A Ghost of a Chance
by Prema Baba Swamiji (Dr. Donald Schnell)
 "Is she going to make it?" I asked, throwing my arms around my grandfather's
stooped shoulders, enfolding him in a tight embrace. My grandmother was
dying of cancer. What does one ask in such a dismal situation?
"The doctors are sayin' she hasn't a ghost of chance," my grandfather's
voice was breaking into a sob. "She can go at any moment now. I wish I
could be in her place and take this awful pain for her, Don." My heart
sank at his words and his terrible grief. I loved these two old people
with all my heart. They were German immigrants, who had lived and loved
together for over twenty-five years. I'd known them all my life as my beloved Opa and Oma.
I followed my grandfather up three rickety steps into the tiny, cramped mobile home he'd
purchased a few weeks earlier in Tucson, so his dear Lyla could be near
the hospital where she was being treated. An oppressive wall of heat
hit me as I stepped through the open door. A noisy air conditioner
attached under an open window was working at full speed to no avail.
Tucson was the big city for my grandparents. Most of their latter years
had been spent in a bright and tidy little home, surrounded by Opa's
well-tended garden in the tiny copper mining community of Ajo, Arizona.
Like fish out of water in dry and dreadful surroundings, they were in a
state of shock, fear, and pain.
"Please Oma, don't die," I sobbed, as I knelt at my grandmother's bedside. My 19-year old body was wracked with heartache. Why was God punishing my sweet grandmother? What had she done do deserve this? Hadn't
she suffered enough with the loss of her sight in one eye, and her
lifelong struggle with the aftermath of polio from her teens? I looked
down at her 87 pound emaciated body, which the doctors said was now
riddled with cancer.
A few weeks earlier, Oma had received massive chemotherapy and surgery
in the heroic attempt to save her life. Now, she was sicker than ever,
drained of her life's savings, and the doctors had proclaimed there was nothing further they could do.
"Don, please ask them -- can't they do something to
take away this awful pain?" The voice was sweet as always, but terribly
weak. Her hand groped mine, and she squeezed it tightly. The morphine
the doctors prescribed wasn't working. The unbearable pain of the
cancer was compounded by the trauma to her body from the surgery. Oma
was 81. She never would have consented to such surgery or chemotherapy,
if she'd had a choice. She'd been admitted to the hospital for
exploratory treatment, and awakened from anesthesia only to be informed
that she had already been given massive amounts of chemotherapy. The
surgeons had also removed most of her intestines, and as much of the
cancer as they could.
Opa sobbed audibly. This strong, proud man who had endured years of
hardship in the brutal, Arizona desert was now sadly beaten. The tiny
room was overcome with the unbearable heat of the summer, and my
grandmother's unbearable suffering.
"You are suffering because of your sins", the words intruded on my
sorrow, as the voice boomed behind me. They shock me as much today when
I think about them, as they shocked me then. A young Baptist minister,
who we all knew as the "Reverend" had entered the mobile home. My
grandmother's
sister, who had arranged for his arrival was following behind him, and
several of my aunts and uncles followed her. I turned and sized up the
Reverend as if he were an intruder, and I noticed the sweat on his face
dripping onto his Sunday clothes, the ubiquitous white dress shirt with
a slender black tie. His black trousers were wrinkled and too short
over his black dress shoes.
"Your sins have found you out!" the Reverend repeated louder.
In that split second, the word "sins" triggered a flood of memories. I
recalled only the love my grandmother had showered upon me, raising me,
feeding me, singing to me when I was young, while my father slept
during the day and worked the night shift in the copper mines. I
remembered Easter Egg hunts, Christmas gifts, birthdays, Halloweens,
and Fourth of July laughter with her. Sins? Oma had given me only love.
She was far from a sinner. She was well loved in the community for the
way she fed the poor, took care of animals, and visited the sick
children in the hospital. I remained kneeling with my back to the
voice, as an uncontrollable rage slowly moved up my spine.
"It is only Jesus who can save you now!" The Reverend now stood at the
head of the bed in front of me. His screaming face reddened, his
spittle falling on Oma, as if he were angry. He slammed his Bible upon
the bed to emphasize his words. My aunts and uncles, who had gathered
around us, looked down at the floor and squirmed. I knew they were
uncomfortable with the loud rhetoric, but not sure how to respond.
