Kathy's Caterpillar
Stories
Vision Stories
True Accounts Of Visions, Angels, And Healing Miracles
On a recent August morning, I raced into the drive of a retreat center, late for my morning appointment with Sr. Caroline, my spiritual director. The peace of the place seeped in, and I smiled at the irony, wondering if I would race to my own funeral. Just then, Kathy Bemmann shot into my mind, my good friend and colleague who recently had raced to her own death.
It was Christmas Day in the year 2000, and I was joyfully nested into my beautiful country lakeside home. For the first time in eleven years of marriage, my husband Steve and I had decided we would stay at home in peace rather than make the hectic drive several hours north, and later south, to visit both our parents' homes. Bitter cold had followed the weekend blizzard prior to this Monday holiday, making for icy and dangerous conditions. I had planned to take the rest of the week as vacation from my psychiatric practice and we would visit both our families during the week.
Relaxation and reflection seemed the order of the day, with dinner planned at a friend's. I pulled out my guitar and started singing songs I had written in the late '70s, songs of searching for purpose and meaning. It was refreshing to recall the feeling of one's whole life lying ahead, wanting God's will to be done for myself. I surveyed my current world and found myself restless, with too much responsibility for the clinic I had founded. A key physician had left early in the year leaving no one but Dr. Kathy Bemmann, my semi-retired 69-year-old dynamo, and me, to pick up his large caseload. The clinic was my dream, and its viability seemed threatened; I wondered how my life had gotten so complicated.
Steve and I had settled in for an afternoon nap when the phone rang. It was Jamie Rambeau, M.D., who was on call from our local hospital. She said, "I hope this is a mistake, but I just got a call from someone saying he was a relative of Dr. Bemmann, and she was just killed." My heart pounded as I said, "Let's hope this is some kind of cruel hoax," and called the number she had given me. A man answered, saying he was Kathy Bemmann's brother-in-law, and gave me the news that Kathy had died in a car accident on the way to Christmas dinner at her sister's. "We thought we should call you first." I hung up and sat on the couch where I had made the call, and began to sob.
Somehow, I got through the next few hours, and about three hours after I got the call, went to my music room and began to write a song for Kathy. I can't recall exactly when her spirit began to visit me. Perhaps it was as I wrote her song, or the next day, as I met with her family at her home and found myself volunteered to call all the non-family names from her address book. She lived alone, widowed six years earlier. Being with all her things and her family was comforting. We wrote the obituary in the afternoon, with me giving thanks that I had not been traveling this holiday, so I could be there for the family and for staff and myself. Alone in my office, writing her obituary from voluminous notes and clippings from the family, I began to be aware of her presence, vibrant, radiant. Radiant! Reds and purples surrounded her face as she glowed with joy, her spirit a definite exclamation mark, as was her life. It was as though she was saying, "Have no fear, it's just GREAT here!" Unmistakable, vibrating purple/red/magenta joy surrounded her.
Talking with her niece, Janet, I recalled a recent dinner when Kathy had questioned me intently regarding my spiritual beliefs. I was getting ready to give a talk related to miracles at my church, which Kathy found fascinating. I found this fascinating, in view of her self-professed agnosticism. Kathy's life was one of profound faith in social activism, and in people's ability to change. She fought, in essence, for spiritual freedom, and was especially involved in women's health and domestic violence programs. In fact, at the time of her death, she was serving as Chair of the American Medical Women's Association Foundation, promoting research and education in women's health. Feminism was a passion for this pioneer; she certainly was not interested in a patriarchal, controlling god or his institutionalized dogma. Yet, she questioned me and stated she would come to the worship service!
She did not. Nevertheless, her niece said, "I think you put a chink in her agnostic armor." Perhaps I did, and maybe this helped her a little bit. At any rate, her spirit presence stayed with me, just over my left shoulder, beaming, gleeful. It was constant for about a week, and then intermittent. It always "looked" the same; mind you, I could not "see" her with my eyes, it was not a hallucination, but I could see her face and aura visually, in my mind's eye. I did not hear her voice; I could only feel her energy, which was consistent, intense, colorful, and joyful. It's hard to describe this kind of sight. Kathy was very strong willed and at times we clashed, but we truly loved each other. I think she came to let me know that she was okay, and more, to deliver the amazing news that the other side is wonderful. "Yes, Diana, there is life after death!"
Kathy always drove too fast, and her most recent gift to me may have been the thought I had as I drove into the retreat center, wondering if I would race to my own death. I picture her, late for Christmas dinner, flying over a knoll and finding herself over the center line, drifting out of the ruts in the ice made by earlier cars. I can see her yanking the steering wheel to correct her course, losing control on the ice, spinning around to hit a telephone pole with the driver's door. The forceful impact broke the telephone pole in two. The accident site is on the way to my retreat center; I stop and pray by the new telephone pole occasionally, when I am not in a rush!
Sitting on the summer lawn with Sr. Caroline, I told her of my experience, thinking of Kathy as I raced into the driveway. Suddenly, I noticed a bright yellow caterpillar inching its way across the lawn. We stooped to look. It was unusual, about three inches long with angora-type brilliant yellow fur, accented by pairs of black antennae down its back, and one final lone antenna as its tail. A workman came over and we all agreed we'd never seen one like it. He picked it up to save it, and Caroline said, "No, let it go." We continued our discourse, and I looked for the caterpillar a few minutes later, but he was gone. "See," she said emphatically, "rare and brilliant, he just inches his way, and he gets there. He has all the time he needs! Is he rushed? Pray for focus."
