Rosanne has simplistic beliefs, the result of early Roman Catholic schooling and Ukrainian family influences. She has her own rather unique private relationship with God and the spirits of loved ones who have passed away. She constantly prays to God and frequently talks to the spirits of her son, her mother, her grandmother -- even my late wife -- all people she considers "angels" for whom she declares deep love and enduring devotion. It works for her and that is all that matters. I have reason to believe that this mystic phenomenon just might be working for me too.
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| Maria Shmorhai 1901-1970 Rosanne's grandmother |
Many of her "prayers" to God and her angels are directed at me and the things that I do, or experience. She feels that I often need help and I readily acknowledge that she is probably right. Her main go-to spirit or angel is her grandmother. "She has been there for me in so many ways," explains Rosanne. "She never lets me down. I don't ask for miracles...Only for her presence and guidance in our lives."
Let me relate just two of the countless incidents where Rosanne's favorite angel has tended to me personally. Certainly, if it was not her grandmother's spirit looking out for me, someone or something definitely was. You may draw your own conclusions.
One of my first experiences occurred shortly after we were married 12 years ago. I was having problems with my nerves and in an extremely agitated state. An emotional wreck, I could not sleep on this particular night and rather than disturb Rosanne, I got out of bed. After a drink of water and a breath of fresh Lake Huron air, I collapsed on the living room sofa and eventually drifted into a disturbed, half-conscious stage of sleep.
I was awakened by the approach of soft, shuffling, slippered foot steps on the carpet. Thinking that I was merely hearing things, I chose not to open my eyes. As the shuffling sound drew closer to me, I was enwrapped in a sudden and unexplainable cloak of warmth. A hand touched my shoulder, ever so gently, and an instantaneous state of calm came over me. I opened my eyes, expecting to see Rosanne's figure hovering over me, but in the darkness all that was visible was a coffee table in the reflection of a street light penetrating a split in the living room curtains. There was no one there. I even reached out and waved my hand to make sure.
"How surreal...I must have been dreaming," I rationalized as I drifted off to a much welcomed, uninterrupted sleep.
The first thing that I asked Rosanne in the morning was "Did you come into the living room last night and touch me?"
"No I didn't! Why?" was Rosanne's quick reply.
She was equally prompt in interrupting my brief explanation with a matter-of-fact follow up: "Oh, that was my grandmother. I prayed that she would come into your heart to comfort you and to help get you through the night."
Kind of makes you think, doesn't it? Without a doubt, it certainly made me think -- and wonder. It was another introduction to Rosanne and the mysticism that I had previously taken for granted.
A most recent incident in my life was even more remarkable because of unique circumstances and deadly potential.
Our little dog Lucy dog has required eye surgery this past summer. Due to cataracts and glaucoma, she eventually lost the site in her left eye and required emergency surgery and a lens implant to save the site in her right eye. She had her final surgery on a Monday morning in Ilderton (near London), a three-hour drive from our home in Southampton. A return trip to the pet eye doctor's clinic was necessary the following morning, the equivalent of a 48-hour endurance test for both me and Lucy. Under normal conditions, pet owners who travel great distances, stay over night for the mandatory next-day follow up check after eye surgery, but that was out of the question for me because I could not leave Rosanne for an extended period of time due to her delicate health situation.
I was on the last lap of my return trip Tuesday afternoon on Highway 21, between Goderich and Kincarden, when I found myself defying the inevitable. Traffic was fairly heavy and I was following a grey van in the northbound lane of the single-lane highway. The van, approximately 75 yards ahead of me and without directional signals, suddenly stopped on the highway to make a lefthand turn into a trailer park. I applied my breaks but realized that at 85 kilometers an hour I was not going to stop before colliding with the van.
Instantaneously, I elected to avoid disaster by swerving to the right in favour of the soft shoulder of the highway. With that initial quick action, my car spun out and I could sense a roll-over in the making. Miraculously, however, the car righted itself as I hit the shoulder of the road and entered a 12-foot-deep ditch. Something seemed to tell me to crank the steering wheel, take my foot off the brake and to accelerate along the ditch. All I could see was flying dirt and grass to my right and what appeared to be a white orb of some description in the distance.
It is amazing what you think and how much you can think in a fleeting few seconds when your very life is at stake. I was reconciled for the worst, but kept my foot on the accelerator as I drew closer to that white light. After a good 50 feet, I felt my tires finally taking grip and I began to exit the ditch at a right angle, coming to a miraculous, abrupt halt with the car's under low under carriage deeply embedded in the soft gravel at the side of the highway. My right back wheel was four feet off the ground and my front left wheel one foot from the side of the pavement. I hate to think of what would have happened had my car actually re-enterd the highway at the rate it was going. Traffic stopped in both directions and for a moment, I was frozen in time. I had forgotten about Lucy, but there she was trustingly tucked close to my side, almost as if nothing had happened.
