I will make this short. because it is painful. Today my husband, my son, and I were heading to Columbus, GA, to get our second COVID-19 vaccine. I was distracted on the phone, my husband was driving, and then the world stopped. I was told to look to the right. EMS was there, an overturned car. Firefighters were holding a blanket over something on the brush. My guts felt like mush. A voice asked me, “why am I flying?”. Our car drove by. My husband shook at the wheel, his body covered in goosebumps to his face. His face was ashen. He said he felt the passing of a person. I said no, there are two, and one is with me, soaring, flying alongside the car.
I described a confused young person, bemused at the trees beneath him or her; I could not tell at the moment. The spirit was amused to be flying, scared to be flying. The trees looked alive, and the day stretched ahead in a way unforeseen before.
The road stretched in front of our car. My husband could not shake the fear and confusion. To him, it was like someone was drowning and grabbing anything it could to linger. He told me it was not a good feeling. He could feel the person who had passed. My husband is a medium/Palero, and this entity was holding on to him for reassurance.
As the miles came between the accident site and we prayed together for the souls lost, normalcy slowly returned. We went about our business. We got vaccinated and returned home.
Until tonight, as I talked to an orisha sister, telling her of my experience, my husband came into the basement to share a link to a news story. He wanted me to know I was on the spot about not one but two accident victims and one being much younger. My heart sunk. My thoughts went to the mother and wife. Lady, whoever you are, your daughter is ok. She is fine. Your husband was confused and fearful in his last moments, but he will adjust once the transition is completed. I can’t say much more about him because he did not tap on to me. Your daughter did. Again, she is fine.
There are moments when I do not want this gift. I hope somehow my words find you. I do not dare to interfere with your mourning. Know you are love, whoever you are.
Oní Yemayá Ashabá