Nancy Auburn Stokes

This is my mother who I adored. Yes I was a mama's boy. It was her birthday yesterday. She would have been 69 on this birthday. She died in 1990, and I still miss her tremendously. There is a story that I want to share with everyone that I will cherish forever.

It was early November 1990, about 2 months after her death. I was working graveyard shift which I had been working for almost 2 years. I already had problems sleeping at night, and now, depressed out of my mind, because I was missing my mother, I was really having some sleep issues. Tammie and the kids were gone somewhere, and I was alone in our house. It was starting to get dark outside and moving rapidly to the hour that I needed to start getting ready for another night at work. I think that I had probably total of 1 hour sleep all day, all in small intervals at a time. Moving from our bed to the couch and then back to the bed over and over again, it seemed hopeless for me to find a comfortable place to lay my head for rest. During one of my transfers, I glanced into my daughters room and noticed something different about her sleeping quarters. She was six years old at the time and like any other young child, she loved to play "make believe". She had been pretending that she was camping out in the wilderness. She had built her room into a cross between a fort and a tent. Inside this tent was a full size mattress that she was sleeping on at night. It looked very comfortable and inviting, so I laid down to see if I test my luck at some sleep in this location. I was getting desperate, and the closer it got to the time for me to go to work, the worse my anxiety attacks were getting. I laid there looking out into the hall of my house thinking of my mom when all of a sudden my mom walked into the room. I wasn't startled or surprised at all, it was like I was expecting her. I didn't say a word. We hugged for several minutes and she told me that everything was going to be OK. That she was OK and for me not to worry about her. Tears were rolling down my face and it felt like something was stuck in my throat and I couldn't swallow it. She kissed me on the forehead and told me that she loved me and to quit worrying about her. She looked at me waiting for some conformation that I understood what she had said to me, so I smiled and nodded my head. Then she got up and on her way out of the room, she closed the door to the room. As she was closing it, the door made a very loud squeaking noise that I never had noticed before. I thought to myself, "man that door needs some WD40 bad". Then I closed my eyes and feel asleep for about 15 minutes. When I woke up, I felt like that I had been sleeping for 12 hours. I felt so rested and restored. I lied there just thinking to myself, "gosh, that dream felt so real". I looked at the door and noticed that it was closed. I remembered that I didn't close the door. The whole time the sound of the squeaking door was tattooed into my memory. I was thinking that surely Tammie came home and saw me in my daughters room sleeping so she closed the door so the kids wouldn't wake me. So I called out her name, and nobody was there. I got up to open and close the door just to see what it sounded like, and to my amazement, it sounded the same way as when my mother walked out and closed it.
I went to work that night and had a very good night at work. Not tired one bit.

What happened to me? Did an angel visit me? Was it my mom? Was it a dream? If it was a dream, why did I feel like I had 12 hours of great sleep in just a few minutes? How did the door get closed?
I heard a similar story like this one a few years later from a friend of mine. She lost her father and she had been going through the same depression and sleep apnea that I had gone through. Her father visited her in the same way my mother visited me.
I will hold on to this forever, and I hope to find out the truth of what I experienced when I die and go to heaven. I still miss my mother big time, but I feel that she is always with me where ever I go.

