Have you ever felt the presence of someone? Something? Do you feel the feather-light touch on your face, your shoulder a light breath in your hair? Was that the wind or did something else happen to make that move?
I am going to touch on this phenomenon, well, because I live with each and every day. You see, in my home, I not only live with my family but with other family members of mine, my friends and even one I never “met” in person. Am I talking about ghosts? Spirits? You may or may not believe in this sort of “thing”, but I for one, believe.
I say the four unlikelies because in the living world only two of these four knew each other and the other two not sure if they other than a conversation knew each other, yet they are all here together with what I would like to say a common goal: to be a part of our family.
Though the “experts” might disagree that a spirit does not usually leave the place they passed, I beg to differ. My grandmother was my everything. I loved her and she just adored her grandchildren (I am one of those), but she extra adored her great-grandchildren, so much so that she once told me that I had them for her, for her to finally enjoy being a “Nana” and just living each day for them.
I have five of my own incredible grandbabies so I know now what she meant, but back to Grandma. Not only are her ashes here with me in a different place of her passing, but she is here with me in a completely different house and yet my kids know it and so do I. She makes her presence known.
My other unlikely is my good friend’s mother. I live in her house and this is where she passed. I can almost feel her touching me at times and especially when I am in the garden, joy surrounds me and I can almost hear whispers on the wind.
My other unlikely is the original owner of this home. I just know it’s him. He made his presence known as soon as I moved in here. He and I have had a few rough patches, but we have a working relationship now and I like to think that he is happier now that we are caring for his house as he would and loving like our own.
My last one is our latest one. Five years ago this June, my children’s father passed away in my house. After a long bought with Cancer, he crossed the Rainbow bridge. He passed peacefully with his children all around and as the clock rounding after midnight and they went to bed, he left quietly. We all know that he has a big presence here in the house and I have to say, all of the unlikelies seem to get along.
The afterlife is a mystery. I suppose we will know everything about it when “we” go there. So, until then every story belongs to the author.