Kimberley ANN MCPHATTER REDFEARN 1981

I experienced some very odd things right before and since my daughter died. Honestly, I could barely function at all for quite a while and my sister came  to take care of my two dogs.  Then Ed came back into my life, after 25 years. That is a story I will share here soon. 

I began writing down words and phrases to document what I experienced so that I'd remember details clearly. I didn't do this right away, but sometimes before Dia de Los Muertos, which always falls on the 1st and 2nd of November. 

I knew  these things were beyond what I could rationally explain and I didn't want to get them jumbled up in my mind. One thing I do know is that they happened, not  figments of my imagination. 

August 2021

Eyes are yellow.

Terror.

Horror.

She knew it was jaundice.

She had a friend who had struggled with jaundice and got better.

Better for a few years until she started drinking again.

The friend died.

Kim knew what she needed to do. 

She thought she was getting better.

That it was just taking longer than she had anticipated.

She wouldn’t let anyone see her.

Not even me.

She wouldn’t send me a picture.

September 16, 2021

Morning:

Thought about sending flowers.

To make you smile. 

Bright Yellow.

But flowers are for dead people, too.

That thought hit me with intensity.

Filled me with panic.

No flowers.

Know not to try calling Kim. 

She doesn’t answer her phone. 

She would just call me back.

Call Marsha.

Please, just talk to me for 10 or 15 minutes about anything but Kim.

Close to panic attack.

Things closing in.

Pacing.

Feel a clear Plexiglas cylinder surrounding me.

Not touching my body.

No top, no bottom.

Very odd yet weirdly comforting.

Still pacing.

Cylinder goes where I go.

Cannot feel it.

But it’s there.

Kim’s name appears on my phone.

Relief.

I answer.

But it’s not Kim.

It’s Jonah calling from Kim’s phone.

I know something is very wrong. 

It is. 

September 17, 2021

Early am…middle of the night

I wake up thinking of Kim’s birthdate

I add the numbers of that date in my head.

I don’t know why I’m doing that.

Then it hits me to add up the number of the date today.

I have a terrible fear that the numbers are going to be the same.

They are.

This terrifies me.

I know why. 

But how do I know? 

I add the numbers again several times, hoping I’m wrong and they don’t add up.

But they do. I want to believe somehow that if they don't, she will be fine. She isn't.

This makes absolutely no sense to me, but it is telling me something I already know.

She is going to die.

I leave space for a miracle.

I know that can happen.

And I know she needs one.

There is no miracle.

Evening:

My baby is gone.

She is 40 years old.

Disbelief.

Intense pain and sorrow. 

Deeper than I have ever come close to knowing before this day.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Probably for as long as I live.

Not probably.

Certainly. 

This doesn’t ever go away.

Dia de los Muertos:

Made her strawberry cake.

Frida Kahlo candle in a tin.

7 weeks later in November:

I am looking at everything for signs that my girl is near.

The little yellow butterflies that flutter by as I walk outside.

Are they symbolic?

Something.

Anything.

It seems she is everywhere, yet nowhere.

Memories flying at me from all directions.

Constantly.

Bombarding me.

Kim as a new infant, laying on my chest.

That beautiful red hair.

Ivory skin.

Important moments.

Fleeting moments.

What used to seem like somewhat insignificant moments.

All are intense.

They all seem to matter equally.

I have always known how much I love her.

How much she matters.

I hope it’s true that those we love meet us at our time of death. 

I hope her baby and others were there to greet her.

Hold her in their arms.

Joyfully embrace her. 

My arms are empty now.

I hope she is there for me. 

I used to be terrified of dying.

Not anymore. 

My heart is shattered beyond belief.