Ophelia Baez’s Story
Ophelia and I sat in her living room early one morning. She narrated the experience she had had with an elderly couple that she had been caring for, and the unusual spiritual manifestation and expression of love, which in my own experience, I have never heard the likes of before. What is to follow is her wonderful story and the unique bond of gratification that it would ultimately revealed to her.
—Antonio
“I was born in San Francisco California, and I’ve lived in the mountain town of Aspen for more than nine years, but I consider the southern California city of San Diego to be my true home. In the year 1997, my husband Jerry and I moved to Crested Butte Colorado. At the time of our move, Jerry was a licensed electrician and was offered a nice paying job working at a newly approved Aspen subdivision. Admittedly, I was not as eager as Jerry to make the move to Colorado. I had to give it serious thought before making such a drastic move. Our future as a family was very important to me, and just the idea of having to leave my own family caused me to shed more than a few tears. After all, I would be moving several states away, leaving my own mother and two sisters. It was very difficult for me. My close friends were pulling me in the direction to stay in San Diego, and although the new environment, and the possibility to make a lot of money was potentially very real, it took me eight weeks to relent. However in a short time Jerry and I made the drive to Colorado and within a week, were calling Crested Butte our home.
Jerry soon enrolled in, and after studying for many weeks completed, the State’s electrician test in order to be licensed and work within Colorado. During this period, Jerry was working as an apprentice for a master electrician at a subdivision. A few months into Jerry’s work, his employment with the contractor was complete. It was amazing how quickly, after completing his work and becoming a licensed tradesman, the number of job offers began to come his way. One of these offers involved working with a contractor who was building a very high-end condominium complex in Aspen. Through all these months, Jerry and I were saving our money while living in a comfortable trailer a few miles outside of Aspen’s city limits.
Jerry was busy working, but I on the other hand was searching to occupy my free time. I answered several employment notices in the Aspen newspaper and eventually settled on a job as a domestic with a family consisting of an elderly couple—the Taylors. Basically, my job description was to care for Mrs. Taylor who was suffering from debilitating Parkinson’s disease and was not in the best health. Taking Mrs. Taylor on trips to the hospital and to her other doctor appointments was a usual, run-of-the-mill scenario for me.
Founded in 1889, nine years after the establishment of Aspen, this cemetery is the burial place for many of Aspen’s pioneers.
I enjoyed my job and was employed by the Taylors for over a year when unexpectedly Mr. Taylor died in his sleep from a massive heart attack. I’d expected Mrs. Taylor, who was very feeble, to be the first to pass, but that was not to be.
Mr. Taylor was buried in The Aspen Grove cemetery, the oldest cemetery in Aspen. Her husband’s passing was obviously very difficult for Mrs. Taylor. She missed her husband very much and I could see how this was affecting her eating habits. It really took a lot of encouragement from me to have her eat more than a few mouthfuls at each meal.
An unvarying task Mrs. Taylor would request from me was to drive her, sometimes three times a week, to her husband’s grave. She would place a fresh bouquet of flowers at the graveside and meditate in prayer for several minutes before we would finally leave. These short trips would bring her a few moments of relief, and I was happy to be of service. However, strangely, something unusual happened during one of these days that we visited the cemetery.
As we were making our way along the footpath to Mr. Taylor’s graveside, I noticed that nearby, someone had attached a wind chime high up in one of the branches of an aspen tree. Mrs. Taylor remarked, “What a lovely tribute. I think my husband would enjoy one of those wind chimes as well.”
The following week, I drove Mrs. Taylor to a local garden supply store where she picked out a very nice sounding wind chime. My husband Jerry came along with us as we drove to the cemetery. With his help, we used a long pole to hook the new wind chime up on one of the highest branches of a tree. Although Mr. Taylor’s grave was several feet away from where the chimes were suspended, Mrs. Taylor stated, “My husband will know that when those chimes make music, they’ll be chiming just for him.”
In the winter of that year, Mrs. Taylor’s eldest daughter, Kate, came to visit her mother for the Christmas holiday. Kate thought it would be a good idea to take her mother to see a Christmas program being presented at a Presbyterian church in the town of Glenwood Springs. The roads were clear and plowed of any snow from the previous day’s snowfall. While Kate and her mother were traveling to Glenwood Springs, Jerry and I were on the road traveling to Denver for a few days visit with two friends. Strangely, during the drive to Denver, I felt a strong urge to call Mrs. Taylor. I don’t know what possessed me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling to stop the car and get to a phone. Anyway, it wouldn’t have done any good because I only had Mrs. Taylor’s home phone and both she and her daughter were out of town attending the church function.
It wasn’t until, after attempting to phone Mrs. Taylor without success, and after arriving in Aspen three days later that I found out that both Mrs. Taylor and her daughter never made it to Glenwood Springs. Tragically, the car Kate was driving that evening had skidded on a patch of black ice, rolled over and landed, sandwiched between two large trees. Mrs. Taylor was badly injured, but her daughter died at the scene. Mrs. Taylor died five days later from internal bleeding. I was devastated!
During her hospital stay, Mrs. Taylor was never told about her daughter Kate’s death. Although she was able to take liquids, before Mrs. Taylor died, she asked me to make her a bowl of soup. I told her that I would have a bowl of her favorite tomato soup for her when she returned to her home. But what was strange about her request, which she insisted, was that I have another bowl ready for her daughter. Mrs. Taylor firmly stated that her daughter Kate was present in the room with us, asking for something to eat. I was puzzled by Mrs. Taylor’s request and by the fact that she kept stating over and over that her daughter had been visiting her constantly. As I said, no one ever mentioned to Mrs. Taylor that her daughter had passed away. I agreed to honor Mrs. Taylor’s request but left the hospital very perplexed.
Well, when Mrs. Taylor did finally die, I was very upset. I was unable to attend the two memorial funerals, for both Mrs. Taylor and her daughter, which were held in Seattle, Washington. Both mother and daughter’s remains were cremated in Aspen then sent to Seattle. I was very surprised at this. Mrs. Taylor never mentioned to me that that was her wish, but her family felt it was best to do this. I did not feel it was my decision to interfere, or to cause any further emotional distress for the family, so I just accepted this as being best. But I could not help but imagine what Mrs. Taylor would have done differently, especially since her husband’s body would remain in Colorado. I believe she would have wanted to be buried next to her husband. It just made sense to me, but the family obviously had the last say in this matter.
Just a few days after Mrs. Taylor’s family bid me their last face-to-face goodbye, I was overcome by a strong feeling to visit Mr. Taylor’s grave. Perhaps it was a personal need to just offer