Spirit Stories

The Woman in the Garage

After my mother passed, my sisters and I were going through everything in her cabin located in the beautiful mountain community of Idyllwild, California. Our next task was even more daunting: go through all the stuff accumulated in her large two-car garage. In her defense, some of that "stuff' she'd been storing belonged to us. We were almost at the end of this huge task when I spotted a square, long box on the top of one of the built-in shelves. I got a ladder and pulled it down; it was white with a label on the outside.

"Hey, I found one of Mom's recipe boxes," I said, and my sisters came running. My mother may have been a pack rat, but she was also the one who held the family recipes and history at her fingertips. With everyone gathered around me, I slowly opened the box, surprised not by recipes but by a clear plastic bag containing a white, powdery substance that looked like flour.

            "That's not recipes," I said.

            We just stood there staring at it. I couldn't figure out why anyone would hold on to a box with a bag of flour. It was like a light bulb went on. I saw the eyebrows of each of my sisters rise as recognition caught up with them.

            "Oh no," I said.

            On the card outside the "recipe box" was typed a name: Barbara L.  "Does anyone know who this is?"

We were dumbfounded and then horrified. My paranormal writer's mind went to a million absurdly awful places and possibilities about who she was and how she had possibly ended up in my mother's garage. At least I had a name. How could this possibly be? Who is she? And more importantly, why would our mother not tell us anything about her?

A year before my mother's passing, our stepfather, Phil, passed. At the time, they were living in Moreno Valley, California, and before that, San Diego, California. It had been at least eight years since they'd lived in the cabin full time. Following his death, my mother wanted to move back to Idyllwild. It was a beautiful place the family would gather for holidays and special occasions.

 After my mother passed, my sisters and I decided to sell the cabin. I would stay in Idyllwild until it sold and my sisters left, leaving Barbara with me. It was disturbing to me that Barbara was in that box, with no clue as to who she was or how to get her ashes to her family. I felt an internal nudge to do something. I know that feeling, and it is insistent until I listen.

Several restless days later, I took action. The only person I knew in town was our realtor, and I started there. I walked into the office with Barbara in my hands and placed her on Marge's desk.

"Do you know who this is?" I asked.

Marge never skipped a beat. "I have no idea, but Phil was a volunteer firefighter for many years. Maybe start there."

That's what I did...

May I help you?" handsome firefighter number one asked. I have a theory that all firefighters are handsome. His looks helped prove my theory.

  "Yes, thank you," I told him about Barbara and sat her up on the counter. There was an awkward silence. It never even occurred to me that someone might raise an eyebrow at me carrying around ashes. However, I was on a mission, and I had a strong feeling that Barbara did not want to be in that box.

  "I think I remember hearing something about this. Why don't you come back tomorrow morning? The old timers come in about 8:00 a.m. for coffee; you can ask around."

The next morning at 8:00 a.m. sharp, Barbara and I arrived at the fire station where there was, in fact, a table full of old-timers having coffee. Handsome firefighter number two introduced me, and I told them about Barbara. When the laughter subsided, one of the old-timers spoke, "I remember this. Phil and his buddy were supposed to take her remains up in his plane and scatter her ashes, but then Phil found out it was illegal." I knew enough about my stepfather to know how respectful he was about rules and laws.

  "Do you know who Barbara is?" I asked. There were only head shakes and a few of them saying, "Sorry."

According to the date typed on the outside of Barbara's box, she passed seventeen years earlier, predating mother and stepfather's marriage by five years. Did they take her with them wherever they moved, or did she sit on that top shelf in the garage all this time? My feeling that Barbara needed to have a forever home continued to grow stronger.

A few days later, Marge called to tell me my mother's home sold. I was determined that Barbara would not be taking any more trips. I had done everything humanly possible, except hiring a private detective, which was an option and on my radar for next steps. I finished getting the house ready for the new owners and headed to the local nail salon. I was telling Barbara's story to my manicurist when I heard laughter coming from a shadowed corner of the room.

"Barbara would have loved this story," a female voice said. She introduced herself and passed along kind words about Phil and my mother.

           "Barbara and Phil were very close friends. She used to tease him all the time about being a procrastinator," she said.

After discovering who Barbara was and why her ashes were in my mother's garage, I realized that I had been on a divinely guided journey. Not only to uncover Barbara's mystery, but to appreciate why my mother, stepfather, and Barbara loved it there so much. In the end, I discovered that Barbara had no family and no one to take her ashes. Barbara was given a ceremony, and her ashes were scattered in the place she loved so much.  

Reflection

Spirit is always working in our lives for both mediums and non-mediums. More often than not, Spirit is found in the quiet moments—the subtle nudges, unexpected synchronicities, or the person placed in our path who simply needs a kind word, a little compassion, or the reassurance that they are not alone.

Maybe the extraordinary isn’t always something we have to search for. Perhaps it is quietly waiting to be noticed in the ordinary moments of everyday life. Have you ever discovered something that quietly changed the direction of your day—or even your life? Sometimes the smallest moments become invitations to explore something more. We don't always know why someone or something enters our path. We only know what love asks us to do next.

May your heart remain open to the unexpected invitations life places before you. May you recognize that you have a story worth honoring, every life has value, and sometimes the greatest acts of love begin with a single question:

"Who are you?"

Love is always here.