, she was on stage explaining who she is and what she does, then she started walking through the audience. She’d stop and talk to people, after getting a feeling or seeing some symbol that meant someone from the other side was trying to say something to their loved one.

At one point, she was talking to a couple, I can’t remember who they had lost, but she was talking about things that seemed to make sense to them. Then she asked what the significance of a butterfly? In my head, I was thinking…duh EVERYONE thinks butterflies are a sign from beyond the grave. But then the husband laughed and said, “my wife raises Monarch butterflies.” Wow, you have my attention, Theresa.

She’d been talking and doing readings for almost 2 hours, she had already walked past our row in the isle to our left, and now was coming down the isle to our right. As soon as she got to our row, she stopped, put her hand to her chest said she couldn’t breathe, then asked to talk about “who was shot in the chest? Because I feel the barrel of a gun on my chest.” Now, whenever she says anything that you relate to you’re supposed to raise your hand or stand up. So I stood. I was the only one who stood, and she was directly at my row.

Theresa: Ma’am, do you understand this?

Me: Yes, my son was shot in the chest earlier this year

Theresa: I’m getting the feeling that it was kind of wrong place wrong time… but also like it doesn’t make sense, there’s a missing piece. I’m seeing puzzle pieces that don’t fit. Almost like he was lured there. Does that make sense?

Me: Yes, that’s pretty much how it was.

Theresa: He’s telling you thank you for letting him live life on his terms, he knows he made choices you didn’t necessarily agree with, but he thanks you for letting him make those choices and learn from his mistakes. He was a good boy, he loved life, he always had people around, does that make sense?

Me: absolutely, 100%

Theresa: He wasn’t scared, he thought it was a joke, he never thought he was going to die that day. He didn’t even register what was happening until he had passed. Do you understand that?

Me: Yes, the person who shot him was his friend, and they had fist fights previously, but this time the kid brought a gun to the fight.

(I actually had a dream a few weeks after he died, that I was with him when it happened. And my dream was exactly like that, he and Gunnar were arguing and they each were talking smack to each other. Gunnar shot, but Lawrence never stopped talking back until he fell and was unconscious.)

Theresa: What’s with the “W”? Is it the name of the street? I’m seeing an intersection and there’s something with a W… like Willy, Wally Wickets or something like that.

Me: no, I don’t know what that is. (There was an intersection, but the streets were Liggett and S. Park)

After I said I didn’t recognize a W, a lady a few rows in front of me said that her brother was shot on a street that started w/ a W.

Theresa to other lady: Did he always wear a hat? or a bandana… what do they call those scarves?

Everyone: Durag

Theresa to other lady, did he wear a durag?

Other lady: no, not really

Me: raised my hand “Lawrence did, he often wore a skull cap or a durag.”

Then, all of a sudden I realized what the “W” reference was.

But by the time I remembered Wheely Clean, she had already moved on to talking to other people. She continued down the isle until she was almost back to the stage. She was talking with a woman in the front row, again I can’t remember who she lost or what they were exactly talking about but Theresa asked the woman if she was writing a book?

Theresa: Are you writing a book or memoirs? or something like that

Front row lady: Nope

Theresa immediately looked back up to me and said, Theresa immediately looked back up to me, pointed and said, “Ma’am, are YOU writing a book?”

Me: I’m writing a blog

Theresa: Is it about him, like sharing memories of his life?

Me: Yes, exactly that

Theresa: Take this as verification, that he knows about your blog, he’s still with you, there’s no way I could have known that, he loves it.

So, do I believe in this stuff? All of this is kind of hard to deny… and it makes me feel better to believe it, so I guess I do. What’s the harm?