An Open Letter to my Mother

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The mother that I love, in the Names of Sweet Jesus and Kind Mary

This post is updated.  As far as I know my brother has not read it yet to my mother, nor has he even acknowledged receiving it, though I sent it directly through his cell phone, and asked him to read it to her.

Dear Mom,

I know you discount my dreams, as if you are afraid what I see in them might be true.  But I have only dreamed beautiful things regarding what God has in store for this family, for all you and the rest of us have gone through.

God never points an accusatory finger at anyone, and neither do I.

And besides, every thing I’ve dreamed about and thought was from God (though I might not have understood it at the time) proved to be true.  That is why people think I am so smart, when in reality (I believe) I have been simply hearing the silent voices of what I know, or who I knew, but forgot, all along.

As for Larry he doesn’t believe so much in dreams.

He told me he only believes God can use science to work a miracle, as if God came from science, and not the other way around.

So strange.

I believe in true science, but believe God doesn’t have to use it’s laws.  He can go beyond any law He authored in the first place.

As a Catholic, I believe God allows Mary, our Guardian Angels as well as our favorite saints, saintly relatives like Dad that we were so close to, to speak to us in our dreams.

Did God not send an angel to Joseph so he would not fear taking Mary as his wife?

After we are dead are not relationships and love for each other and God all we have?

Is this not the Love of which Heaven is made?

St Joseph knew he was having a different kind of dream.  So did the man that I intend to marry. Saint Joseph knew which parts of his dreaming were true, even though he could not necessarily interpret correctly, or perhaps understand all that his dreams contained, that Mary was Immaculate and how therefore only she alone could bear Jesus Christ.

I am certainly not immaculate, and I am certainly not infallible.

But nonetheless God uses little people like me and you, as well as all imperfect sinners, whether we like it or not. Especially children who suffered a lot. Because as children we are all made innocent, and cannot be guilty of our abusers sins, regardless of who our biological mothers or fathers are.

Therefore I want you to know I had a dream about you and dad last night, as if he wanted me to ask you about it, to see if you would remember, what I cannot. I cannot read your mind or your life, just because I have interesting dreams. But I think in the dream I was inside your tummy, not born yet.

Dad said to you (or to me)  “Do you remember coming around the back of this house?”

I saw the house in my dream that you and Dad were at.  It looked like behind Saint Peter’s rectory but only older, more beautiful, covered with ivy and perhaps a back porch and stone walls. You and I, as if you were pregnant with me at the time, were walking through a passage way between this house and the other building (which at Saint Peter’s, was the church.)

He said “Is this longer than a room for two nights?”

“It’s under the mat.  It’s always under the mat.”

“An angel put it there.”

“We will fix this.”

“We were trying to figure it out before we knew where the key was.”

At this part in my dream I awoke as if I heard a gunshot.

But it was just a bird that flew into my window (apparently) where I sleep in the bedroom, in which Babci died. Imagine that.

Babci had told me about a dream she had in that bed, shortly before she died in it, and I have had dreams about Babci as well now, that have proved to be miraculously significant. I know now that one of them was in St Ann’s Monastery in Scranton, because when I returned there only recently I was surprised to recognize it as the backdrop of my long ago “Babci Dream.”

I believe she is a saint in heaven, helping us both.

But anyway, before Babci died, she told me she dreamed she was in heaven looking down at her family and all of us getting there.  She saw many of us.  But in particular she saw you, Mom.  She said that you had to go as if in a maze round and round to find your way there, and there were numerous obstacles to overcome,  but you kept fighting so hard and running around really fast going up and over or around all obstacles in this maze to overcome them.

She was sure that you made it to heaven, but not because you “bought” your way into heaven, or had a “special mandate”. You have said these things repeatedly, such bunk someone must have brainwashed you with, in front of Anna and I and other honest witnesses,  in your disassociative state.  As your own mother, my Babci predicted it, you will make it to Heaven only because you are such a stubborn little fighter who would never give up on love, despite your mistakes.

We all love you so much, and we are all praying for you to get well enough to come home. I want to live with you again and spend days with you in peace and joy.

