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	<title>WIRL Project &#187; Heaven</title>
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	<description>What It&#039;s Really Like.</description>
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		<title>Angel Bumps</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/angel-bumps/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/angel-bumps/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 01 Jul 2015 19:00:53 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Anne Bardsley]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Angel]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Angel Bumps]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Butterflies]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Calm]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Fear]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Feeling]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Goosebumps]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Guardian]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Guardian Angel]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Heaven]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Passed]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Peace]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sign]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Store]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7395</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I met my guardian angels over ten years ago. It seems so trite to say it was a time in my life when I was running on empty. Hell, if I was a car, the gas tank would have rusted out completely. There’d have been a huge hole in the bottom that leaked gas as I pumped it in. They were my lost years. I really had nothing left to give…to anyone. My oldest of five, has emotional disabilities. Next in line son, decided to smoke pot and drink beer and get thrown out of school. The three younger ones were busy in every possible sport. I tried therapy, Outward Bound, grounding, talking, family counseling, reasoning and nothing worked. It only made things worse. We also owned our own business and ran the office out of our dining room. There was stress in every room. I went on a retreat with my women’s group to escape and try to refill my rusted out tank. While there we each got a massage. It was very serene with soft music playing and scented candles dimly lit the room. When the masseuse started, I sank into the massage table. My shoulders drooped from my ears. When she put her hand over my heart, my emotions went wild. I must have held so much in that I exploded. I was sobbing and so scared. I thought this must be a nervous breakdown. What the hell? I asked my angels to be with me. Within seconds two angels arrived and my body went pure calm. A feeling of complete peace came over me. I was sobbing and so scared. I thought this must be a nervous breakdown. What the hell? I asked my angels to be with me. The angel on the left stood steady. The one on the right started to turn when I calmed. The crazy feeling came back and I asked for just a few more minutes. She returned. I think what I felt was a slice of Heaven. I felt a type of love that was so encompassing and pure. I was content to stay in that moment forever. I remember thinking about Scott and the kids and for a moment, I thought they’d be alright if I stayed there. I knew I couldn’t do that, but I’d never find that feeling on earth again. After the retreat, I began giving angels to people having a difficult time. At my dentist office, the hygienist’s best friend was dying of AIDS. He got an angel. A friend lost his dad and he was heart -broken. He got a special angel. Newborn babies were given angels to watch over them. I gave out hundreds of angels. My intention was that they would each know the love that I felt in my angel visit. I wanted them to feel that warmth and peace in their heart and soul. After the retreat, I began giving angels to people having a difficult time&#8230; My intention was that they would each know the love that I felt in my angel visit. I eventually opened an angel store. My dad had passed by then a few years prior. I scheduled the grand opening to honor him on his birthday. The day of the opening, I sat at the desk and a bit of panic took over. “What if they all think I’m crazy? What if no one comes?” Just then a little lace angel starting playing the song, Somewhere Over the Rainbow. It was my favorite song my dad used to whistle. Rosie, an elderly woman, who would become a regular customer, tried to buy that angel every time she came in. I’d say, “Rosie, I can’t sell her. She’s my dad’s sign that the store is in good hands.” She grinned and fired back, “How about joint custody?” That was my first angel bump from my dad. There are many others from my dad over the years, but I’m saving them for my book Angel Bumps. After my Mom passed, I was driving to work in tears. I felt a hand on my cheek and I dismissed the feeling, because “What the heck was that?” I asked her for a “real” sign that she was alright on the other side. The light turned green. I made a right turn and within a minute, my car was surrounded with little white butterflies. It looked like a blizzard. I laughed out loud. “I got it, Mom!” I still get chills when I think of that day. That, my friends, is another Angel Bump. Since that time, a white butterfly arrives when I missing her. When my son graduated high school, my mom had been gone nine months. She would have been at the graduation with a big smile on her face. I was so sad that morning. I was having tea on our front porch when she flitted by. She proceeded to follow our family to the car, circling the front window, and then almost got in the car with us. My teens all knew about Nan’s sign so they were excited that “Nan is coming with us today!” At my son’s garden wedding rehearsal, she danced between him and his fiancé as they practiced their vows. I cried through the entire rehearsal wishing she could really be sitting with us. She was there in spirit, front and center. My mom loved, loved, loved her daughters and grandchildren. She never met any of my grandkids. A few weeks ago, my daughter called to tell me her twenty- month-old son had been playing in the back yard when a little white butterfly arrived. He chased her for half an hour, giggling with laughter. She’d fly high and low and buzz around him. He was totally engaged, loving this game. He never met my mom. He was calling the butterfly Nan. That is her Grandma name. A few weeks ago, my daughter called to tell me her twenty- month-old son had been playing in the back yard when a little white butterfly arrived. He chased her for half an hour, giggling with laughter. She’d fly high and low and buzz around him. He was totally engaged, loving this game. He never met my mom. He was calling the butterfly Nan. I decided to write Angel Bumps because I know the feeling I get when I get a sign. I can be having a really bad day and here comes that little white butterfly and I am on top of the world. I want others to experience the joy of realizing that people we think we’ve lost forever are still so close. The signs come to us. We have to be aware and believe. I have many others signs that I’ll save for the book. My hope is that after you read our shared stories, you will begin to notice your signs and feel the love they are sending. Once you have an Angel Bump, you will never be the same. You will know for sure, you are never…ever… alone. Each story is unique and will been shared with love. Please share your (1200 &#8211; 1500 word) stories if you are willing to be featured in Angel Bumps. Contact me at myangelbumps@gmail.com with your stories or questions. The deadline is July 31, 2015. Thanks so much and bless your hearts!]]></description>
