Do the Dead Come to Visit?

Originally posted Dec 19 2022

Do you get freaked out when reminded of the dead, or do you embrace it with goose-bumping glee?

Dad’s been gone for twenty-seven years, and he still visits me. No, not Poltergeist hauntings, but little signs, coincidental things that make me think of him. They don’t come often, so I relish their random arrival. 

Last week, one of my regular clients saw me outside of the clinic and, with a humungous smile on her face, shouted out, ‘Hey, Andie Lou!’ She’s never called me this in all the months we’ve been working together. What she didn’t know, couldn’t possibly know, is that my stepmom calls me Andie Lou as a nickname. 

Huh, that’s weird, I thought and smiled. 

Then, getting into my car three minutes later, I had the oddest urge to tune in to a Holiday channel on the radio. I don’t do this. I hear enough jingle bells in the stores. I don’t need them in my car too. Anyway, I followed the urge, pulled out, and within a minute of being on the road, Elvis started singing “Blue Christmas.”

This was my Dad’s favorite Christmas song. He’d croon along (pretty badly, sorry, Dad), to Elvis while I did the background singers’ woo-oo-woo-woo-woo. And so, on the journey home, I sang along at the top of my voice, full of joy and smiles. 

Then, spooky trifecta, I walk into the house, hoist the grocery bags onto the counter, and note the clock reads 11:11. I’ve always loved seeing that time on a digital clock, but it carries a deeper meaning. Dad died on the eleventh of November, all those years ago. 

Well, okay, clearly, he has something to tell me. So, I left the groceries and took a seat. After a deep breath, I quietly asked, “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

And the response I got was, ‘You’re on the right track. Keep going.’ 

No, I didn’t hear his voice in my head; it was a physical sensation of “rightness.” It’s hard to put into words. It’s as though I had a rush of endorphins in my body. Blooming in my heart. A confirmation that he was excited for me and needed to let me know. 

This was particularly on point, as I recently took a hard left turn in my writing. Usually, it’s all about science and natural health, but I took a try at a short romance story, and I have to admit, not only was it incredibly fun to write, my small group of proofreaders loved it. 

Now, skeptics may suggest I’m delusional and making it up, desperate to connect with someone I loved — still love. 

That’s fine; they can believe what they want. 

Me? 

I believe the dead come to visit and have messages for us. 

It’s up to us to pay attention. 

I know I’m not alone. One dear friend believes that seeing a red bird is a visit from her deceased son. Another sees singular feathers as a sign someone on the other side is reaching out. 

What about you?