Anyway, I had been startled awake from this dream about you and dad, so I got up to look out the window to look to see if I could find the bird that had hit the window laying on the porch roof top below me, to account for the sound I had heard, that had reminded me of a gunshot, when I was sleeping.

But of course the sound had not been a gunshot.  I knew that when I woke up.  It had been more of a soft, little thump anyway.

So I went back to sleep, and started dreaming again.

A woman screamed.

Someone said “arrest him!”

She fled.

Someone, a man said  “his wife.”

There had been something about paramedics coming.

Then a female voice said as if it was you, “Judy, he was a child again. Judy he was just a boy.  The gunman.”

(Previously in another dream, someone said they framed John Gunman. )

I was then a baby on a table in this dream, not in an army hospital but maybe a Catholic one,  because you had said “Not in the Army Hospital, Never, John!”

He speaks Spanish, the priest.

This time I was awoken again, but by a much louder sound, almost as loud as a gunshot this time, and I awoke shaking.  But of course I had just been frightened. This sound was so loud, such a very loud thump. It must have been the sound of a very large bird hitting another window, or animals in the attic, but again, it was the sound of something falling.

I could see how someone asleep would mistake such a sound for a gunshot, or a real gunshot would sound like that. Perhaps you had a traumatic incident before I was born that you thought was a gunshot but it was not.  I remember in real life as a child Dad disagreed with you on this matter.

These sounds, I hate to say it,  kind of reminded me of the sound a baby would make, if she fell off a tall table (God forbid)or someone pushed her, smashing her face on the floor, next to her mother.

I think the time I was around five and I did fall out of bed, when I rolled around a lot, it reminded me in my subconscious of how something like this happened to me as a baby. I have heard Dad saved my life and the doctors did something they didn’t think was possible.  But  I started having nightmares another time.

It was after that night I awoke flat on my back in my bed, with my nose broken and blood squirting out everywhere. I was around five at the time.  I see you at the foot of my bed in a dissociation state as if you had been hypnotized and I remember saying “I’m sorry mommy!” as if you told me I was responsible for the other baby’s death.

I started  having nightmares that I was responsible for killing another baby or child, as if someone had told me that was true, that this baby’s death was my fault.

But I was so young.  It couldn’t be true.  You and Daddy invited a priest over who told me it couldn’t be true.  I was only five or so.

Do you remember that?

And I asked you if there were really bad people in the world.

You said no Judy, because you wanted me not to be so scared. You were your regular loving self again.  You did tell the truth because you added “Because God made everyone innocent.”

But anyhow, I woke up from this recent dream about you and Dad at that old stone house,  and I remembered how you and Dad along time ago, used to talk about an incident in a house or an apartment, and a gun man where someone was framed, but you and Daddy disagreed about the details.

I think people are framed by corrupt authorities everywhere, but especially in the church.

I think someone was framed in a Catholic Hospital, Mom, the one where I was born.

You see dreams are sometimes symbolic of what happens in real life.

I had one awhile back that really frightened me.

I saw you lying on a table as if in satanic black mass as if hypnotized (thinking it was a traditional mass)  but you were beautiful and innocent.

As I remember it, you took me alone once to a so called traditional mass, where scary black robed figures moved back and forth really fast behind a table,  only I knew they were not real priests but bad men, and you told me this was just the same as the masses we usually went to. Then I blacked out or went to sleep, as if hypnotized.

I think this happened while we were in Germany.  I remember being told somehow I would have to die for you or something like that.  I got scared.  I knew they would hypnotize me, or something like that.  So I asked Jesus in my head to send me someone to remind me of what really happened, because I didn’t trust these people. And He promised He would. I do not know if this part really happened, or if I am remembering something only symbolic.

I do remember being happy as if in Heaven, but coming back to life because I loved you, and knowing then the whole story of how God was going to use Mary to save all the little people, like me.

But in my nightmares a man (a priest in a black robe) hovers over me about to stab me with a knife.

I ask God “Is he killing me?”

No, he is killing “the other little girl” and the bad priest is her father.

I think God is referring to the other little girl I saw in another dream, the one with the blonde hair that I was giving a voice to recently (she was trying to talk, trying to be heard, in the dream she is about five, but I am not sure.  This could be another little girl I know who has seen severe trauma.)

