If someone had told me the dead could communicate with the living, I would have dismissed that idea as the figment of someone’s fevered brain, or at least, wishful thinking. Skeptic that I am, that was my original belief until my mother died suddenly from a massive stroke and I experienced her contact.
A few years ago, my mother had been a guest in our Florida home. While there, she unfortunately witnessed problems in my marriage that disturbed her so deeply she counseled divorce. As that was not a feasible solution, the marriage stayed intact. Soon she returned to her home in Pittsburgh.
It wasn’t long afterwards that I was notified she had died. Frantic, I flew to Pittsburgh praying I would be on time for her funeral. When the plane landed, I hurried to the church, and to my vast relief realized the funeral service had just begun. An attendant met me at the door and quickly led me to the pew beside her coffin.
As I knelt there beside my mother, my thoughts reverted to our last meeting. I remembered how concerned she had been about my unhappy marriage. My tears flowed as I realized how much I would miss her and how much I wanted to come back home again. It all seemed so hopeless. Suddenly a voice broke through my reverie. I clearly heard the words, “You will be coming back home in six months!”
Startled, I looked around to find the source of the voice. It seemed to be coming from the coffin! Could my mother have been standing there in spirit sharing my grief, sending me comfort? The message was indeed prophetic. In six months I was indeed free of the marriage as she had predicted and was able to return home to live in Pittsburgh.
My next contact with that other world took place following the death of my brother. Many years earlier, as the youngest child of five children I was subjected to the bullying of my older brother Harry. Even though I was 22 years his junior, I stood my ground and complained to my father, who stepped in and brought things to a close. Unfortunately that caused a breach in our relationship that never healed. For 18 years, we were estranged. Eventually Harry succumbed to a heart attack. We had never reconciled our differences.
Years passed. We were in the process of moving away from Pittsburgh but couldn’t agree on which state would be our best choice. We batted around several ideas with no decision. In desperation, I held up a photograph of my deceased brother and pleaded with him. “Harry, you were mean to me in life, and now you owe me. Please give me a name of a state that would be right for us!” Instantly the name Colorado flashed across my mind. I was stunned. I knew absolutely nothing about Colorado.
I went to the local library and checked out every book on that state then hurried home to begin research. The first Colorado book I opened was a beautiful leather bound volume. Inside the flyleaf, was an engraved tablet with the words “This book is in memory of Harry E. Fix.” My brother! My sister confirmed that Harry had indeed lived in Colorado for a time as part of the Government CCC forestry group. He must have fallen in love with Colorado and these beautiful mountains, knowing I would love them as well. It was the perfect choice. I guess you could say that somewhere beyond that great divide my brother and I have at long last mended our differences.
Another contact from across the grave occurred in Colorado. This story began with a young girl named Veronica. She had been my eldest daughter’s friend, but Ronnie fell in with the wrong crowd and became part of the disastrous drug scene. Our family at that time was still living in Pittsburgh. I felt sorry for her and encouraged Ronnie to seek medical help, but she refused.
Then something strange happened. She turned on me for no apparent reason and began to spread vicious and untrue rumors. She ordered unsolicited COD merchandise in my name, which brought a deluge of unordered merchandise to my door. My life became a living nightmare. Shortly thereafter, we soon left Pittsburgh as planned and moved to Colorado. We went our separate ways and lost contact.
The following year I was informed that Ronnie had died of a drug overdose. It was difficult for me to feel sorry for her as she had caused me so much pain, but I kept her in my prayers. Yet the dead find a way to reach you when they need to set things right. It happened the day I was laundering a lovely jean skirt that had been her Christmas gift a few years ago. As I folded the skirt my attention was drawn to the commercial tag that I had never before noticed. As I read the printing on the tag I was literally stunned. It read, “Ronnie didn’t mean it!” I felt strongly it was a message from beyond. I cut out that tag and pasted it onto a page in my photo album that bears Ronnie’s photographs. I pray that she knows all is forgiven and that she can now rest in peace.
One more story illustrating how the dead can reach us when there is a need to set things right. In life, my husband had been a cruel man, with a residue of anger remaining long after the marriage had ended. One night I had a dream so real I was certain I had crossed over into another dimension of time. My husband came to me from out of a mist, looking so young and handsome. He said not a word but simply put his arms around me and held me close. I felt the words, “I’m so sorry, forgive me.” Then he was gone. I felt his peace.
The “cemetery” is quiet now; there have been no further incidents from beyond on the grave. It seems what needed to be said has been accomplished and has come and gone. All is quiet now, and the dead are at peace. I guess even the living needed that closure as well. So be it. — Alice M., Boulder, CO