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The Mother Magazine, Editorial

Issue 17, Spring 2006

Good bye, Elizabeth, by Veronika Sophia Robinson

In late November 2005, my mother-in-law, Elizabeth, dutifully had her flu vaccine. That night she went to bed ill, complaining of a fuzzy head. When Paul spoke to her on the phone and she said she’d had her flu jab and was sick, he said, “You know what I think of vaccines, mum.”

She spent the next eight weeks bed ridden, deteriorating. Barely a morsel of food passed her lips. Her kidneys weakened to the point of no return. Research on flu vaccine effects show that crystals in the kidneys develop, leading to dehydration.

She had the life force stolen from her with that legal, lethal dose of poison. Like most pensioners, she was hypnotised by government health officials into believing the flu jab would protect her health.

On Christmas Day, as she lay lifeless in her bed, we called a doctor to visit. He said she was just a bit run down and not at all dehydrated. His suggestion was to give her milk and sugar. Excuse me? You went to medical school and that’s the best you can come up with? He was most offended when we said her ill-health was the result of the flu vaccine.

“I’ve been a doctor for many years….” bla bla blardy bla. He wasn't having a bar of it. “It’s just coincidence,” he said, arrogantly. Well, I guess that saved him filling in an adverse reaction form.

After Elizabeth was transferred to hospital, I had a dream of her standing by the bedroom door waving us goodbye. She was healthy, smiling and happy. This didn’t fit the picture of the lifeless woman in a hospital bed. I could only take it to mean that she was ready to pass out of her body into one more fitting for someone on an eternal soul journey. A few days before she died, a hospital doctor acknowledged my vaccine accusation. Her voice softened and she said, “You’d be surprised how many elderly people are affected by the flu vaccine.” No, I’m not surprised!

Watching my mother-by-marriage so ill, so frail, almost unrecognisable, made it impossible for me to not think of my own mother. My heart completely split in two.

The last few days of Elizabeth’s life will be the ones we remember most fondly. She was never an overly emotionally or physically demonstrative woman. And yet, in her final days, something changed. She openly gave and received hugs, reached out to hold hands, and said “I love you”...three words that never came easily to her.

Blessed to have time on my own with her, I expressed my eternal gratitude that her first born son had truly made my life.

Later, Paul came in, and ever so gently and softly, sang her an old Italian aria she loved called Your tiny hand is frozen. Rather fitting given her body temperature was down to 35 degrees Celsius. Though Elizabeth could no longer talk in her final hours, tears fell from her eyes at the sound of Paul singing. The last music she heard was him humming ‘I love you because’…We were comforted by the fact that hearing is the last sense to go.

When Eliza gave her Nana a last hug, I told Elizabeth that her granddaughter was hugging her, and that she loved her very, very much. Elizabeth moaned affirmatively, acknowledging that she was feeling the hug. Her moans of pleasure will stay with me always.

I felt honoured to be part of the experience, and to hold her hand as she took her last, gentle breaths. Paul later described her last breaths as like the sunset. It just happens so gradually and seamlessly even though it is quick. And yet we know the sun is still shining, even though we can’t see it any longer.

In Elizabeth’s final moments, Paul and I were joined by two of his brothers and a sister in law. We gathered around Elizabeth’s hospital bed, our love transforming an otherwise sterile environment into a sacred and holy place where she would transition. The feeling as she left was not one of her dying, but of her moving on to somewhere else...another journey. Between us we whispered words of ‘fly’, ‘you’re free’. It was, without doubt, the most incredible and moving experience of my life.

My daughters had been angelically patient those last days...each reading Harry Potter, walking hospital corridors, and holding their Nana’s hand. I know many people would suggest young children shouldn’t be part of such a process, but we approached it like anything else in our life ~ with honesty.

I felt it important they be part of the transition experience...to know that the body is merely a glove for this earthly journey, and that life for Nana didn’t begin in 1922. And it wasn’t really ending now.

Strangely, a few minutes before their Nana died, another sister-in-law took them for a walk to stretch their legs. Though they weren’t in the room when she died, they did come in afterwards to see her and whisper ‘farewell’.

