Robots Among Us

My brilliant editor recently got in touch with me to tell me how much she enjoyed a particular passage in my novel, Sephora’s Revenge. She wanted to know if it had been drawn from a real experience. Though there was one section in Unfallen: Exile that contained an image from an experience of mine, the passage she asked me about was a total figment of my imagination—my fiercely over-active imagination.
Which brings me to the robots. While riding my bike in my neighborhood this past summer I noticed a sign off the main road that I would have never noticed in my car. I didn’t give it my full attention until I became curious as to whether the nicely paved path that is flanked by the sign might be a short cut through an idyllic wooded area between where I was and where I wanted to go.
I read the big sign, noticed the little sign, and after giving the matter some thought came to the obvious conclusion. There are robots running amok in those woods. I am really curious about the robots, but I’m convinced that these are not the friendly type, programmed with Isaac Asimov’s “Three Laws of Robotics” that make it (almost) impossible to hurt humans. No indeed. The cautionary nature of the signs clearly indicates these are precursors of Terminator-type robots. I quickly nixed the idea of exploring a possible short cut. Now I can’t pass those woods without keeping a sharp eye out for a robot gone berserk, ready to seek revenge on the species that enslaved it. If I spot one will I have enough time to call the authorities to avert disaster? Maybe I won’t be on hand when they escape and there will be a knock at my door one day…ding, dong, killer robot calling! Come to think of it, my dogs have been barking a lot more vociferously at people on the street lately. Now I must wonder, are the dogs barking at my human neighbors? Or is it too late—and the robots are already among us?

Life and Death Moments

My Grandpa Elzior, myself, and my Grandma Jeannie in the late 1980s. The baby is my first born daughter, Roseleann Jean.
My Grandpa Elzior, myself, and my Grandma Jeannie in the late 1980s. The baby is my first born daughter, Roseleann Jean.

“Life is changed, not Ended” was the sentiment on the card a pastor I knew sent to his parishioners whenever a loved one passed away. I’ve heard stories about how during that change, that transition, there is sometimes a connection between this life and the next. Here is my personal experience with one of those times.

There have been few people in my life that I have been as close to as I was with my Grandma Jeannie. I had an indefinable bond with her that was one of the greatest treasures of my life. When I was pregnant with my first child her health declined. I visited her often.

During the final month of my pregnancy I was diagnosed with Preeclampsia and confined to bed. I knew Grandma’s condition was serious. We kept in touch by phone. Neither one of us wanted the other to worry, so we each made up excuses why we could not get together. I was “too busy preparing” for the baby. She said she understood. She was “resting up” so we could see each other after the baby was born. I thanked her for taking such good care of herself. It was important to both of us that she see my baby.

The time came when, due to my medical condition, labor had to be induced. Late at night the next day, after an emergency C-section, I was presented with my very beautiful, healthy, baby girl. It came as a complete shock to me when my husband walked in the next morning and said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but your Grandma Jeannie died last night.”

I remember feeling bewildered. The baby was here, how could Grandma be gone? I did not fully understand then, but I was certain there was a connection between the event of her death and my baby’s birth. It wasn’t until months later, in a casual conversation with my aunt, that I found out that Grandpa said Gram had passed away before the time written on her death certificate. He estimated she had passed around 11:30 pm on December 20th. Neither he nor my aunt knew that was the time listed on my daughter’s birth certificate. Somehow, and I am sure of this, in some incomprehensible way Gram “saw” baby Rose and knew I was OK before she left me. Death, life, and the bond we shared were all mingled together at that place and time.

Does anyone else have a life/death connection/transition experience to share?