May 9

Today is a difficult day.  May is the month my mum died and I feel as though I am going through the last few weeks of her life again.  It was a very hard time with us all feeling helpless and, at the same time, not really realising that the end was nearing.  We all thought she had more time. I feel very tearful and struggle to connect with anything at first.  There does not appear to be much point in doing anything.  

I end up reading a book on Kharma that belonged to my mother.  She had a strong interest in spiritual things, especially things that did not quite fit the narrow scope of church teachings. My great-grandmother and her sister were clairvoyant and could read tea leaves and could also look into a fire and see pictures. 

During the Second World War,  the ship my grandfather was hit by a torpedo and sunk.  My grandmother received a telegram to say he was missing in action, but her aunt reassured her that he was OK and would be returning home.  Three days later, she received word he had been picked up by another ship and was fine. Coincidence?  Perhaps, although it is more likely that he could have drowned.

If the lights flickered, my mum would always stop and look upwards.  'Someone's trying to tell us something,' she would say.  She also believed a lot in signs.  If something happened, it could be a sign to wait or a sign to go ahead with an idea.

I am not much good at reading tea leaves, but I have had some inexplicable things happen to me in my life which have prompted me to think there is more to life than just our physical bodies.  One of the strangest was when I went to Mozambique in 2003.  I had never, ever been there before, but as the bus drove through Maputo, I had a very strong sense that I knew it.  I thought I must have dreamt of a similar place.  I then went to the Polana Hotel, a beautiful old hotel with a lot of history.  As soon as I walked through the door, I just knew I had been there before.  It was very like a dream I had had of being in an old hotel and trying to find my way out.

When I got home, I told my mum about this and she said that the Polana was where my great-gran died.  In 1971, she went there on holiday with my gran's sister and her husband.  It was still Lourenco Marques then and a very popular place for Rhodesian holiday makers. My great-gran didn't want to go on holiday and kept saying there was something wrong about it all.  One night, after a dinner dance, she went back to her room and had a heart attack.  She was 66.

Although I did know that my great-gran had died in Mozambique, I knew nothing of the rest of it, like the fact that she had died in a hotel. My mum died on the same day my great-gran died.  A girl I teach told me that in the Shona culture, if you die on the day a relative died, they were sent to bring you home. I find comfort in this thought.