With a break in southbound traffic, the driver of the grey van was able to pull into the trailer park driveway and after stopping momentarily, sped out of sight, never to reappear.
People ran up to me from all directions as I opened the door and exited the vehicle. "Are you all right?" "That van driver didn't give you much warning." "I can't believe that you did not roll at least twice!" "God, are you ever lucky, it could have been so much worse!" "You really did a good job of keeping your car under control...I didn't think that you would make it!" were some of the comments.
Among those who rushed to my aid was a Provincial Park warden, a young lady perhaps in her late 20s. She parked her truck in front of my car, leaviing her trouble lights flashing. She offered to call a tow truck from Goderich, relaying my information to the dispatcher on her cell phone. She then called a fellow assistant warden from the nearby Point Farms Park and asked him to attend the scene with another truck to serve as a warning for oncoming traffic. A delightful girl, she engaged me in roadside conversation (often cautioning me when I got too close to traffic and checking on how I was feeling). She maintained her vigil until the arrival of the tow truck some 45 minutes later. I could have kissed her, but I opted for a hug as we parted company.
In short order the tow truck operator pulled my car from its precarious position on the side of the ditch and happily announced that there was absolutely no damage to the undercarriage of my car -- not a scratch nor a dint anywhere, thanks in large measure to the loose gravel and long heavy grass. Less than an hour and $56.00 later, I was on my way again.
When I reached home sweet home, I did not tell Rosanne what had happened until much later that evening. Quite frankly, I did not feel like talking about it at that point in time. I needed to collect my thoughts, have a glass of wine and a bite to eat before sharing my experience.
"I had a feeling that something had delayed you when you took longer than usual to get home," exclaimed Rosanne when I finally did break the news to her. "I never stopped paying from the time you left until you walked in the door. I asked my grandmother to be with you and Lucy and to bring you home safely to me," she added. The more we talked the more Rosanne was convinced that her grandmother had, once again been my guardian angel.
Several weeks have passed since that incident and I continue to replay the scene in my mind and to ask questions. 1) Were my reflexes and reaction time slow that day due to the fatigue of the two-day ordeal? 2) Could I have reacted sooner to avoid the van stopped in the middle of the highway? 3) Why did my car not roll over at least twice when it was balancing on two wheels at a 45-degree angle in the ditch? 4) What was that white light "orb" in the distance that I drove toward, all the while struggling to keep my car under control? 5) Why was there not a scratch on my car when it should have been totally demolished? 6) Were there actually two angels looking after me that day -- Rosanne's grandmother and a much alive, young provincial park warden?
There are no doubt rational answers for most of these questions. I know that Rosanne has hers...and I am becoming a believer!
Let me relate just two of the countless incidents where Rosanne's favorite angel has tended to me personally. Certainly, if it was not her grandmother's spirit looking out for me, someone or something definitely was. You may draw your own conclusions.
One of my first experiences occurred shortly after we were married 12 years ago. I was having problems with my nerves and in an extremely agitated state. An emotional wreck, I could not sleep on this particular night and rather than disturb Rosanne, I got out of bed. After a drink of water and a breath of fresh Lake Huron air, I collapsed on the living room sofa and eventually drifted into a disturbed, half-conscious stage of sleep.
I was awakened by the approach of soft, shuffling, slippered foot steps on the carpet. Thinking that I was merely hearing things, I chose not to open my eyes. As the shuffling sound drew closer to me, I was enwrapped in a sudden and unexplainable cloak of warmth. A hand touched my shoulder, ever so gently, and an instantaneous state of calm came over me. I opened my eyes, expecting to see Rosanne's figure hovering over me, but in the darkness all that was visible was a coffee table in the reflection of a street light penetrating a split in the living room curtains. There was no one there. I even reached out and waved my hand to make sure.
"How surreal...I must have been dreaming," I rationalized as I drifted off to a much welcomed, uninterrupted sleep.
The first thing that I asked Rosanne in the morning was "Did you come into the living room last night and touch me?"
"No I didn't! Why?" was Rosanne's quick reply.
She was equally prompt in interrupting my brief explanation with a matter-of-fact follow up: "Oh, that was my grandmother. I prayed that she would come into your heart to comfort you and to help get you through the night."
Kind of makes you think, doesn't it? Without a doubt, it certainly made me think -- and wonder. It was another introduction to Rosanne and the mysticism that I had previously taken for granted.
A most recent incident in my life was even more remarkable because of unique circumstances and deadly potential.