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		<item>
		<title>Should Coulda Woulda</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/should-coulda-woulda/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/should-coulda-woulda/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 19 Jun 2015 08:30:22 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Anne Bardsley]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[AIDS]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Brother]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Death]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Die]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Friend]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Friendship]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Heaven]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Hell]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Journey]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pray]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sign]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Spirit]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7123</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[“Dr. Mort, report to emergency. Dr. Mort, report to emergency STAT.” The operator’s nasal voice roared in my head as the odor of disinfectants crawled up my nostrils. It was suffocating. The “Bing” of the elevator was a welcome relief from the chaos in the hall and in my mind. One by one, floor by floor, they crammed me further into to the back. An intern with huge, dark circles under his eyes, played with his stethoscope to avoid my eyes. No words were meant to be spoken in this sterile place. The arrow pointed up to heaven, as we approached the fifteenth floor, yet my heart knew we were headed toward hell. I adjusted my sunglasses to shield my eyes and especially my heart. The heavy metal doors screeched open. My wobbly knee headed toward room 1512. The bright linoleum corridor ran the length of a football field.  At the twenty yard line, I passed a young man gripping his side rails of his bed. An older woman spoon fed him as tears streamed down her face. At the forty yard line, a man stared into space, hooked up to bottles that drip..drip…dripped life into his veins. His dark, glazed eyes stared past me. At the sixty yard line my heart sympathized with a running back. I couldn’t catch my breath. My clammy fingers reached for the already damp tissues in my pocket. I closed my eyes refusing to believe that my friend Tom’s room was approaching at the eighty yard line. There would be no touchdown today. I’d blocked out the four letters, AIDS. I prayed this was just a nightmare. Any minute I’d wake up and my friend would be his old self. Surely the blood test was mistaken. The doctors were wrong! Even now as the wall supported me, my heart tried to follow this path of denial. I pushed my sunglasses back into place and blinked my eyes toward the ceiling to keep the tears at bay. I met Tom five years prior to him getting sick. He was a business associate and we quickly became friends. My husband and I were very fond of him. I used to joke that if I could pick a brother, I would pick him. He would make a perfect uncle for our kids. His job as a sales rep was to convince us to sell more products. He did so by complaining that if we didn’t increase our sales, he’d be forced to replace his blazing red BMW with an olive green, used truck for his sales calls.  He would grimace and tug on the collar of his Polo shirt looking like a forlorn kid. “Come on, Anne. Please, I can’t drive a truck” he stuttered, like truck was a dirty word. My husband, Scott, suggested he get mag wheels. “You’d be great driving a nice truck.” Tom broke into one of his award winning laughs.  He was twenty- five then. He had it all: charm, a great sense of humor, self- confidence. He was tall with sun bleached streaks in his brown hair, tan and had the world in his hands. &#160; As I reached room 1512, I lifted my sunglasses, but closed my eyes and prayed. “Dear God, don’t let this be true.” Gently I pushed the door open. His eyes were so sunken that his eyebrows looked like caterpillars. He was sound asleep. His once trim body was a bag of bones. Little sticks poked out of the covers making his feet look gigantic in comparison. A thunder storm raged in my chest. I gulped for air. He opened his eyes and smiled. “Hey stranger,” he said softly as we hugged hello. And then the damn burst without warning. Tears rolled down my face. “It’s alright,” he lied to me, patting my back.  His backbones felt so fragile, I was afraid I’d squeeze him to death. “You’re my only visitor,” he said quietly. His family lived states away. His eyes, once full of spark, were dull and tired as he stared out the window. “I’m going home to my parent’s house. My mom is going to keep my dog. He’ll have a good home. But who will drive my beamer?” he grinned. He gulped when he asked, “Who will watch over my mom after I’m gone? I’m her favorite.” My heart was so heavy that he would be leaving this world so soon. I told him, “Tom, if I could ever choose a brother, I would pick you. I can’t imagine a better brother for me.” He laughed. Already I was missing my “pick a brother” choice. Hours later, we hugged farewell and we vowed to keep in touch. I promised to write him funny letters to cheer him up. Emotions and words were circling in my head. My heart was breaking. I wanted to ask him to send me a sign that he’d made it to heaven. Just the thought brought a sting to my eyes and the firing range blasted my heart. “No tears, No tears,” he insisted, raising his skinny arms in protest. His haggard face turned toward away to avoid my eyes.  He rubbed his chin nervously. Without tears, I couldn’t say, “I’m going to miss you. You are a kindred spirit and I’m glad our paths crossed. I wish you a sweet and painless journey. I hope the angels escort you on gentle wing, so swift that it feels smoother than a ride in your BMW&#8230;Only the best for you!” The words lodged in my throat. I wanted to tell him. I really did, but I put on my darkest shades and walked out the door.]]></description>
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