Ugh, OK, I really thought that all of the spooky stuff was out of my life except in those prophetic dreams I get… But let me tell you, with the encounters I’ve had in our new home so far, I guess I was asking for too much. You’ll probably leave my blog in disbelief and never return, but it’s something I just have to get out of my system.
You see, usually I’ll dream of someone I’ve never met, they’ll give me a message or show me cryptic signs, and then I wake up and try to pass the message along. (This type of dreaming is called Oneiromancy.) Most of the time, I’ve done this to people close to me or who have known me awhile, such as friends, relatives, coworkers… Through dreams, I’ve been able to predict things or pass info along to those who really need to hear it. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?
This unusual gift invaded my physical world when I was a mere toddler. By that, I mean that I not only had these dreams/nightmares, but that I would also be visited, touched, marked, impaired, and basically haunted in some shape or form by spirits, ghosts, or whatever you wanna call it. In fact, my first “visit” came from my own grandfather, a shaman of sorts himself — who, for all I know, could be the one who inflicted me with this gift/curse in the first place.
I was of crawling age at the time and minutes before he passed away, my grandfather asked to speak to me — even though I could not yet speak. My mom placed me on his chest as he lay in his deathbed, where he whispered something to me that no one else could make out, probably some of which was gibberish, since he was, after all, struggling with each breath he took. Moments later, his body went limp and he passed away.
With my grandfather’s death came the necessary evil of dealing with funeral arrangements, which my mom helped my grandmother with. Soon after my grandfather’s whispering incident, I had gotten very ill and could not make it to the showing nor the funeral. What was I ill with? Nobody knew; there was no official diagnosis other than being “feverish.” I was admitted to a local hospital because I began having febrile convulsions with the unexplained high fever. This went on during my grandfather’s showing. Eventually, I stabilized long enough for my mom to step away for a few hours to attend the funeral just a few blocks away.
Later on, she would tell me the story of what had happened during the funeral procession, which I will share with you in just a minute, but first…
While my mom was away, an elderly relative wearing a custom-tailored formal top and black slacks came to visit me in the hospital. The nurse assumed he came by check on me en route to the funeral that my mom was attending. After his visit, I began to get better, and in fact, I was released from the hospital roughly 24 hours later.
Anyways… my mom returned from the funeral and the nurse mentioned to her that I had a visitor stop in briefly to check on me. My mom thought it was odd because she didn’t notice anyone missing from the funeral… what was even more odd to her was that whoever it was, didn’t mention that they visited me, nor did they tell her know how I was doing.
Naturally, her next question to the nurse was “Who came to visit? Did they say?” in her impatient, I’m-about-to-get-pissed tone. (What can I say — my mother’s known for her temper!) The nurse felt frustrated and said that she didn’t catch a name; she argued that the visitor wasn’t at the hospital long enough for her to even bother chasing him down to sign-in. My mom tried to control her temper and asked the nurse to describe my visitor. The nurse explained that he was elderly and had a funny gait; she also described his attire, namely the custom-tailored top he wore.
At this point my mom went pale and was in disbelief. Heck, my mom was angry and felt like she was being toyed with. She asked the nurse the same questions yet again, only this time my mom was more aggressive and in-her-face. The nurse felt like she had to defend herself; she was frustrated with my mom berating her. Amidst the chaos, another hospital worker had gotten involved in hopes of resolving the situation quickly and quietly.
My mom pulled out a picture from her purse in desperation and showed it to the nurse, demanding to know if my visitor looked like the guy in the picture. The nurse was surprised at first and exclaimed, “Why yes, that’s the guy! So you do know him!” My mom shoved the picture closer to the nurse’s face to the point where the nurse had to take a step back, and again, she was asked to verify her answer, as if she needed her eyes checked or her facts straight. The nurse’s answer didn’t change other than the smug attitude that came with it.
My mom responded with a, “That can’t be. This is a photo of her grandfather, MY father, whose funeral I was just attending a little while ago. And you’re telling me that HE was here?!” The nurse turned pale and almost passed out; luckily she was caught by the other hospital worker, who was having a meltdown of their own while making signs of the cross on their chest.
Years later, my mom was finally able to speak of the events of that day to me — particularly the incident I had missed at the funeral procession. Her voice still quivered and her hands shook at the thought of it as she told me the story.
My mom told told me (as verified by other relatives who attended the funeral,) that while I was in the hospital, she and other relatives were walking with the hearse during the funeral procession, and that the vehicle somehow died just outside the hospital on the main street. During those few minutes, several of my uncles attempted to get the darn hearse started but failed. It was a hot day, so standing around outside in their (itchy) Sunday Best during 90°F+ temps was very frustrating for all those in attendance.
After roughly a few minutes of people sweating, fanning themselves, murmuring, and trying to figure out what to do next, the engine turned and the hearse was once again on its way. The heat was blamed as the cause of the problem; several people stated that perhaps the hearse’s engine simply overheated. It was a logical explanation for an ill-timed coincidence…
Those few minutes of the hearse stalling were the same few minutes that the nurse had mentioned, in which I had an elderly visitor — my Grandfather.
Crazy, isn’t it? I guess this means I’m technically some type of creepy Ghost Whisperer. All I can say is this: welcome to…my world? I have been an insomniac since I was a child because of hauntings and visits such as these, which I continued to experience until I left home at the age of 17. At least, I thought that was it, but instead, my physical experiences had simply lessened in frequency. What really happened is that my gift/curse found another way of communicating to me — through dreams/nightmares. Well, at least in dreaming — there’s hardly any touching, leaving marks on me, objects being moved, unidentified sounds being made, and that sort of thing. Not often anyway. 😉