A Message via Donald Duck

I’ve only told four people about this. It’s not something I felt I could tell just anyone. But now I’m going to tell you. Maybe you’ll let me know what you think.

I grew up reading Donald Duck comics. I read them, because my father had a subscription as a kid, and he saved all his issues. Everyone in the family read them. We referred to them in the same way people today refer to “that Seinfeld episode.” Carl Barks was the artist who brought Donald to life between 1942 and 1966. I’ve read that Barks didn’t go to college, so he would read National Geographics to give him story ideas. Most of the history I learned as a child was flavored with the adventures of Donald Duck and his nephews, Huey, Dewey and Louie.


Carl Barks was a revered man in our home. My father, in his late 20’s, wrote what was probably one of the first fan letters Mr. Barks ever received. Dad was a college English teacher, and I think it pleased Mr. Barks to have his work appreciated by such an learned man. He sent my dad an inked drawing of Donald captioned, “Quack, quack to you Professor B**.”

When my parents divorced in 1979, I got custody of the drawing, the letter from Carl Barks and the comics. I’ve got them tidily sorted in plastic sleeves with acid-free cardboard supports. Three boxes of them are stored high on a shelf in my garage, each neatly labeled “Comics.” It makes me feel good – secure, almost – knowing that I can take down a box and flip through the well-worn pages, reliving the adventures of Donald – and my childhood.

March 25th was the two year anniversary of my mom’s passing, and I have been thinking a lot about her. About the time she spent in the hospital. About my difficulty accepting her death. I hadn’t known her death was imminent, hadn’t known I wouldn’t get to say goodbye. That I wouldn’t get to say so many things, nor ask all the questions that came to mind after she was gone.

Most of my life I’ve believed that dead meant dead. Period. Amen. No more. No heaven or hell. No nothing. But when Mom died… well, I started wondering, pondering, questioning. I recalled comments from friends who’d said things like, “Dad came to ‘visit’ me the night before he died, so when the call came in the morning, I already knew he had died.” That surely hadn’t happened to me, as I was the one who visited Mom and told the doctor to remove her from life support. I remember wishing that I would be one of those people who felt the presence of their loved one. But that kind of stuff just didn’t happen to me.

In the week after her death, I spent time at the library reading about near-death experiences. From so many different sources, the reports were so similar. To believe these stories was to believe that there was something . . . after. All of the new books are shelved together and I’d just pulled one down that seemed so pertinent to my inquiries. I was sitting on a bench right across from the new books and was feeling sad that I wasn’t one of those people who have other-worldly experiences. With tears in my eyes, my gaze went to the shelves of new books and my eyes went directly to one book: Donald Duck “Lost in the Andes” by Carl Barks.

I was stunned. “Lost in the Andes” is a classic Barks story, one that I’d read many times. I knew instantly that this was a message from my mother. The greatest pain I’d been feeling after her death was that I’d lost the one person who I knew would always be there for me – no matter what. I didn’t have that anymore. She was gone. It felt like a tremendous loss. But now this book. I knew it was my mother saying that she wasn’t gone; she was here with me. Almost immediately, my anxiety and despair and sadness lifted, and I felt a great comfort wash through me.

Later, trying to rationally dissect what occurred, I had to ask the question: How did I know this wasn’t a random happenstance? This is what I decided: When I looked up, amid the hundreds of volumes on the shelves, my eyes went directly to this one book. But what if my eyes had fallen on a book about wildflowers – would that have been a message since I knew she liked flowers? No, it wouldn’t have been. Mom liked lots of stuff and there could have been a number of books about those things on the shelves. I decided she “picked” this book (although I don’t really believe she picked it – it was just a way for the message to come thru) because I wouldn’t have any doubt about whether it was truly a message. It was the first book I saw PLUS it was Donald Duck PLUS it was a familiar story PLUS it was by Carl Barks. That was so, so, so specific to my family, to my childhood, that there was no question about it truly being a message.

As I think about this now, I’m kind of amazed that I really do believe this. Me, the “dead is dead” person. I checked out the book that day. Two weeks later I went back to the library, reported the book lost and paid for it. I’ve still got it. I couldn’t give it back.

Fifteen days ago while Mom’s husband, Ray, was dying, I had some time alone with him. I asked him to tell Mom that I’d gotten her message.

Every word, facial expression, gesture, or action on the part of a parent gives the child some message about self-worth.  - Virginia Satir