February 19th, 2004   Oma wrote these e-mails

“Hello Gerard, I love to work with you and the children. Wednesday March the 3rd.  I can start, unless you have another day in mind. Please let me know when you expect me and I do not plan any trip in the near future, so I can really dig into the work. I DO enjoy it.

Let me hear from you please

O M A”

“Hi Christian and Lea, as you know I was in California and Seattle for many weeks, now I AM back and catching up with my mail. Yes the planet is accelerating and I have quite a few transmissions on that subject, we will experience a wonderful change, but we have to recognize and acknowledge it and share the good News with others.

I AM ready again to see people and give treatments to my special Ones. Please let me know if you want to come for a session. It will be a great 2004, it is up to us to make it great and the Best of it is, that we KNOW it.

Best Wishes, Love and Peace and Blessings to all


Come visit me on my home page



February 19th, 2005 Oma wrote this e-mail:

“Thomas, I wanted to be a good girl so instead of cleaning the floor, I wanted to do something else to make my body strong as you suggested so I did go outside to pick up the Tannenzapfen in the Driveway. I found it very difficult and lost a few times my balance, so I stopped, we have to do this together, o.k.????

Now I will call Jürgen.

Penny is coming this evening at 7 for a reflexology treatment and Tom Small is coming at 4.

Have a wonderful Sunday with your Love

Love you

your Mütterle”


February 19th, 2006

It was five days after Oma temporarily departed for a 48 hr journey to the beyond. Oma was now totally helpless and although she struggled against the deterioration of her motor skills for a couple of days after she returned, by now she was resigned to her physical condition.

Her legs are scaly and bare as I scan my gaze up from her feet. Her hand, resting on her knee, is blue in stark contrast to golden and gray pattern of her parched and dry skin, her gaze is empty and forlorn as she sits, crushed into her commode, leaning to her left side. The masses dominating the right half of her body in combination of her almost total absence of muscle mass makes it impossible for her to sit unassisted. The pillow jammed between her and the armrest of the commode lets her sit long enough to produce two, rather firm, bowel movement.

Wiping Oma's little bum was no longer a simple task. First I had to lift her from the commode onto a towel I prepared on her bed. From there I swung her feet up and over and positioned her on her back temporarily. Washbasin with warm water was at the ready and now I was able to wash Oma’s bum while she lay first on her back and then on her side. What an incredible opportunity to love. What a rare gift to practice patience and acceptance.




February 19th, 2007.

My Love and I took a break from house planning. We had finished our dinner and were sitting in Laura’s living room. Holding each other’s hands we were enjoying a moment of quietude when the CD started to play Andre Rieu’s version of Danny Boy. Immediately I thought of Mother Caspari and the words she would always sing to this melody, “The will of God is always done in me.” Laura instantly thought of Oma and while our words were silent, memories shot like meteors across the night sky of our mind.

Instantly I was transported back to the last hours of Oma’s life. So often over the past year I had wondered why Oma chose to leave when and how she did. How much did she suffer? How much pain did she endure? These were questions that were hard to answer when mother was with us and lucid. They seem impossible now that she is gone. Still I asked Oma, just a week earlier, to come and tell me. It is said that no matter what the general cause of our demise, the exact instant of death is most often determined by the heart’s cessation. Was it the cancer that caused mother’s heart to stop beating, or was it the morphine?

As I recounted the details of that last night to Laura it started to dawn on me that mother orchestrated the whole event. We had been able to keep ahead of the pain pretty well for most of the time leading up to these final days. The medication was ramped up gradually over the preceding weeks but that night, mother suddenly started to moan, making her discomfort most apparent. Until now I had thought that this was caused by increased pain but of course there is no way of telling. It could just as well have been mother’s attempt at vocalizing her dissatisfaction and impatience with the way things were and her desire to “check out” pronto.

Oma had waited until Birgit could make her final visit. She waited until Gaby and I had built a bridge across our spiritual divide. She had waited until Gaby was asleep and I was by her side. She even waited until I finished my nightly Thai Chi workout. Trish, during her visit earlier that day, had prepared the morphine delivery system by inserting a little butterfly needle in Oma’s abdomen. This allowed me to administer morphine without having to stick a needle into mother every time.  Although I remained reluctant to over medicate, mother’s insistent moans clearly communicated her discomfort and encouraged me to administer morphine every ten to twenty minutes until I saw signs that it was working.

When I finally I noticed mother starting to relax I thought that the morphine was now at a level to proved her comfort. I was preparing for a long night by her side but moments later she took her last breath. Was it that the morphine overcame the pain? Or was it that mother knew that the dose was now high enough that she could depart? As I shared this with Laura a new perspective started to wash over me. Mother had chosen her time of departure carefully and had coaxed me into giving her enough morphine to make the transition easier. As this realization sank in I was overcome with powerful, breathtaking, torrents of tears, sobbing beyond control. In the blur I saw an image of Oma and Mother Caspari, standing behind us in the living room, Mother Caspary’s hand on my back, Oma’s hand on Laura’s shoulder. They were radiating a smile of love and joy that we finally understood. Don’t be fooled by appearances, they seemed to say to me. Trust in your knowing, all has unfolded according to divine plan.

The next day I sailed back to the cottage. It was a winter day filled with sunshine and light. A 15-knot breeze propelled me across Haro Strait at a steady clip. The sun sparkled off the water and the air was mild and fresh. Thank you! I shouted to the cosmos. Thank you God for this opportunity to be alive, to love, to cherish and to share. Once again I knew that my purpose on earth was to love. All I needed for happiness was around me; the sky, the sun, the water, the wind, it was all here in its glory. All the other things I do in life are just to facilitate the exploration and experience of this wondrous planet. It is a perspective that brought new comfort to my soul. 


Today I walked to Roche to listen to the noon bells. After they finished I walked towards the marina office and saw a young woman kneel beside a memorial plaque dedicated to a fisherman who used to be the local harbormaster. We started to talk and shared our experiences. Theresa lost her husband last year of a sudden massive heart attack. It was healing for both of us to recount our respective stories. On the walk home I realized that every day someone faces the questions that the departure of a loved one brings to the fore. Unknowingly Theresa had given me new courage to write Oma's story in case someone needs to hear it some day. When I reached the cottage and was walking up the stairs to the front door, I could hear Oma's chime calling me. Sounds like she agrees.


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