I am, I am. As I thank God for my many gifts, I ask for one more: focus on how to use my gifts most creatively, and awareness that I have all the time I need.
It was Christmas Day in the year 2000, and I was joyfully nested into my beautiful country lakeside home. For the first time in eleven years of marriage, my husband Steve and I had decided we would stay at home in peace rather than make the hectic drive several hours north, and later south, to visit both our parents' homes. Bitter cold had followed the weekend blizzard prior to this Monday holiday, making for icy and dangerous conditions. I had planned to take the rest of the week as vacation from my psychiatric practice and we would visit both our families during the week.
Relaxation and reflection seemed the order of the day, with dinner planned at a friend's. I pulled out my guitar and started singing songs I had written in the late '70s, songs of searching for purpose and meaning. It was refreshing to recall the feeling of one's whole life lying ahead, wanting God's will to be done for myself. I surveyed my current world and found myself restless, with too much responsibility for the clinic I had founded. A key physician had left early in the year leaving no one but Dr. Kathy Bemmann, my semi-retired 69-year-old dynamo, and me, to pick up his large caseload. The clinic was my dream, and its viability seemed threatened; I wondered how my life had gotten so complicated.
Steve and I had settled in for an afternoon nap when the phone rang. It was Jamie Rambeau, M.D., who was on call from our local hospital. She said, "I hope this is a mistake, but I just got a call from someone saying he was a relative of Dr. Bemmann, and she was just killed." My heart pounded as I said, "Let's hope this is some kind of cruel hoax," and called the number she had given me. A man answered, saying he was Kathy Bemmann's brother-in-law, and gave me the news that Kathy had died in a car accident on the way to Christmas dinner at her sister's. "We thought we should call you first." I hung up and sat on the couch where I had made the call, and began to sob.
Somehow, I got through the next few hours, and about three hours after I got the call, went to my music room and began to write a song for Kathy. I can't recall exactly when her spirit began to visit me. Perhaps it was as I wrote her song, or the next day, as I met with her family at her home and found myself volunteered to call all the non-family names from her address book. She lived alone, widowed six years earlier. Being with all her things and her family was comforting. We wrote the obituary in the afternoon, with me giving thanks that I had not been traveling this holiday, so I could be there for the family and for staff and myself. Alone in my office, writing her obituary from voluminous notes and clippings from the family, I began to be aware of her presence, vibrant, radiant. Radiant! Reds and purples surrounded her face as she glowed with joy, her spirit a definite exclamation mark, as was her life. It was as though she was saying, "Have no fear, it's just GREAT here!" Unmistakable, vibrating purple/red/magenta joy surrounded her.
Talking with her niece, Janet, I recalled a recent dinner when Kathy had questioned me intently regarding my spiritual beliefs. I was getting ready to give a talk related to miracles at my church, which Kathy found fascinating. I found this fascinating, in view of her self-professed agnosticism. Kathy's life was one of profound faith in social activism, and in people's ability to change. She fought, in essence, for spiritual freedom, and was especially involved in women's health and domestic violence programs. In fact, at the time of her death, she was serving as Chair of the American Medical Women's Association Foundation, promoting research and education in women's health. Feminism was a passion for this pioneer; she certainly was not interested in a patriarchal, controlling god or his institutionalized dogma. Yet, she questioned me and stated she would come to the worship service!
She did not. Nevertheless, her niece said, "I think you put a chink in her agnostic armor." Perhaps I did, and maybe this helped her a little bit. At any rate, her spirit presence stayed with me, just over my left shoulder, beaming, gleeful. It was constant for about a week, and then intermittent. It always "looked" the same; mind you, I could not "see" her with my eyes, it was not a hallucination, but I could see her face and aura visually, in my mind's eye. I did not hear her voice; I could only feel her energy, which was consistent, intense, colorful, and joyful. It's hard to describe this kind of sight. Kathy was very strong willed and at times we clashed, but we truly loved each other. I think she came to let me know that she was okay, and more, to deliver the amazing news that the other side is wonderful. "Yes, Diana, there is life after death!"
Kathy always drove too fast, and her most recent gift to me may have been the thought I had as I drove into the retreat center, wondering if I would race to my own death. I picture her, late for Christmas dinner, flying over a knoll and finding herself over the center line, drifting out of the ruts in the ice made by earlier cars. I can see her yanking the steering wheel to correct her course, losing control on the ice, spinning around to hit a telephone pole with the driver's door. The forceful impact broke the telephone pole in two. The accident site is on the way to my retreat center; I stop and pray by the new telephone pole occasionally, when I am not in a rush!
Sitting on the summer lawn with Sr. Caroline, I told her of my experience, thinking of Kathy as I raced into the driveway. Suddenly, I noticed a bright yellow caterpillar inching its way across the lawn. We stooped to look. It was unusual, about three inches long with angora-type brilliant yellow fur, accented by pairs of black antennae down its back, and one final lone antenna as its tail. A workman came over and we all agreed we'd never seen one like it. He picked it up to save it, and Caroline said, "No, let it go." We continued our discourse, and I looked for the caterpillar a few minutes later, but he was gone. "See," she said emphatically, "rare and brilliant, he just inches his way, and he gets there. He has all the time he needs! Is he rushed? Pray for focus."
I am, I am. As I thank God for my many gifts, I ask for one more: focus on how to use my gifts most creatively, and awareness that I have all the time I need.