After all, the Reverend was a "man of God" doing the Lord's work.
Oma moaned in pain from the pounding of the Bible on her bed rail. The
pontificating preacher looked momentarily apologetic and then resumed
his rhetoric.
"The hour is near. The time for salvation is now. Do you acknowledge your sins, woman? Are you prepared for Jesus?"
"I accepted Jesus as a child", my grandmother said softly.
"Don't lie to me woman! It's the devil that's got your tongue. Satan has entered your body. Those who are saved are spared Satan's torment. Only Jesus can save you in this dark hour!" Again the Reverend's words were angry and loud. Only the air conditioner argued with him at that moment.
"Woman, you are a sinner!" he emphasized. Again he raised his hand and
was about to bring the Good Book down upon the bed, when my hand flew
up to intercept his. At the same moment, I was on my feet. I swiftly
pushed him hard, directly in the center of his chest. As his body flew
backward, the Reverend let out a loud gasp, "Sweet Jesus!" His arms
flailing, his eyes and mouth widened in alarm. Completely off balance,
he toppled out the open door, and landed on his back at the bottom of
the stairs in the dry dirt. The Bible flew out of his hand and was
lying dusty under my uncle Don's old Ford pick-up truck parked in the driveway.
He lay there for a moment, as I stood in the doorway watching him. Slowly, he began to pick himself up.
"This is God-awful, son! You are interfering here with God's work, keepin'
that woman from salvation," he muttered, while attempting to dust
himself off. He limped over to the truck and bent down to recover the
Bible, picked it up, brushed it off, and then kissed it.
"Looks like I'm interfering then", I said softly, stepping down onto the dirt. I didn't want this Reverend around my grandmother.
"I'll be back, boy. We'll be prayin' for your soul's salvation at
Church." I watched his back as he limped off toward his light green
Cadillac.
My
great-aunt gave me a disapproving look as I re-entered
the mobile home. I stood behind Oma's bed and
instinctively began to massage the back of her neck, as
the rest of my family began to visibly let go of the
tension that had filled the space.
"It's
quieter now", Oma remarked weakly, relaxing to the
gentle touch. I knew if I could help her body to relax,
she could tolerate the pain more easily.
"Why
don't those doctors use massage?" she wondered
softly, her words barely audible. Then, she looked deep
into my eyes. "I'm going to die soon", she
said. "I'm not afraid, but I'm afraid for Opa;
he will be so lonely without me."
"Your
spirit will be with him", I said, quietly.
"We
will always be together", she spoke these words as
a fact.
Oma,
Will You Return?
Oma and
I had often talked about spiritual ideas. She firmly
believed we all have souls, and she was always praying
to God for the needs of her family. At this moment, I
needed to speak to her -- soul to soul -- as I had as
a boy.
"Oma,
I have a question", I kneeled at her side,
whispering, so no one else could hear. "We both
believe in the soul. When you cross over to the other
side, will you please return to me and let me know you
are over there? I mean, if it is possible and not
against the rules over there, or any kind of hardship
for you?"
"Yes,
I will, honey." This was the beloved Oma of my
childhood, squeezing my hand with affection, looking
into tenderly into my eyes.
She
crossed over to the other side a short while later. My
mother, who was holding her hand the moment she
departed, said that she could actually feel and sense
Oma leave her physical body. Oma squeezed my mother's
hand one last time before she left.
Several
months later, back at Arizona State University, I
awakened in the middle of the night to get some water.
As I walked from my bedroom into the kitchen, I stopped
dead in my tracks. Cold panic coursed through my body. I
could hear soft whispering. I had no doubt that there
was an intruder in my living room. Someone had broken
into my home. Was I to be robbed, murdered? My pulse
quickened as my martial arts training took over. I was
not about to become someone's victim! I was going to
directly confront whoever was there.
I leapt
from the kitchen into the darkened living room. Sure
enough, I could make out someone standing only a few
feet in front of me in the center of the room. I was
heading straight into them, unable to stop my forward
momentum.
