Mom

Quite the memory…

Pilgrim on a Long, Long Journey

It was shortly after my dear mom died on 11/24/06. I was dreaming, by the grace of God, talking to my mom.

It happened only once. It was as realistic a dream as I have ever experienced. I rarely remember my dreams. This one was unforgettable.

Mom was middle-aged in the dream and articulate unlike the woman we had seen drift into the fog of Alzheimer’s. To say the talk was uplifting would be an understatement.

It brought me a wonderful peace after what my siblings and I had endured over the last years of her life. Thank God for huge favors.

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Just a Game

The court…

Pilgrim on a Long, Long Journey

I was 13 years old attending summer camp. The tennis courts were clay. I had never stepped on a tennis court regardless of the surface.

The instructor told me to shake hands with the handle of the racket. I did so. It produced an Eastern forehand grip. Then later he asked me to place my right hand on the top of the handle of the racket and place the racket between my thumb and forefinger. It produced a continental backhand grip. So far so good.

That day I was only taught the forehand stroke. It felt fluid. It felt somewhat effortless. It was reminiscent of my baseball swing. It felt good. I hit a lot of forehands between 13 and 31 years of age.

I was 31 the day I met my wife. We both expressed how much we loved the game. We played tennis on our first date. We…

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Mom

It was shortly after my dear mom died on 11/24/06. I was dreaming, by the grace of God, talking to my mom.

It happened only once. It was as realistic a dream as I have ever experienced. I rarely remember my dreams. This one was unforgettable.

Mom was middle-aged in the dream and articulate unlike the woman we had seen drift into the fog of Alzheimer’s. To say the talk was uplifting would be an understatement.

It brought me a wonderful peace after what my siblings and I had endured over the last years of her life. Thank God for huge favors.