We're getting closer to Samhain, the time where the veil between the living and the dead is the thinnest. Every culture has the day named. Some call it All Hallow's Eve, Day of the Dead, or Halloween. Doesn't matter, it's all the same. It does get one to pondering if it's the desire of the masses that makes this occur, or if it's really so. Can thousands of years of belief conjure (pardon the pun) those from the other side to get closer to us? Good and bad?
I believe one can speak with the dead anytime they choose. The trick is to be able to hear what the other side has to say. Most can't clear their minds enough, or get over the disbelief that it can actually happen. I believe and here are some of my experiences.
I was home sick one day and was in bed sleeping. My husband had gone to work, my faithful companion, Sam, a Lab/Chesapeake cross was outside my bedroom catching some Z's. I awoke to what sounded like keys jingling from the living room downstairs. I wondered what my husband, Dan was doing home at eleven o'clock in the morning, but waited for him to climb the stairs to our room.
What was more interesting was that Sam never stirred. If Dan were really home, she would have greeted him in typical dog fashion by running downstairs with her tail knocking over everything not bolted down.
I listened intently, suddenly wide awake. I wasn't facing the door, but had the distinct feeling someone was in my room. I rolled over, but no one was there. My ears were trained on the doorway waiting to see...someone.
One thing I forgot to mention is that I had a waterbed at the time (hey, it was the 80's). I was still watching the door when suddenly they bed sunk on Dan's side. You could actually see the indentation, but no one was there. I did smell chocolate and cigarettes, though.
The hair rose on my arms and I bolted from bed. It swayed a bit as I left it, but there was still "someone" in my bed. Without further adieu, I ran from the room past my sleeping dog and down the stairs.
To this day, I can't be certain who was there with me, but my grandmother was a closet smoker and always ate chocolates. It's what I remember most about her. Could it have been her checking on me in my sickbed? I believe so.
Another of my favorites was just after my mother had passed away. She had always considered her apple pies superior to any other mortal woman's, and she baked many in her time.
I was in my kitchen 300 miles from my childhood home and was making the apple pie recipe that I happen to consider pretty darn tasty, if I do say so myself. I was all alone in the house and the radio was blasting out some mindless rock, which I always listen to when baking and cooking. I remember it clear as the sky is blue. I said to myself, Mom always thought her apple pies were the best, well, I happen to disagree. Mine are much better.
As if she were in the room with me, I saw in my mind's eyes my mother's face glower out from behind what appeared to be a cloud, and she bellowed out, "No they're not!"
I was used to her "checking in" from time to time, but this incident actually made me laugh out loud.
"What are you going to do about it, Mom? Now, mine are the best."
I heard a bit of good-natured laughing from the other side and then she was gone. I smiled, knowing I finally got to say mine were better than hers without making her mad.