Several
things happened at once. First, the realization struck
me hard that this wasn't a flesh and blood person. It
was an apparition, a ghost! Simultaneously, adrenaline
flooded my body, no doubt brought on by Hollywood and
literary depictions of dangerous ghosts. Then, I found
myself frozen in the middle of a body of blue and yellow
light. I saw her instantly. It was Oma. Her soul had
returned to me, and was communicating in an almost
wordless whisper. I realized at that heightened moment
that she was fulfilling her deathbed promise to return
to see me after she died. Six months had passed. I hadn't
thought of that promise in a long time.
The
shock of adrenaline slowly wore off, replaced by joy,
gladness, feelings of respect and awe for the
confirmation of the continuation of life after so-called
death. As I remained unmoving in that spot, the ethereal
body fragmented into delicate sparks of light I could
almost feel, dissipating like fireworks, until I stood
again alone in the darkened living room. Her light was
gone.
I was
completely elated. Death became for me a fiction at that
moment. I realized there were ghosts. More than
anything, I was overjoyed to have been with my Oma once
again for that brief visit.
Another
Visit
Twenty
years later, in April 1998, I awakened from a dream. My
Oma had reappeared to me once again to give me a
message. I had only a few months earlier been initiated
in India into the Ancient Order of Swamis. One of my siddhis,
or mystical powers, was manifesting more and
more. This was the power to witness and communicate with
the other side.
"My
Oma appeared to me early this morning", I said to
my wife Marilyn as we sat over our morning breakfast. We
were eating fresh fruit and oatmeal, coincidentally, the
same breakfast Oma had given me as a child. She would
add a dab of butter to the oatmeal, to make it
"stick to the ribs" of a hungry, skinny little
boy on his way to school.
Marilyn's
kind eyes were suddenly riveted on my face, awaiting an
explanation. She was fully aware of the love I held in
my heart for Oma. I had no doubt the incredible love
Marilyn and I shared was only possible because my
grandmother had awakened me to love. Marilyn and I had
this childhood love for a grandmother in common. Her
Grandma Ida had added butter to her oatmeal so it
would also "stick to her ribs".
I sensed
impending news as I described the dream to Marilyn. Oma
brought me Linda McCartney. I saw the famous wife of
Paul McCartney clearly standing with my
grandmother.
"Oma
let me know in my dream that she was with Linda
McCartney last night in Tucson, and she had helped her
to cross over to the other side."
Marilyn
and I looked at each other, wondering for a moment what
it all meant. "Let's check the news on CNN",
she suggested.
The lead
story on Headline News confirmed my dream, but not until
April 19th, two days after the visit from Oma. The
April 19th newspapers carried the headline,
"Linda McCartney Dies of Breast Cancer in Santa
Barbara, California."
In my
dream, Oma clearly told me that Linda crossed over to
the other side in Tucson, Arizona, and she clearly told
me that on April 17th, a full two days before
the public announcement on April 19th.
Marilyn and I knew something was not right with the
public news report, but there was no other commentary.
Until
one week later. On April 26th, a new
announcement came in the press. "Linda McCartney
Died in Tucson." Only then was it revealed that
Paul's press agents had leaked the misleading Santa
Barbara location to afford the McCartney family privacy.
Without public attention, scrutiny, and publicity, they
were able to have the cremation done and return to
England in private with their grief and Linda's ashes.
Oma had provided me with the news of Linda's departure
before anyone other than the McCartney family knew.
The
likelihood of this being a random event? A ghost of a
chance.
"Ghost
of a Chance" Copyright 2000 Prema Publishing
Book
by this author:
The Initiation
by Prema
Baba Swamiji (as Dr. Donald Schnell).
Info/Order
book.
About The
Author
Prema
Baba Swamiji (as Dr. Donald Schnell) is the author of The
Initiation, a spiritual adventure story about his initiation
into the Ancient Order of Swamys by the eternal Babaji in India. He is a
widely respected expert in the fields
of metaphysics, occult phenomenon, Eastern
spirituality, medical hypnosis, nutrition, exercise, and yoga. To learn more about Prema Baba Swamiji and his wife, Swami Leelananda,
the spiritual workshops they conduct, and to order The
Initiation, visit www.TheInitiation.com.
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