Every time a loved one passes away, their family must hope something remains of their spirit.
This took place yesterday to give me proof positive of an afterlife.
See what you think.
I held my concern inside and hugged his quivering body while I considered the cause. The car might have shown signs of ceasing up. Perhaps he fell in the street. Other possibilities raged through my mind.
He stepped away from my embrace. “You've got to believe me. I swear on my life what I'm going to tell you is true.”
“What? What is it?”
He kept on and on about the truth of what he was about to tell me. My patience began to wear thin.
“You know Chris? The man who worked at the betting shop?” I nodded but he continued. “He rung here several times to see how I was, and then he was diagnosed with cancer himself.” My husband's voice choked. “They told him he only had a few weeks to live.”
“I remember him. A tall dark-skinned man with short black hair and a gold tooth.”
“I don't remember the tooth, but anyway ...” He walked away, and then leaned over the table supported by his arms. “They wear a red tee shirt. That's the uniform. Well, he stood out on the street and waved to me as I walked by. God's honest truth, this is what happened. You've got to believe me.”
“Of course I do.”
“He called a greeting to me,” my husband said. “I wondered what he was doing back at work. I decided to ask at the shop after I'd bought some mint.”
I nodded, wondering where this was leading, but knowing what he said was important to him.
“When I walked into the betting shop, the young man behind the counter looked up with a sad face. 'Have you heard the news? Chris died at midday.'” My husband sobbed and took control of his voice. “I was staggered. That was an hour ago.” With a face as white as the ghost he was describing, he grasped my arm with a sweaty, shaking hand and pulled me into a hug. His voice broke again. “I saw him. I swear.”
The wonder of what he had experience sank into me. “How good of him.”
“I'm scared. Am I going mad?”
I held him tight and stroked his hot back. “Of course not. You're very lucky that he chose to contact you.” This was the second time he'd seen someone after they'd died. I wished it had happened to me.
He stepped back and started pacing again. “I'm so frightened. I don't believe in that sort of thing. But, I swear I saw him.” He strode into the kitchen.
“What does that tell you?” I called.
“No. It shows you there IS life after we pass away.” It takes him a long time to learn new things or change the way he thinks. I hoped he'd take comfort from his experience because he's facing his own demise.
Does something remain of a person's spirit, their essence, their personality? Do you think life goes on in another realm?