I've never told anyone...
because when I bring it up, I get laughed at.
All Haley Joel Osmont aside, I really do see dead people.
My mother and I both communicate with deceased relatives (and others) on a somewhat regular basis.
Three interesting stories : (there are more, but my fingers can only type so much)
It was 1986. I was very sick at the time, and was in a hospital bed awaiting surgury. I was watching TV when, at about 9:00, my Grandmother walked into the room. I was elated to see her, and she sat next to me, and stroked my head and told me that everything was going to be fine, because "now I can always be with you." We talked for a while, and then she told me to try to get some sleep. I shut my eyes, and fell fast asleep. The next day, my Mom and Dad came into my room, and I told them all about my Grandmother's visit. They went pale, and told me that my Grandmother had died in the hospital at 7:00 the previous night. To this day, my Grandmother still stops by to stroke my head, or rub my back at night, but I never "saw" her after that night.
My Mother's favorite uncle, a long time ago, came home from a double shift, and had used the money to buy christmas ornaments for his nieces. (He had no children of his own, so his nieces were like his kids) They were big, glass globes, about 9 inches in diameter, and beautifully painted. My mother treasured this gift more than any other gift anyone ever gave her (to this day) because a week later, her uncle was killed in a horribly violent accident that I won't describe here. Suffice to say, my poor mother was devastated, and vowed to place the beautiful red ornament on her tree, in plain view for all to see it, every year. So this she did. Some time after that, I was born, and I too fell in love with the unusually large Christmas ornament. Two years ago, the week before christmas, I began having a strange recurring dream. A man whom I did not know was speaking to me, and hugging me, and telling me how proud he was of me. "Tell your Mom I'm proud, Ok?" was how the dream always ended. Before I could tell my mother about the dream, she told me that she'd been dreaming about her uncle. I asked her to show me a photo of him. She did, and it was the man from my dream. It turns out that he was coming to us because that year, we'd forgotten to put his ornament on the tree. We put the ornament up together, and the dreams stopped.
In my freshman year of college, I was doing a research paper on Barabbas, the zealot whom the Jews had demanded be spared in favor of the crucifixion of Jesus. I went into the "library annex" which was little more than a basement with a few shelves of books. There I ran into a Father Duncan, one of the Jesuit priests at the school, who helped me do my research, and told me all about who Barabbas was, and what the religious zealots were all about. I thanked Fr. Duncan for his time, and retired to my dormitory to type up my paper. A week later, when my professor handed back my paper, he took me aside, and asked me if Fr. Duncan had helped me. I said yes, rather shocked at the fact that my professor had figured it out. I had titled my paper "Barabbas, the Son of God." (barabbas means Son of God, and Fr. Duncan had suggested the title, saying he found the fact very interesting.) This had tipped off my professor, who then told me that Fr. Duncan had once been a professor at that school, and when he died, he never stopped teaching. He apears every once in a while and helps nervous students out.
Only once did I ever have a really unpleasant experience, and my mind won't allow me to recollect it. All I remember is that I was in a place that I shouldn't have been, and I was physically pushed out.
Let me tell you from experience, that chill running down your spine, the feeling of "someone walking over your grave", it's probably someone who is watching over you letting you know that he or she is still there. And they are, trust me.