If you are confused at this point do not worry, it is not your fault.  Evil and it’s subsequent trauma is extremely confusing, like trying to find one’s way out of a maze.  There are many aspects to my own life that I have yet to understand.  I am hoping you can provide the missing links for me and I can provide them to you, and we can expose who and how people have lied to us about each other.

Because you are right.  In your heart you always loved me.

I had asked in my dream Jesus or Mary, who did this to my mother.

And I heard a man, a man named Jim Timlin. He was a diocesan priest in Scranton a long time ago.  Perhaps you went to confession to him about nine months before I was born, when Dad was overseas or something.

Mom, I know this is all very scary and confusing.

But it is only natural that little babies retain what happened in their hearts and souls when they were very young, even just born, or not.

Especially if they almost die and see heaven, or catch a glimpse of it.

Because they are innocent and therefore closest to God then. Aborted children need to be acknowledged, and honored and grieved, though I am certain they make it to Heaven.  The acknowledgement of them is for us, so that we can be healed.  It is only what’s right, so do not ever let any man of the cloth tell you differently. We all have a right to live the life God gave us, and so do you.

I do not even know if you really had an abortion, though that’s what was implied to me.  Because the psychologists who treated you for schizophrenia also worked for Project Rachel, specializing in complex schizophrenia resulting from severe post abortion syndrome, and post abortive women who then go on to abuse a live birth child.

Perhaps Timlin lied and said you aborted his child (anonymously) to advance his career and Project Rachel, when in reality he tried to kill me after I was born, to hide the evidence of his sin.  Perhaps he tried to induce miscarriage,  imposed his guilt on you, and suppressed your trauma and grief when your children were attacked.  I do not know for sure yet.

But I suspect a bad priest encouraged your miscarriage and rewrote your psychiatric history to advance his own career even to become Bishop, even promoting Project Rachel under false pretenses.  He retired recently and I think all this has started coming out since then.

I heard Oppenheimer found out what they did to you, knew you were now delusional because of it, and used you for money to advance his own career, trying to scandalized DeVillers, Dad’s trusted priest friend,  and an innocent business woman like me instead.

They should all be arrested, not you! Who told you I “had you arrested”?  That is not true.  I was trying to get you help and the police came to take you to their office where the hearing had to be held, but they refused to hear any evidence to get you help and told me to leave you dead on the floor, or wait until you gave me a visible stab wound, before calling 911 again.

That is why people are telling you you are sound “in mind and body” and can administer your own medicine, even as you give thousands away to bad men like Oppenheimer and Smallwood Dad’s property,  even while state officials are telling me to “leave you dead on the floor” or “wait until you have a visible stab wound” (which of course I would never do) because “they have an interest” in Dad’s estate.

Confusing, I know.

Just know that I am not calling you crazy or stupid or accusing you of anything.

Anyone would be traumatized over these events.

I am calling you traumatized, like I have been, although to a much lesser degree. Most people will not understand what happened to our family because they haven’t been born into political families or those so intricately connected to the Church, criminal investigations, or the exposing of  false priests.

But as for me, I will always love you and Larry no matter what. I accuse you, the real mother I love, of nothing.  I loved you even when you accused me of causing your heart attack by serving you “tainted chicken” even though I was the one  who called 911, saved your life, got you your operation, and arranged professional care, and slept by your side night after night at the expense of my own health, business and welfare to watch over you.

Who may I ask would suggest I am the one not to be trusted or would lie to you, if not the devil himself?

Then I heard this melody in my dream.  It was so strange as it just came to me, as if Dad was singing it to you, to cheer you:

There’s an American road to the Country Club
There’s a Comedy Club
There’s a Claim
And for those broke but for some reason
Not broken
Christmas Morn life begins
Just the same

So I hope that is a sign I can bring you home for Christmas.

Love, Judy
May Mary Immaculate, pray for us!

PS  The reason I have asked Larry to read you these letters is because I think you hear your own tone of voice in my voice, whenever I try to speak to you.  This triggers you to get angry at me,  because your own inner critic is always accusing you falsely of things, those voices that perhaps you hear, unlike me, out loud.

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