By Dr. Wendy Lockwood PHD.Pattie, my baby sister and I were always close from the day my mother brought her home from the hospital when I was only five years old. As she grew, I spent hours each day teaching her to talk, walk, and dress herself. Our mother didn't mind if I helped raise her since she had three other siblings for her to tend.
Through the years, Pattie and I shared tears, laughter, goofiness and many common interests. Our most outstanding experience was s close encounter with a flying saucer, which was a turning point in our lives toward metaphysics.
Life is short, and our time became very painful when Pattie was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. After eight months in a hospice flat on her back she was released because the cancer was in remission, but about seven months later it returned with a vengeance. That time it focused on her spleen where she developed a massive tumor that no amount of morphine would relieve her agony.
For weeks Pattie clung to life for ms and because she wanted to complete the book she was writing. One afternoon as she lay in a stupor in the dying room, I was out of town, but made a priority of calling her. She was barely able to speak and the nurse had to hold the telephone to her ear. I reinforced how much I loved her and then I told her something that was very difficult; gently I told her: "Pattie, I give you permission to die," followed by:
"We'll be apart for a little while, and then we will be together forever."
Within twelve hours after we bade farewell, Pattie had passed-on.
Her departure left a great empty place in my life, yet I knew I had to release her else my grief would interfere with her new incarnation, since I had already foreseen that new life for her and it was destined to be her ideal.
For many years, Pattie loved everything Chinese and Tibetan. She cooked, painted, wrote, dressed and decorated her home in Chinese. Her favorite doctor was a Chinese herbalist and acupuncturist.
Three years after Pattie's death, I was in one of my out-of -body, bi-location journeys when I found myself on an old dirt road in a beautiful part of the foothills of the Himalayas in a western province of China. Somehow, I knew why I was there.
Gazing at the lofty, majestic, snow-capped mountains, I became aware of a child's voice calling in the distance. There ahead on the tree-flanked dirt road dashed a small Chinese girl, running toward me and waving her arms, calling, "Wendy!-Wendy!-Wendy!"
I stooped down and scooped her up in my arms. She was a darling, vibrant four year old dressed in blue silk pants and Asian-style tunic. Her sweet round face was framed in a Dutch-boy style. She clung to me, both laughing and crying with tears streaming down her apple cheeks. Between her sobs of joy she cried, "I'm Pattie! - I'm Pattie! - I'm Pattie!"
As I stood up and set her down, she immediately ran to the calm, quiet, sweet looking lady who accompanied her. Grabbing a portfolio from her grip, she rushed back to show it to me.
She opened it to reveal a collection of beautiful Chinese Tao paintings. When we were together, I had often encouraged her to be artistic because it awakens our spirituality.
"I'm an artist, I'm an artist" she squealed as she bounced around with joy. Indeed, even at three years old, she had great talent and was clearly born a child prodigy.
As her mother calmly approached, Pattie turned to her, explaining that I was her sister, followed by, "Oh, I mean in my last life."
Her mother quietly responded with nod of her head and a smile. I then gently told my sister that it was time for me to leave and that I would love her forever.
Later, Pattie visited me and told me her present name: Quinh.
Nobody can ever convince me that reincarnation does not exist because I have proof. We are given plenty of time to regain our Oneness with God-The Cosmos.