The Worth of a While

by Rev. Doris Fochler

Most of us tend to unconsciously think of an event, object or person as either being worthwhile or not worthwhile. For instance, when we spend time with someone we may unconsciously judge their "worth" by the amount of time we choose to spend with him or her. I probably have. At last until now. Let me share a while that I experienced recently.

Growing up in an Italian Roman Catholic culture, most of my parents' family and friends are of a similar background. Recently, my godfather, John, passed into spirit. I will use different names in this story to respect everyone's privacy. This is a true experience of a visit to their home prior to his passing.

John had been diagnosed with a very aggressive cancer about three weeks prior to my visit with the family, consisting of his wife (Lina), his two adult children (Rose and Paul), and his son-in-law (Mark). He was bedridden at home and was being kept subdued and mostly unconscious by morphine. He was able to recognize someone and repeat that person's name yesterday. But today, as of early afternoon, he hadn't yet awoken from the morning's medication.

The family, with the aid of daily visiting nursing and hospice support, was caring for John at home. This in itself had been a cause of great stress and depression for everyone. It was potentially a trigger—a catalyst—to touch places within people that have been securely hidden and protected. This family was no different. Each member had his or her own part to play in this drama and individual opportunities for healing in the process. Paul and Mark were tending to the moving and cleaning of John in bed; Lina was creating juice blends for John; and Rose was fighting her owning inner battle to find the strength to deal with the situation moment-by-moment. All the while, the family was grieving and releasing very deeply.

Now many may judge that this didn't set a very happy stage, yet it was a catalyst for so many miracles and awakenings to occur! While driving to their home, I opened to Spirit and gave Spirit permission to use me and my body however would be best for the family and for John. As I approached the home, I focused myself to hold no expectations or judgments.

I found myself alone with John in his room and I held his hand. I was channeling energy through me to him (with my eyes closed) and then his son Paul walked in. I explained that I was simply feeding his father the universal energy that is open to everyone. He seemed to accept this. Since I use psychometry in doing readings, I asked for Paul's ring (to initiate a reading for Paul). Immediately I began channeling father to son. I relayed information to Paul about what his father was experiencing being between the two worlds and what preparations Spirit had in place to welcome John to the other side. I explained to Paul of the Spirit who stood at the foot of the bed. I touched on some facets of this not being a death, but merely a change of existence—in words that he understood using Catholic symbology. (I also spoke to John, giving him information of what he could expect in and from the spirit realm as he transitioned more each day.)

I kept myself out of the way. (I guess I am relaxed enough that Spirit starts speaking through me, without even giving me the thoughts first.) Meanwhile, I had my other hand in the air facing John feeding him more energy, and I suggested to Paul that he try it also. I gave him a little instruction on visualizing the energy flow through his body from "heaven." Paul actually felt the energy flow, especially through his thumb! (Now remember, this is a strictly traditional Catholic family, and this young man is channeling energy! This is only the first of many miracles that occurred!) In the back of my mind, I wondered how all this was being processed by Paul. Just that quickly, John answered my thoughts by telling Paul, "I knew you would believe. It's not by accident that you and Doris are here alone." Another miracle! John pointed out that since we started feeding him energy, there was almost an absence of interruptions into the room, that at a soul-level the others in the house knew to give us privacy and space.

I asked for something of John's, and Paul brought me his watch. As I held it, his Dad started talking. I relayed information about the love he holds so deeply for his son, about "handing" Paul the responsibility of being the caretaker of the family now. Then came predictions, which was a first for me. John showed us that he intends to move an item on a table, like a hallway table. Paul could expect that he would leave for work one day, and something would be centered on a table, yet when Paul arrived home, this "something" would be off center. Since Paul lives alone, this would be John's way of showing him that Paul is not alone--that Dad is just viewing and helping from a different place. All the while, Paul accepted the information openly. He cried and nodded his head in acceptance. Many more miracles of love were exchanged from father to son that afternoon, too many to relay here.

I spent only a short time with Rose, the daughter. She was sitting on the couch, very withdrawn, in the furthermost corner of a room. I sat beside her, yet kept as much distance as was possible on a very small couch, to honor the space she needed. Yet I choose to sit next to her to bring her attention to the present moment. I acknowledged her pain and suffering, reminding her that these feeling arise when we are threatened with the loss of someone we love and hold so close to us. Rose told me that she loves her father, yet part of her wishes that he would go quickly. Before I could breathe or think, I ever-so-softly and gently asked her, "Well, have you told him that?" She then looked at me with an expression I can't even describe, and I chose to make not judgment of it. We then got interrupted by someone and I walked out for awhile.

When I returned, I sat on the couch opposite her, with about six feet between us. I supported her by making the comment about how difficult it can be having people around all the time. She shared that sometimes she feels she wants people to be around, yet when they are around somehow it agitates her and then she doesn't want them around anymore. I affirmed these feelings for her by simply sharing how I've been in that place also and understood. We exchanged a few more sentences, but were again interrupted.

When I left their house that day, I felt as though I had somehow let Rose down by not reaching her, or doing enough for her. I telephoned the next morning to check on everyone's condition. Lina took the phone call and thanked me for whatever it was I said to Rose. After I left yesterday, Rose shared with Lina that everyone had been grating on her nerves—except me, and that I helped her work out some things. And Lina mentioned, "Whatever you said to her, thank you. Because she's better now." Yet another miracle. Rose was never able to bring herself to tell her father that she was okay with his leaving, but I believe he knew and appreciated the love in her thoughts.

Our Native Americans believe that the words that come out of our mouths impact the seven generations past and the seven generations to come. The Native American Elders will hesitate sometimes for several minutes in order to phrase their response to a question "just so." Imagine for a moment that every word you say touches seven generations. How different would your life be if you held that belief at your core and chose your words that carefully. I know the day I visited John I was not choosing the words, but was a medium . . . perhaps the words were aided by those of the previous seven generations.

I realize in the scheme of my lifetime, I truly only spent a little while with this family that day. Yet I am in awe to think of how that little while may have impacted their next seven generations. What is the worth of that little while I shared with them? I simply judge it as worth my while, for it has made available many lessons. Now question yourself . . . what is the worth of your while and how does your while touch the many generations to come?