Our little dog Lucy dog has required eye surgery this past summer. Due to cataracts and glaucoma, she eventually lost the site in her left eye and required emergency surgery and a lens implant to save the site in her right eye. She had her final surgery on a Monday morning in Ilderton (near London), a three-hour drive from our home in Southampton. A return trip to the pet eye doctor's clinic was necessary the following morning, the equivalent of a 48-hour endurance test for both me and Lucy. Under normal conditions, pet owners who travel great distances, stay over night for the mandatory next-day follow up check after eye surgery, but that was out of the question for me because I could not leave Rosanne for an extended period of time due to her delicate health situation.
I was on the last lap of my return trip Tuesday afternoon on Highway 21, between Goderich and Kincarden, when I found myself defying the inevitable. Traffic was fairly heavy and I was following a grey van in the northbound lane of the single-lane highway. The van, approximately 75 yards ahead of me and without directional signals, suddenly stopped on the highway to make a lefthand turn into a trailer park. I applied my breaks but realized that at 85 kilometers an hour I was not going to stop before colliding with the van.
Instantaneously, I elected to avoid disaster by swerving to the right in favour of the soft shoulder of the highway. With that initial quick action, my car spun out and I could sense a roll-over in the making. Miraculously, however, the car righted itself as I hit the shoulder of the road and entered a 12-foot-deep ditch. Something seemed to tell me to crank the steering wheel, take my foot off the brake and to accelerate along the ditch. All I could see was flying dirt and grass to my right and what appeared to be a white orb of some description in the distance.
It is amazing what you think and how much you can think in a fleeting few seconds when your very life is at stake. I was reconciled for the worst, but kept my foot on the accelerator as I drew closer to that white light. After a good 50 feet, I felt my tires finally taking grip and I began to exit the ditch at a right angle, coming to a miraculous, abrupt halt with the car's under low under carriage deeply embedded in the soft gravel at the side of the highway. My right back wheel was four feet off the ground and my front left wheel one foot from the side of the pavement. I hate to think of what would have happened had my car actually re-enterd the highway at the rate it was going. Traffic stopped in both directions and for a moment, I was frozen in time. I had forgotten about Lucy, but there she was trustingly tucked close to my side, almost as if nothing had happened.
With a break in southbound traffic, the driver of the grey van was able to pull into the trailer park driveway and after stopping momentarily, sped out of sight, never to reappear.
People ran up to me from all directions as I opened the door and exited the vehicle. "Are you all right?" "That van driver didn't give you much warning." "I can't believe that you did not roll at least twice!" "God, are you ever lucky, it could have been so much worse!" "You really did a good job of keeping your car under control...I didn't think that you would make it!" were some of the comments.
Among those who rushed to my aid was a Provincial Park warden, a young lady perhaps in her late 20s. She parked her truck in front of my car, leaviing her trouble lights flashing. She offered to call a tow truck from Goderich, relaying my information to the dispatcher on her cell phone. She then called a fellow assistant warden from the nearby Point Farms Park and asked him to attend the scene with another truck to serve as a warning for oncoming traffic. A delightful girl, she engaged me in roadside conversation (often cautioning me when I got too close to traffic and checking on how I was feeling). She maintained her vigil until the arrival of the tow truck some 45 minutes later. I could have kissed her, but I opted for a hug as we parted company.
In short order the tow truck operator pulled my car from its precarious position on the side of the ditch and happily announced that there was absolutely no damage to the undercarriage of my car -- not a scratch nor a dint anywhere, thanks in large measure to the loose gravel and long heavy grass. Less than an hour and $56.00 later, I was on my way again.
When I reached home sweet home, I did not tell Rosanne what had happened until much later that evening. Quite frankly, I did not feel like talking about it at that point in time. I needed to collect my thoughts, have a glass of wine and a bite to eat before sharing my experience.
"I had a feeling that something had delayed you when you took longer than usual to get home," exclaimed Rosanne when I finally did break the news to her. "I never stopped paying from the time you left until you walked in the door. I asked my grandmother to be with you and Lucy and to bring you home safely to me," she added. The more we talked the more Rosanne was convinced that her grandmother had, once again been my guardian angel.
Several weeks have passed since that incident and I continue to replay the scene in my mind and to ask questions. 1) Were my reflexes and reaction time slow that day due to the fatigue of the two-day ordeal? 2) Could I have reacted sooner to avoid the van stopped in the middle of the highway? 3) Why did my car not roll over at least twice when it was balancing on two wheels at a 45-degree angle in the ditch? 4) What was that white light "orb" in the distance that I drove toward, all the while struggling to keep my car under control? 5) Why was there not a scratch on my car when it should have been totally demolished? 6) Were there actually two angels looking after me that day -- Rosanne's grandmother and a much alive, young provincial park warden?
There are no doubt rational answers for most of these questions. I know that Rosanne has hers...and I am becoming a believer!
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