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AstroPress Blog – Deborah Smith Parker, Author Of Humanus Astrologicus

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December 24, 20125 Comments

“Astrology for the Astrologically Challenged,” by Deborah Smith Parker

This holiday season is the fourteenth since my mother died. At this time of year my heart aches for her so much even though I know—key word know—that the veil that currently separates us is an illusion.

She and her mother helped teach me this during their lives, continuing their lessons after their deaths. We have deep Piscean connections that pass through the veil.

My mother, her mother and her grandmother were all carriers of the astrological lineage they nurtured in me from the shadows of their twelfth houses to enable me to carry astrology’s light full force into the days of my life.

So tonight, Christmas Eve, I post a piece I wrote in the year Mom was dying.  I dedicate this to all mothers and daughters who are on opposite sides of the veil–or are about to be.


by Deborah Smith Parker

(First published in 1999)

My mother is dying now.  She’s in Phoenix and I’m in San Diego, so I spend part of my time driving there and back. She spends part of her time with her parents who have been dead more than 30 years. That’s not all. She’s having other visitors, too, or else she goes visiting. I’m not sure which.

The visitations began during the recent health crisis that made her decide against any more medical intervention for the disease that will soon take her from this life. Her third day in the hospital, I came back from taking a shower—I’d resorted to sleeping in her room to protect her from those who were supposed to be caring for her—and asked her how she was doing.

“Fine,” she replied. “As soon as you left, a woman came and sat with me. At first I thought you were still here.”

I went on alert. Judging from the insensitive care Mom was getting in the hospital, it couldn’t have been any staff member. Mom was lucid. I’ve seen her out of her head with fever and coming out of anesthesia. This was not like that.

“Where is that woman you saw now?” I asked.

“Over there.” She gestured with an I.V. riddled arm toward the bathroom door.

“Is anyone else here?

“Oh, yes,”


“Well, there’s a man in that chair over there.” I went over and sat on him, or at least where he was supposed to be seated.

“That wasn’t very nice,” she said in a reproving voice I hadn’t heard directed at me in decades.

“Mom,” I said, “Let’s not tell the nurses.” We both laughed.

We talked of Mom’s own mother who had been mostly vegetative for the last year of her life. The night she died my aunt was helping the nursing home aides spoon dinner into her. The aides left and it was just my aunt with Grandma who was softly gazing nowhere, saying nothing, recognizing no one, as usual. Suddenly, she sat straight up. Her whole being brightened. She reached out her arms in front of her and joyfully exclaimed, “Oh, hello!” Then she was gone.

Mom and I think Wordsworth was right when he wrote:

“Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The soul that rises with us, our life’s star
Hath had elsewhere its setting
And cometh from afar. . .”

In the same piece, “Ode to Intimations of Immortality,” Wordsworth goes on to say that “Heaven lies about us in our infancy. . .” but “shades of the prison house begin to close. . .”

It’s a developmental given that young children have imaginary playmates, which is perplexing to parents and embarrassing to psychologists. What if these imaginary playmates are a part of this heaven lying about us in infancy? What if they are guides until the prison house gates of maturation clang shut and we are physically and psychologically incarcerated in manifestation? If that is the case doesn’t it make sense that these same guides would come around on the flip side of life to help us exit?

Recently, Mom and I sat holding hands, not saying very much. I asked if she’d gotten any choice information from her visitors that she’d care to pass on. She looked at me a moment and then said, “Mother came to see me. She was standing right there.” She pointed to a spot in the room.  “She said mothers were never very far from their daughters and that she has never been far from me or my sister. She told me that she would be there if I needed her, but that I haven’t needed her—yet.”

Mom then reached up and softly stroked my cheek saying, “I want you to remember this when it comes your time to die. Don’t forget.”

I won’t forget, Mom. Ever.

 (Deborah Smith Parker is the author of “Humanus Astrologicus” available in soft cover on this site and now on Kindle. To sign up to receive her blog or follow her on Twitter @astro_logicus and Facebook click to the right of this post.)



About author:

Deborah Smith Parker is re-writing the often impenetrable language of astrology into a much friendlier form. She has spent her 30 plus years as an astrological consultant, writer, teacher and lecturer freeing the rich astrological images and their descriptions increasingly buried under modern clinical and technological descriptions. Her additional work in public policy has provided many outlets for demonstrating her ability to break down highly complex systems into information that’s easily understood.

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  1. Inez says:


    This is beautiful. Thank you. I’m going to share it with my sister, Deborah Singletary. I love the illustrations.

  2. Thank you Deborah. It made me cry and miss my mom who left this earth 15 years ago. And my daughter as we are separated by many miles. But your mother’s mother was right: mothers are never very far away from their daughters. Blessings

  3. Hi Deborah: I am sitting here in tears too…my Mom crossed over on Dec 12th, 1996 and I felt everything you said. She was in Kansas City and I had a husband and demanding job in LA…luckily my then husband worked for American Airlines, so I was able to somehow travel back and forth most weeks with a 55/hr per week job. When I arrived on Dec 4th, she could barely speak, but she kept mouthing “what day is it?” My Aunt and father said she had been asking that all day, a little agitated. I went over to her and said, “It’s December 4th. I’m here and Jim (my husband then whose birthday was that day) is on his way.” She nodded and relaxed. December 5th was my birthday. Jim had adopted her as a sort of “dream mother,” she was so serene, almost angelic. Yes, for all you astrologers, her Moon was conjoining our Suns…

    She did manage after that to wake up and say, “My sweet Debra Denise,” followed by, “Debbie, I don’t know how to die.” I said, “I’m really sorry Mom, I can’t help you there.” She nodded again and we both had a little chuckle. She lived through my cousin Linda’s birthday – December 9th – her “first daughter” – actually my Aunt Grace’s 3rd, but my Mom felt so close to her. Then on her father’s birthday, December 11th, somehow the Missouri winter broke and it was 73F with a lovely Spring breeze with my Aunt and her daughters there, including Linda. We opened the windows for Mom to have her last Spring. She died early on December 12th – she hasn’t gone either. Yep – Mom was the love of my life, along with my Dad.

    Thanks for sharing this and bringing it to life for me over the Holidays…

  4. Jill Estensen says:

    This is a wonderful piece to share. I will share it with my Mom & Sister who are still on this side with me. My brother left this plane in 1991 and he did like your Mom, at the end, he sat straight up in bed, reached out with a huge smile on his face.
    Thank you Deborah for your ability to put into words what the heart knows. J

  5. Teri R says:

    Thanks for sharing this Deborah. I am touched and reminded of the recent (Oct 2010) passing of my mother. She had been here yet gone for years with Alzheimer’s disease and as I sat with her near her last days, she looked straight at me and told me how much she loved me. When she passed from this world, I was driving across the desert to hopefully reach her in time. I didn’t, but all of a sudden her voice was clear in my mind, more clear than it had been and I knew she was finally free. She still speaks to me often and reminds me of the important things to live by—most importantly to always have love in my heart. That has gotten me through some very tough situations, and of course it always works. Thanks Mom for your wisdom. Thanks Deb for your insight. I’ll share this one with many.

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