The Harp

From the time she was born, Susie would visit her Grandparents house in the summer for several weeks at a time. There she would build unforgettable memories of joy that would always be with her. One of her favorite memories is the beautiful harp that is displayed above the fireplace. Her Grandfather would take it down for her and play for hours and hours beautiful music. This big man, who’s trade was a Lumberjack, would handle this instrument so carefully and delicately. Through the years, her Grandfather taught Susie how to play and handle this delicate harp.
Years past, and Susie grew into a young woman. She went to school to be a nurse, and loved her job. She always wanted to help people who was sick, and that was exactly what she was doing with her life. She worked at the hospital in rotating shifts. She made each patient a personal matter to her. She lived by herself in a small apartment. She had purchased herself her very own harp, where when she would retire for the day, she would play for an hour before bed to unwind and relax. While she would play, beautiful memories of childhood with her Grandfather would dance in her mind.
How disturbing it was when Susie heard the news that her Grandfather had terminal cancer and was given a very short time to live. Susie decided to take a leave of absence and go to take care of her Grandfather in his last days on this earth. Upon entering his house, it seemed that everything in his house was the same as it was the last time she visited him several years ago. Nothing had changed, except the beautiful harp that hung above the fireplace. It looked old and dusty; it hadn’t been played in years. One night, after she had tucked her Grandfather in his bed, she decided to take down the harp and play it. While dusting it off, she accidentally dropped it and it cracked the outer layer of wood. Susie was distressed that this instrument, that was cherished by her Grandfather, was now broke in half. She knew that she had to get it fixed, but every place that she went to could not mend the broken harp. She searched the internet for harp repairers. She made phone calls upon phone calls that lead to dead ends upon dead ends. Hope of mending her Grandfathers harp was fading quickly.
One evening, after returning from the market from getting household supplies and groceries, there was her Grandfather, sitting on the front porch, playing the beautiful harp. Full of amazement and joy, she told her Grandfather about the accident and how she couldn’t find anyone that could repair the harp. She asked him, “Who mended this harp back to perfection?” Her Grandfather answered, “Why dear, I made this harp from my own hands, I can surely repair anything that I make, with ease.



So many times we as simple humans don’t relate this to, God Almighty, The Maker of All Things. When people get sick, like Susie’s Grandfather, we never realize that God, if he chose to do so, could repair this person easily, for He made this person, and He can fix this person. I heard a similar story like this yesterday at Daymond Jackson’s funeral, and it touched my heart. God’s choice was to bring Daymond home with Him in heaven. God could have reached down and repaired Daymond, but Daymond’s time on earth was complete, he touched many souls on earth, made disciples in the “Great Commission”, and now, God has decided to bring him home.
Upon entering the Kingdom of Heaven, Daymond will receive a beautiful crown, a huge mansion, and hear the words, “Job well done.”

A TIME TO MOURN

A good man died yesterday. A Great Friend and Brother In Christ. Daymond Jackson.

Throughout your lifetime, you make many friends. They come and go, some are forgotten, yet some you make a special bond with that you carry in your heart for the rest of your life. These relationships one would title as "BEST FRIEND." I only have a handful of this elite title. Daymond Jackson was one of them. I was a better man by knowing him.
I only met him just a few short years ago, when I started working at Federal Mogul, but our friendship excavated quickly into a great bond. My normal routine work day would have me crossing paths with Daymond several times throughout the day. It was always a pleasure crossing paths with Daymond. He was always happy to see me, no matter what kind of day he was having. Daymond was a very hard worker, one of the hardest workers on the floor there at Federal Mogul. Federal Mogul lost a valuable asset to the company.
I made a statement in one of my most resent blogs pertaining to how I cry more than the average man. Well...... Of course, when I heard of Daymond's death, it broke my heart. For some reason, a scripture came to my mind when I was crying for Daymond. "Matthew 14:13." Leading up to this verse, John the Baptist was beheaded by King Herod, and upon hearing this from John's disciples, Jesus withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place.
Now the bible don't just come out and say that Jesus cried for John, (or at least in the NIV it doesn't), but I can't help but think, during His solitude, He was mourning for John.
You never know how much time on this earth you have. A little over a week ago, Daymond tried to get in touch with me. I was at my new job in Camden, so he left a message with Tammie for me to contact him when I get in on the weekend. He just wanted to see how things were going with me. I only tried once to return the call, and nobody was home, and I didn't ever try again. I hate it that I didn't follow through with that returned call and talk with him before he left this world. From what I understand, Friday he was admitted into the hospital with, I believe, heart complications, and he died sometime Saturday.

Daymond Jackson, what a great friend you were to me. You will be extremely missed.