This is Not a Ghost Story

I approach this topic with caution. I certainly didn't believe that an ordinary, sane person such as I would have contact with my deceased husband. Nevertheless, after I came home from the hospital, some strange incidents made me wonder. Initially, several light bulbs blew out within a few days for no logical reason, i.e. not on the same circuit, not all used for the same amount of time, etc. Next, I started noticing my TV picture would go fuzzy just as I was doing something related to my husband, such as sending his mother flowers on her birthday, or planning to have dinner with one of his friends. There was always a connection to him. Otherwise, my TV was fine. I could go on, but the point is I was becoming very curious about the possibilities.

Like most people, I turned to the Internet for answers. I didn't get far at first because I was using the term "ghost" in my searches. I finally discovered that term is not used in connection with a deceased family member or close friend. (The term "ghost" is used in cases when, for some tragic reason, a deceased person is unable to cross over to the “other side”, and...you know the rest.) Once I got the right phrase, I found a wealth of material on the subject of contact with "spirits of deceased loved ones". According to my research, a substantial amount of widows and widowers believe they have had some contact with their deceased spouses. I also read that new spirits don't know how to control their spirit energy. Thus, unintentionally, they might leave their loved ones in the dark by blowing out a light bulb. While I would not have brought this up, I’ve spoken to 3 widows who, being less cautious than I, willingly offered: "The first thing I noticed was all the light bulbs blew out!" After I realized that I wasn't the only "normal" person having such experiences, I started to look forward to my husband's "appearances". Fortunately, he learned how to get my attention without unwittingly causing electrical problems.

That was another theme I found in my research: spirits often try to get the attention of their loved ones in various ways. One way is referred to as a "contact dream". Initially, a few acquaintances, who barely knew my husband, told me they had dreams about him that they described as “so real”. Only I would know that the specifics they provided about the dreams had to have come from him. Of course, I yearned for a contact dream of my own. That, however, was not to come until later.

Consider this just an introduction to the possibility of contact. At the same time, I feel compelled to include a warning about “mediums” - those who charge a fee to make contact for you. I’m not condemning all mediums, but one man, who refers to himself as a psychic, wrote that if someone regularly charges for such services, beware! There are a lot of scam artists out there who would take advantage of grief-stricken persons who are desperate for contact. He further said that genuine contact is more likely to occur directly. The psychic is an author whose books are available for a price, but he provides much information on the Internet for free. He even offers assistance with developing the sensitivities most likely to result in the ability to have contact with the spirit of a loved one.

FREE AT LAST!

My hospitalization seemed to last for weeks. That’s probably because it did – four weeks and a day from the date of the accident. After two surgeries, various complications, and a stint in rehab, I finally was told I could go home. That had been my goal, some would say to the point of obsession, since the accident. In fact, I pulled some rather absurd stunts to escape that would only seem like a good idea to someone on morphine - as I was at the time. (I don’t actually recall any of them.) In one of my lame getaway attempts, I said I had to leave to pick up my son at kindergarten. The flaw in this plan was that my clearly adult son (over 6 feet tall with full beard) was with me in the hospital every day and night. All of the hospital personnel knew him, so the kindergarten gambit was somewhat lacking in credibility. Another irrational escape attempt was reported in my hospital records. (My friend, who is a chiropractor, was able to obtain a complete copy of my hospital records, which were voluminous, and she reviewed every entry and test report.) According to these records, I had what is called a central IV line, i.e. it was threaded all the way to my heart. It was further reported that I had removed the central line. Understand, one can’t effectively sneak down the hospital corridors and out the door while hooked up to an IV. The nurse who discovered this asked how it could have happened. I cheerfully replied: “It happened by accident!” Apparently though, it’s highly unlikely that a central IV line would be entirely removed accidentally. Due to the resulting notations about my mental status, I was taken off morphine. My GP (former) thought it would be a good idea to do this “cold turkey”. The records report, however, that I got so sick from the abrupt withdrawal that a hospital doctor put me on Fentanyl. This relieved the withdrawal symptoms and provided pain relief similar to morphine, but without morphine’s comical (at least in my case) side effects. (I digress, but in the process I have introduced two of my many blessings: my devoted son and equally devoted friend, the chiropractor. They were as important to my recovery as the gifted surgeons and numerous caring nurses and therapists.)

Back to the original theme. The homecoming day came, my bags were packed, my transport arranged, and guess what? After all of my schemes to break out, I was a wreck! I had not given any thought to the effect it would have on me to go to the home that I had shared with my husband who died at the scene of the accident. My home now would be devoid of his presence, but full of his memory and belongings. His robe would still be hanging on the bathroom door! As the departure time approached, I became more and more agitated. Then all of a sudden, I felt a wave of comforting calm flow through me, instantly eliminating all of the emotional turmoil. (No, there was no change in medication at that time.) I realized then that a fourth “intervention” (I mentioned three “interventions” in previous postings) would allow me to have a peaceful homecoming rather than a collision with grief as might be expected under the circumstances. With a sense of awe and gratitude, I looked up and simply said, “Oh! Thank you!”