The Portal

Fifty years ago, a little girl sat on the pull-out sofa bed in her grandparents’ living room sobbing, uncontrollably, as her mother tried to console her 8-year-old soul. She was overcome with emotion at the very thought of living in a world where neither her Big Momma, Big Daddy, nor mother were still alive – a world where their deaths meant she would be all alone in her 8-year-old mind. The thought shook her, and it was the formation of a core memory.

I am one of 25 grandchildren of Harry and Marie McGee who were sharecroppers/field hands/laborers both born in 1913 in the Jim Crow south, Tangipahoa, Louisiana. To them were born 7 children (5 boys & 2 girls) and all but one is still in this earthly realm having accidentally drowned in Lake Michigan when he was 18 years old (I was only 3 months at the time).

My sister and I, although raised in New Orleans, spent a lot of time with my grandparents on their farm during summer vacations and random weekends when my mother decided she needed to see her mom and dad. It is on that farm where I learned to feed chickens, help Big Momma gather the eggs, and begged Big Daddy to wake me up at dawn to help him “slop the hogs”, although, he never obliged.

It is also where I first knew of an outhouse and freaked out when Big Daddy put me on the back of Prince, the honey-colored horse they owned, and I haven’t been on a horse since. It is on that farm I felt the safest in all of my childhood being on my grandfather’s heels as we walked down in the fields in back of the house to pick a watermelon, some strawberries, and a few cucumbers for our daily snacks while my older sister and grandmother were at work on another farm somewhere picking bell peppers, which when fresh have the most amazing smell.

I was an extremely sensitive child who felt EVERYTHING deeply and intensely. My mother would say to me all the time that I “wore my feelings on my sleeves” and DID! Family dynamics made that a liability, so I had to learned to toughen up which only meant me suppressing those feelings which in turn led to a “bad attitude” and being labeled as mean for most of my life. Defense mechanisms and armor are not always positive nor easily identified, but they sometimes serve the intended purpose.

This “sensitivity” was, and is, something more though. I realize now that it is a portal through which my deceased loved ones and spirit guides communicate with me and have done so since I was about 7 or 8 years old. They have visited me in dreams, spoken to me while awake, guided me, comforted and reassured me of their presence and it’s only now that I’ve connected these experiences confirming what I’ve suspected these past 30 years.

Gramps

I grew up 4 houses down from my paternal grandmother and grandfather (step). When Gramps died (dad’s stepfather), I was 6 and grieved him hard. My grades suffered and I was out of sorts for what seemed the longest time that is until he visited me in a dream. I was seated at the kitchen table with a clear view of the front door when I saw him come in, walked through the living room and dining room, into the kitchen past the refrigerator, then stood and looked at me at I said “hi Gramps!!”, excited to see him.

He smiled with that toothy grin under that big mustache looking like the Egyptian president, Anwar El-Sadat, and kissed me on my cheek. I woke up immediately and although it was summer in New Orleans, I was shivering cold as I sat up straight in my bed. Just like that, my grieving was over and the little girl who skipped kindergarten was back to making As and Bs again.

Gramps

Mudda

Mudda (Mother)

She was my grandmother. "Mudda" because my sister could not pronounce 'mother' as a small child and this was how my daddy and his siblings referred to their mom - Mother. Naturally, I followed in my sister's footsteps and the moniker stuck. To say Mudda played a significant role in my life and had a profound effect on me is a gross understatement. However, I find it almost impossible to put into words how much she meant to me.

Mudda was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in the winter of 1995 and when she made her transition in April of 1996, she was 82 years old. A long full life some will say. I would agree although I wish she could have been around longer.

During those months while the disease ravished her body, I questioned why God would have her suffer so. I learned then, and I still believe today, that nothing happens by chance or coincidence. Mudda's life had purpose and so did her death, even the process of her dying had purpose. The most important thing was healing a rift that had developed between my dad and me. Because of that, the last words my father and I said to each other before he died nine months after she did were "I love you". For that, I am forever grateful.

Shortly before Mudda's death, I was told she had what some have called a deathbed vision. A lifelong friend was sitting with Mudda who had been unresponsive and appeared to be staring off into space. She would have moments of coherency when she would speak of loved ones who had already died. It was during one of these moments when she had no real expression on her face one moment but in the next, her face lit up and her eyes filled with love. Her next statement left the friend in awe and amazement as she uttered, "Come on in Jesus'.

Because of the many stories of near-death experiences about approaching a light and not wanting to return and being taught in church how wonderful a place heaven is, it was my belief that my Mudda had forgotten about me. How could she have forgotten about me when I loved her so much and I knew she loved me?

In the weeks following her death I didn't sleep much because of this thought, this worry. I was 29 years old and working at a small consulting firm as an administrative assistant where one of my duties was to file business cards in one of the four large Rolodex files. One day as I was performing this mundane task, Mudda was weighing heavily on my mind and my heart. As I turned the wheel of the Rolodex, the file landed on a business card I had not seen before and immediately the tears began to flow and I sobbed.

There on this business card was Mudda's name - Laura L. Sterling.

It was in that moment she let me know that she had not forgotten about me. I was so comforted by this and from that night on, sleep came easy. I worked at this company for about a year and a half and no matter how much I searched, I never found the card again. This experience left me with the belief that she is my guardian angel watching over me and to this day it gives me great comfort and peace. Her presence is the one I feel most strongly.

Big Momma / Big Daddy

The past six months have not been easy for me. I ended a long-term relationship 3 days before the election, and both have left me in a state of grief. Meditation and cannabis have helped in dealing with the anxiety but negligible effect on the mild depressive episodes that have crept in but that is lessening also, thankfully.

This past Sunday, I had a moment where I was thinking about ancestor veneration and how I rarely ever call upon other family members who have transitioned, specifically, Big Momma and Big Daddy and by the end I was sitting on the bathroom floor sobbing, crying out to them telling them I missed them dearly and naming those things that I missed about them.

This afternoon, one of my cousins called me to discuss the birthday party being planned for 3 of my uncles who all have July birthdays, the oldest is turning 90!! Their children are planning and I volunteered to put together the slideshow of their pictures that will play during the party. Afterwards, in the group chat, another cousin shared a photo of our grandparents that I had never seen before, and I could not stop staring at it. Then, it hit me!!

Marie & Harry McGee (Big Momma & Big Daddy)

This photo, that just came into my consciousness was Big Momma’s and Big Daddy’s way of letting me know they heard me, they see me…they got me even though they are in the spirit realm.

Immediately, I was again that little girl sitting on the pull-out sofa bed in their living room weeping only this time aware of life without them yet knowing they are still with me, that they never left – they were just waiting for me to call on them.