Day 9: one little hair can make all the difference.

I was all geared up to rush into part two of day 8.  Something happened today that made me want to come home straight away and document it. (don’t worry last nights particular story will resume tomorrow night).

I’ve always been a rather spiritual person I think. I do not believe in any particular organised religion and quite frankly am usually someone who believes men’s interpretation of religion is what causes an awful lot of problems. I do not believe the intricacy of life came into being by accident. I think it is definitely one of life’s great mysteries. For example if we look at the humble bee. The bee is getting a lot of good press at the moment with hundreds sharing over Facebook their videos of feeding these little creatures sugar to prevent death. I admire this but the tongue alone freaks me out, kind of gross to be honest. The humble bee has a purpose. If not for the bee who would fertilise the flowers and crops? This we depend on the little bee. Also amazingly its honey product is the only food product that will never spoil. We could live on honey alone and survive.

That is just one example of what I believe to be a grand design. My mother shared this philosophical view and we discussed it many times. We don’t know what ‘It’ is however we are convinced their is a much large plan going on than we can all comprehend. We also believed in signs. When someone passes away they would have a way of letting you know they are there.

After my mummy’s death I was looking everywhere for a  sign. I was determined to experience some metaphysical manifestation that would alert me to an after life and to know my mummy was okay. Alas the weeks went by without one. I was getting a little disheartened. Today I was with my friend DVC(more on him soon) and we were sat outside a bar on canal street (the scene of the broken wrist). He excused himself to the toilet at one point and I was sat alone just staring at the world going by. Something was in my mouth and irritating me. What was it. It was a hair.

It was one of mummy’s.

Now Many will probably think why I would think it was her hair, it could of been anyone’s. I just knew, It was an auburn hair the exact shade as my mummies. I’m sure a psychologist would tell me I was creating a delusion to fulfil a lost connection as part of the grieving process. Yes this all sounds very rational and logical. Its bollox.

That was my mothers hair that blew into my mouth. In that moment a comfort rushed over me like no other. I looked around the crowded canal street, looked up and smiled. She was here. One of the last things my mummy said to be was we will get that last drink on canal street together. Unfortunately we never did.

Until today. She was there with her son.