“Such bad luck,” they said sympathetically.

“Maybe,” the farmer replied.

The next morning, the horse returned, bringing three wild horses with him.

“How wonderful,” the neighbors exclaimed.

“Maybe,” replied the old man.

The following day, when his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, he was thrown and broke his leg. The neighbors came once again to offer their sympathy about the farmer’s misfortune.

“Maybe,” answered the farmer.

The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the farmer’s son’s leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out.

“Maybe,” said the farmer.

* * *

Maybe the worst thing that ever happens to us can also turn out to be the best thing.

Well, yes, sadly, they do.

On the first anniversary of my mother’s death, I quit my job, packed my bags and left home. It was time to start my next chapter. I headed south to Atlanta, the city of some of my happiest childhood memories. My family welcomed me with open arms, and they were willing to do whatever they could to help me start a new life.

The problem was, I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted to do yet. For someone who likes to keep things real, I finally realized I was lying to myself all along. It took my husband courageously telling me he was gay for me to realize he wasn’t the only one who needed to come out of the closet. I was hiding my true self, too.

Sometimes when everything seems to be falling apart, it comes together at the same time.

I decided to join a spiritually oriented book club to make new friends. That one decision changed my life in ways I could never have imagined. I found my tribe. When my marriage died, they were the ones that welcomed me with open arms. It was also the time I was introduced to energy healing. Even though I knew nothing about what “healing” was, whenever someone mentioned it, I found myself strangely curious.

Seeds were planted in my consciousness, seeds that sprouted when I got divorced. I needed healing and I was ready to sign up. That was my plan, but the universe had a much bigger plan in mind. While I was in energy healing school, I started to connect some dots that had started revealing themselves the day my mother died. Storms became signs; devastation could be seen as divine intervention. I finally started to see that I am supposed to be a healer. Every fiber in my soul knew it was true.

It turns out that my mother gave birth to me twice. The first time was on the day I was born; the next was on the day she died. Her death was the catalyst to the life I am living today.

September 29 has become a day I celebrate and honor the soul connection between my mother and me. There have been many experiences over the years to confirm it, but the greatest was on my 59th birthday. That was the day my granddaughter Madison was born. Full circle. Thanks, Mom. 

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