That evening we went back to Elizabeth’s house. Now, there was a time in my life when the thought of sleeping in the bed of someone who’d recently passed over would have filled me with horror. But you know, that night, as Paul and I cuddled up in Nana’s big, soft bed, I felt nothing but comfort. It was the most perfect place to be. There was nowhere else on Earth I would rather have been as we experienced both the loss of a wombyn we loved, and marvelled at the beauty and magic of her transition. She was right there with us. Love transcended our different dimensions.

As we lay in her bed, I saw, not in my mind’s eye, but with eyes wide open, Elizabeth in a hot air balloon, way up high, smiling, waving, healthy. The same happy image of her as in my dream a few weeks before. She was saying goodbye.

The next day, Bethany and Eliza, ran with joy on Nana’s beach. Half naked, despite the cold winter wind, they played and danced fully, enjoying life in a place their Nana had looked out over every day, for many years. She’d have smiled.

Nana’s funeral/cremation was traditional. Our ceremony for her, more reflective of our beliefs, will be to plant a tree with some of her ashes at Moondawn Farm (home of The Mother magazine’s family camps, and a placenta burial site). The girls are choosing to plant some of the flowers and bushes that grow in her garden, too.

There are many parenting publications, even those that promote natural parenting, which assume a political correctness by presenting the pros and cons of vaccination. Until MY dying day I will shout from the rooftops that there are NO pros to mass vaccination! I don’t expect you to believe me. I do, however, hope that you’ll have enough wisdom to do your own research. The information is out there. The truth, the facts, the research. It’s all there! Just don’t expect your doctor or the government or pharmaceutical companies to rush to your aid. They won’t.

Ask your doctor for the ingredients in vaccines. Ask them to sign a consent form agreeing to take full responsibility, financial or otherwise, if any reaction happens to your child or parent. Ask the manufacturers if they are prepared to do the same. And if any of them are, do give me a call. You may not be able to choose for your parents whether or not they vaccinate, but you are responsible for your child. It is their life at risk, not yours.

You, your children and your parents can protect yourselves from influenza by taking care of your well- being. Get plenty of rest, cut out junk foods, sugars, fats, drink two litres of water each day, make daily exercise of some description a priority. Keep happy company. Switch off the news.

Seek regular chiropractic care for your children. Chiropractors, the experts in spinal care, will tell you that “through your nervous system you perceive the world, adapt to stress, coordinate all your body parts and functions, express emotion, and create your conscious reality. Chiropractic care aligns the spine so that malfunctions don’t interfere with your nervous system. You could also try cranio-sacral therapy. Your health is in your hands. Be proactive. Don’t be brainwashed into believing that vaccines are necessary for good health. They’re not.

Injecting poison into the body of an infant, child or an elderly person to protect them from disease, is the greatest global terrorism we will ever face. It is only when we step off the hypnotist’s stage (aka government, and department of health) and look the myth of vaccination in the eye and say “enough is enough”, will we truly discover how healthy our children and parents can be.

Good bye Elizabeth. We miss you.

In memory of

Mary Elizabeth Robinson

22nd February 1922 — 18th January 2006

Daughter of Eliza; mother of Paul, Vernon, Nicholas and Mark;
grandmother of Hannah, Harriet, Bethany, Eliza,
Elizabeth, Grace, Andrew, Oliver and Gabriella;
mother-by-marriage of Veronika, Elaine, Julie and Julia.

The Traveller

By James Dillet Freeman

She has put on invisibility
Dear Lord, I cannot see -
But this I know, although the road ascends
And passes from my sight
That there will be no night
That you will take her gently by the hand,
And lead her on
Along the road of life that never ends,
And she will find it is not death, but dawn.
I do not doubt that You are there as here,
And You will hold her dear.
Our life did not begin with birth,
It is not of the earth
And this that we call death, it is no more
Than the opening and closing of a door
And in Your house how many rooms must be
Beyond this one where we rest momentarily.
Dear Lord, I thank You for the faith that frees,
The love that knows it cannot lose its own
The love that, looking through the shadows, sees
That You and she and I are ever one.

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