“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(I was eating breakfast at 7:50 when I received a call from the hospital. The call scared me at that hour. The nurse said Jane wasn’t good. They couldn’t get her comfortable, she wasn’t eating breakfast, and she wanted me to come down. Jan was to tell Jane at once if I’d see her. I left the breakfast, the cats, the house, turned off the lights, and drove down. I didn’t think it was a life-or-death crisis, but the result of our conversations lately, and the sessions, the panic attacks, and so forth. It was raining heavily when I left the house.

(I hadn’t realized that her grandfather, Joseph Burdo — “Little Daddy,” as Jane had called him — had spent a couple of years in a hospital for TB when Jane had been around ten years old. I also understood as we talked that when Jane’s grandfather had wanted to move out of the house on Middle Avenue, he had sold all the furniture and had the utilities turned off. Marie then succeeded in thwarting his plans and banned him from the house. To Jane this had seemed like a second divorce in the family. This hurt the six-year old girl. Her parents had divorced when she was 3.

(But I soon discovered at the funeral home that it mattered not; people wore anything. I met John, Margaret, and others there, and signed a guest book. Joe lay in a deep crimson casket. I told John that he really did look peaceful, as at no other time in his life. It was the same feeling I’d had staring at my parents in their respective caskets. People laughed and joked. I told John I expected to attend the service tomorrow at the funeral home, that I was willing to be an honorary pallbearer, providing the times worked out. They all understood, since they knew I’d been at the hospital all day. I don’t think I’d better consider being late to 330, after today’s events. I told the Bumbalos I’d call if anything came up early in the day. John said they have enough food to feed me for a week, after it’s all over. Life goes on, even in our reality.