She is twenty two now. It's hard to believe she ever got that old. I thought she would be my baby forever. Wasn't it just yesterday when I held her in my arms rocking her in the rocking chair while I watched Regis and Kathie Lee? I had my baby about the same time Kathie Lee had her boy, and I was surprised when I recently saw a picture of him. He, too, has grown up.

One belief that I took away from the Mormon Church is that children are closer to God than the rest of us. Church members believe in a pre-existence, and that the younger they are, the more recently they have been in the presence of God. I have evidence that this is true.

When my daughter was about six years-old, she was sick for a long time. She lost a lot of weight. My mother even remarked that her arms were pencil-thin. I took her to see a doctor who ordered his nurse to give my daughter a vitamin shot.

I knew that my daughter needed it; but I've always hated shots. I have often lived with the pain rather than get one. It was torture to make my daughter go through something that I wouldn't do myself.

"Mom, I'm scared," Amy said as we waited for the nurse.

And I said, "When she gives you the shot, imagine reaching up and putting your hand in God's hand. He will help you get through it."

The nurse came in and when she rolled my daughter on her side, Amy whimpered a bit, but she didn't cry.

When we finally got to the car, Amy said, "Mom, did you notice I didn't cry?"

"Yes I did," I said.

"Do you know why? I did just what you told me to do. I reached up and saw God's hand and I put my hand right in his, and that's how I got through it."

Just when I thought I had taught my daughter a lesson, she had taught me one--that holding God's hand in times of trouble really does work.

                              ***

I know that on July 9, I was called to the Harmony Grove Spiritualist Association. I could almost feel the kick in my ass as somebody in the spirit world prompted me to go out there. I had heard about the Association for years, and always thought I'd check it out, but hadn't gotten around to it.

July 7 was the first anniversary of my dad's death. I was miserable in reliving his suffering. He died from cancer and throughout the last year of his life on earth and well into the next year, I agonized over what had happened to him. He didn't leave my thoughts for a minute. Some of my closest friends, to this day, are wary of me. I had so much anger and distress running through me, they thought I had something against them.

Two days after the first anniversary, I was still suffering. Looking back, I think my dad was the one who prompted me to seek out a church that believes in communicating with the dead. Before passing over, my dad worried that I wasn't going to have help when he was gone.

"Craig takes good care of you, doesn't he?" he asked.

"No."

My dad got madder than hell.

He tsked his tongue. "Well, he'll pick you up if your car breaks down, won't he?"

"Yes, that much he will do."

Attending services in the little chapel on the hill was like finding an oasis when you are thirsty. The mediums who came to me that day gave me messages that I definitely needed to hear. I wasn't sure whether it was my dad or my spiritual father who had brought me there; but somebody was looking out for me.

On the sixteenth, I attended the services again, because I was spiritually hungry. Several mediums were on the stage, but the older man in a suit caught my attention. He had the same bearing as my grandfather, who died in 1991, and maybe for that reason, I was drawn to him.

When it was his turn to give a reading, I was not surprised that he asked if he could come to me. To paraphrase, he talked about a candy store back east, that had a taffy-pulling machine in the front window. People would watch taffy being pulled in all directions, but if it was pulled too much, it would get ruined. He said that a mother figure on my father's side was talking to him.

That would be Lucy Ross, my father's mother. She said that I was ruminating on something, spinning it over and over in my mind, just like taffy in the machine. Her message to me was to "let it be."

Several things had been bothering me, so I wasn't sure which one he was referring to. And I found it strange that the mother figure coming through was on my dad's side. I was much closer to my maternal grandmother.

On Sunday, as I was sitting on my back porch, I closed my eyes and let the stillness of the moment flow through me. I could feel nothing but the gentleness of the breeze caress my hair. And as I opened myself to the other world, the message received by the medium was suddenly clear.

My paternal grandmother, my dad's mother, had been telling me not to stew about his death. I hadn't heard her voice in forty two years, but I could hear it now.

"He's okay," she assured me.

I saw her in my mind's eye. She wore the same dark, calf-length dress she had worn when she was alive. Her hair was rolled up under a hair net and black oxfords were on her feet. Until then, I had forgotten these details about her. I could even smell the sourness of her skin.

She was obese because she had been born without a thyroid. After she spoke to me, she turned with great difficulty and lumbered away. I saw her more clearly in that brief moment than I had in family photos for years.

And I will take her word for it that my dad is okay. He is with her, his mother. How could he not be?